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June 2026



1. Mid-Century Origins (1960s–1970s)
The building was constructed between 40 and 60 years ago, placing its origins in the era of the Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam). At that time, Nguyễn Văn Tráng was part of a bustling residential and commercial zone near the Ben Thanh market.
• Design Philosophy: Unlike the ornate French colonial buildings, No. 35 reflects the modernist/brutalist leanings of that era—characterized by raw concrete, functional geometric lines, and open hallways designed to catch the breeze.
• The Materiality: It is noted for its “rough beauty,” featuring original đá rửa (washed stone) and traditional gạch bông (encaustic cement tiles) on the floors—materials that were once the standard for middle-class Saigonese living.
2. Post-1975 Transition
Following the events of 1975, many of these apartment buildings were reorganized. Large units were often subdivided into smaller residences to accommodate the city’s growing population. This created the “winding corridor” atmosphere you see today, where private life spills out into shared hallways with small kitchens and drying laundry.
3. The 2017 Revitalization
In 2017, the building gained a new life through the work of architect Nguyên Hạnh Nguyên.
• Preservation through Cleaning: Rather than tearing it down or covering it in modern panels, the team focused on deep-cleaning the old concrete and tiles.
• Contrast Architecture: They added glass elements to create a contrast between the “old rough” and “new smooth,” which made the building a magnet for the city’s creative community.

4. Present Day: A Creative Hub
Today, No. 35 is no longer just a residential block. It has become a vertical “hidden village” for Saigon’s youth and nomadic travelers:
• Hidden Cafes & Shops: It houses “secret” spots like Nhà Chung Cafe and the foreign language bookstore/cafe Pages of Passion.
• Nomadic Lodging: Higher floors are home to hostels and boutique stays like Onetel Saigon Panorama, offering a rooftop view of the skyline that contrasts sharply with the gritty, historical staircases.
It’s a great example of how Saigon’s history isn’t just found in museums, but in the layers of paint and concrete of the buildings where people still live, work, and drink coffee every day.
Travel Tip: If you head up to the higher floors, look for the original tile patterns; they are a direct link to the interior design trends of the 1960s Saigon middle class.





May 2026


Van – Always Wandering.
This overcast Friday morning was no different. I set out without a destination, trusting Saigon to decide where I should end up. That’s become my favorite way to travel here. The city has a habit of rewarding curiosity.
I wandered into a strange little courtyard anchored by an enormous Starbucks sign. That alone felt odd. In a country overflowing with incredible coffee, I still can’t quite justify Starbucks. But as I walked farther in, the sign faded into the background. Hidden behind it were half a dozen vintage vans serving coffee, tea, pastries, and books. It was less a café than a tiny neighborhood festival.
One van caught my eye: Rong Chơi Coffee.
Later I learned that rong chơi roughly translates to wandering or roaming freely without a specific destination. Well… if that isn’t my life in a nutshell.
The universe definitely knew what it was doing that morning.
A simple cà phê đen đá—straight black iced coffee—for 35,000 VND ($1.33), and I was reminded once again that some of the best experiences in Saigon don’t announce themselves. They wait quietly for you to stumble across them.

Just around the corner from where I’ve been living for months sits Barxiu, tucked away inside an apartment building.
I’d walked past it countless times without ever figuring out how to get upstairs. This week I finally asked someone, got redirected to a different staircase, and suddenly there it was.
Worth every bit of the effort.
I ordered their Dirty Matcha—Vietnamese phin coffee, condensed milk, and matcha. Normally matcha drinks can be overwhelmingly sweet, but this one wasn’t. It balanced the earthiness of the tea with the richness of Vietnamese coffee beautifully. Cozy, eclectic, and one of those cafés that makes you want to linger.
Sometimes all it takes is asking where the stairs are.

One morning I stopped at a tiny neighborhood coffee stand for a 30,000 VND cà phê sữa đá.
I only had 28,000 VND.
Without hesitation they smiled and waved me off.
“I’ll bring the other 2,000 next time,” I thought to myself.
*I dropped it off two days later. They were surprised because they didn’t expect it.
As I sat outside in one of those familiar little red plastic chairs, the family’s front doors stood wide open while they moved effortlessly between their living room and coffee cart. On the television Belgium was playing the United States in the World Cup.

One of this week’s highlights was discovering S’Mores Saigon, where I had a NEL drip coffee.
If you’ve never had one, a NEL drip uses a flannel cloth filter—a technique with French roots that was later perfected in Japan before eventually finding its way into old Saigon cafés. The result is unlike any other black coffee I’ve had.
Silky.
Clean.
Almost elegant.
Apparently it was once considered coffee for Vietnam’s elite.
I understand why.
It’s less like drinking coffee and more like drinking a philosophy.

