Tag: street photography

Six months ago I arrived in Saigon and went straight for the condensed milk. That first cà phê sữa đá was an introduction and a seduction all at once, sweet enough to mask the fact that I had no idea what I was doing here, no real plan beyond staying a while and seeing what happened. Sugar is a good way to ease into a place. 😆

Somewhere in those six months, the sugar fell away. I couldn’t tell you the exact week it happened, only that I noticed one morning I was ordering đen đá without thinking, and it didn’t taste bitter anymore, it just tasted like the truth of the bean. That’s what daily ritual does. It stripped away what I needed at the start because I no longer need it.

I’ve built a tolerance, not just for caffeine, but for the Saigon itself, for its noise and its heat and its rhythm. Six months of the same coffee, every day, will eventually show you who you actually are when nobody’s sweetening the situation for you.

Today, on what may or may not be my last Vietnamese coffee in Saigon (I know myself well enough not to promise anything, I may wander into another one before the day ends), I found a café tucked so far down a hẻm off Lê Thị Riêng that I nearly missed the turn. That kind of discovery only happens by accident, and only near the end of a stay, when I’ve stopped looking for anything and the city decides to show me one more thing anyway, as if to say: see, there was always more here than you found.

I’m drinking a peanut butter coffee, which is not how I started this journey and not how I expected to end it, either.

And there’s an apple pastry on the counter that I keep looking at even though I never eat pastries. It’s shaped, absurdly and beautifully, like the Vietnamese flag, and I can’t stop thinking that the timing of it, national day just behind me, my own departure just ahead of me tomorrow, feels less like coincidence and more like the city tying a bow on something.

There’s an existential weight to drinking a last cup of anything. It’s never really about the coffee. It’s about what the coffee marked, the mornings that started because of it, the version of myself who showed up here in March not knowing the word “hẻm,” who now knows exactly which turn to take without looking.

Six months is long enough to stop being a visitor and start being someone who simply lives somewhere, and then to leave anyway, which is its own kind of grief, small and specific and easy to miss if I’m not paying attention.

Tomorrow I go to Cambodia. Today I sit with this cup, in this hidden place I’ll probably never find again, and let the nostalgia arrive early, since it clearly wasn’t going to wait for the actual goodbye. This isn’t a permanent farewell. Vietnamese coffee doesn’t really let you go that easily, and I suspect it’ll find me again somewhere down the road, condensed milk or not. But for now, this is it. Six months, one last cup.

September 2026