Tách Tách, another café inside the old mint green apartment building on Nguyễn Văn Tráng.
Their drink was called “Love You So Matcha.”
Japanese Uji matcha, oat milk, condensed milk, a touch of syrup…
Mildly sweet with no bitterness.
Exactly how I move through life these days.

Room 44, a salted caramel latte. It is tucked inside the same mint green old apartment complex. There is something about climbing those worn staircases that always feels like entering another version of Saigon.

At The Simple Café, I tried their Grape Chill Cold Brew.
Imagine sweet grape juice somehow deciding it wanted to become coffee.
Or maybe coffee deciding it wanted to become grape juice.
Odd?
Absolutely.
Worth trying?
Definitely.

Then there was Cà Phê Ông and their bamboo coconut coffee served in—you guessed it—a bamboo cup. A bamboo straw. Cool souvenirs. Refreshing, tropical, and exactly what you want on a humid Saigon afternoon. I met two new friends and rather than read my book, a daily ritual, I had a lovely conversation with them.

Mon Ami Café, a French-inspired spot where a simple cà phê đen đá reminded me that sometimes the classics don’t need improving. And I really need to lay off the condensed milk…

Nine coffees.
Nine different stories.
Some hidden behind apartment staircases.
Some tucked into family homes.
Some discovered only because I decided to wander without a plan.
July 2026







May 2026



Ngân hàng Nhà nước Việt Nam – Chi nhánh TP.HCM
📍 Address: 8 Võ Văn Kiệt, District 1
Ho Chi Minh City branch of Vietnam’s central bank (the equivalent of:
The structure was built during the colonial period as part of the financial administration network tied to Banque de l’Indochine.
That bank wasn’t just any bank—it effectively acted as:




Ho Chi Minh Stock Exchange — usually called HOSE.
Vietnam’s main stock exchange:



Tube Houses and Shophouses
Historically, because buildings were taxed according to street frontage rather than total area, many shophouses are long and narrow in shape, similar to the vernacular “tube house.”




6may26

Vietnamese cats are mostly lean, short-haired, and look like they’ve seen things. They’re not the fluffy pampered indoor cats of Western Instagram. They’re street cats and shop cats and alley cats and temple cats. They eat rice and fish scraps and whatever falls off the table and they do fine. They’ve been doing fine for centuries.

In Vietnamese culture, cats are considered lucky. Mèo (cat) sounds like a word associated with prosperity in some dialects. In the Vietnamese zodiac, the Cat replaces the Rabbit (which is used in the Chinese zodiac). So while the rest of Asia had the Year of the Rabbit, Vietnam had the Year of the Cat. This makes Vietnam one of the only cultures in the world that gives the cat its own zodiac year. The most recent one was 2023.


5may26




May 2026

The West may come here and see “poverty,” but Saigon is far from poor.
People pass a woman in a conical hat, wearing pyjamas, balancing her day on two shoulders—selling sunglasses, lighters, cigarettes, lottery tickets, fruit, or iced coffee under the heat of a city that never seems to slow down. Some tourists see struggle. I see strength.
What I truly see is a woman with the resilience of ten men.
She wakes before the city fully opens its eyes. Before the office workers rush for coffee, before motorbikes flood the streets, she is already there—arranging her goods, preparing herself for another long day of bargaining, smiling, surviving.

She has likely raised children. Maybe now she helps raise grandchildren. She has known humiliation, rejection, and the thousand small dismissals that come with selling on the street—people waving her away, ignoring her existence, reducing her to background scenery.
But she remains.
There is a kind of inner fortitude there that cannot be taught in therapy sessions or self-help books. It is forged through necessity. Through hunger. Through family. Through knowing that whether she feels tired or not, the day still demands something from her.
And still, she shows up.

She hears “no” a hundred times a day. Sometimes with kindness, often without it. Yet the constant rejection doesn’t hollow her out. It sharpens her. She adjusts, adapts, keeps moving. She survives.
Together, these women are impenetrable.
There is an invisible sisterhood on these streets—a quiet understanding between vendors, mothers, grandmothers, and workers who have built lives out of persistence. They know how to endure. They know how to stretch one good day across three bad ones. They know how to laugh in the middle of hardship.

That is wealth.
Not the kind measured in bank accounts or luxury hotels, but the kind measured in endurance, dignity, and the refusal to collapse.
She is Vietnamese.
And just as this country endured war, occupation, division, and reinvention, she wins her own daily battles with the same stubborn grace. History lives in ordinary people more than monuments. Sometimes it wears a nón lá and offers you a lighter at a street corner.
Saigon teaches this lesson quietly: resilience is not loud.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It sits on a plastic stool by the roadside.
It pours coffee.
It sells fruit.
It smiles anyway.
And if you pay attention, you realize you are not looking at poverty.
You are looking at power.

April 2026


April 2026





April 2026