“They say that whatever you’re looking for, you’ll find it here. They say that when we arrive in Vietnam we understand everything in a matter of minutes, but the rest has to be lived. The smell. This is the first thing to hit us, to promise everything in exchange for our soul. And the heat. Your shirt is immediately soaked“. Excerpt from the movie “The Quiet American” (2002), based on the book of the same name by Graham Greene.
At first glance, Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), known until 1975 as Saigon, may frighten those unaccustomed to the chaos of a pulsating metropolis with 13 million people and 7 million poisoned motorbikes.
Unlike the capital Hanoi, with its beautiful old town and fog-covered lakes, finding the charms of the “Pearl of the Far East”, as HCMC is affectionately called, can be a little more challenging. Many first-time visitors leave disappointed. Without a map and plan, a day of hiking can quickly become a fruitless experience. But for those willing to do a little research, this is a city worthy of months, if not years, of exploration. Crowded with foreigners on streets where skyscrapers share space with century-old buildings of French architecture, the city is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. HCMC never sleeps. Neither you. Unless you choose your accommodation carefully.
My temporary home is in the trendy District 1, great location for visiting the city’s main tourist attractions. With good planning it is possible to visit places like the War Museum, the Reunification Palace, Notre Dame Cathedral and the Central Post Office in a single day.
As a digital nomad that I am, that is, as someone who works remotely while traveling the world, my life, however, is not just about touring and taking selfies. I look for an internet cafe on Dong Khoi, formerly Rue Catinat, and come across the imposing Hotel Continental. It was here that, in the first half of the 1950s, before the American War (known as the Vietnam War in other parts of the world), English author and journalist Graham Greene, then a foreign correspondent, wrote the classic “The Quiet American” ( 1955).
I sit at the downstairs bar and order a beer and the Wi-Fi password. I am the only outsider in the place where journalists, diplomats and spies used to fraternize. The beer is hot and the internet signal is bad. As I procrastinate on my work, I look through guest reviews of Continental on one of these online booking sites. With daily rates starting at R$720, there seems to be a consensus that the hotel sells itself as what it once was. “Everything in the hotel is old and worn out,” writes Magdalena from Wales. Brian from Australia complains the same as me: “hot beer and unstable internet”. I should have read this sooner.
Like Greene in the 1950s, I am also writing a book. I order another hot beer and open the file on my laptop with the ridiculous pretense of being inspired by the mystique of those historic walls – like a young woman just arrived in Italy dreaming of writing the next “Comer, Pray, Amar” (2006) –, but I soon realize how ridiculous the scene is.
The truth is, the city has changed a lot since Greene was here. The past is behind. From the Continental’s bar, I can see international designer stores and imported cars vying for space with souped-up motorcycles. A very different landscape from the Saigon of the 1950s. The smells and sweat on the shirt, however, remain the same. Little ladies in straw hats sell delicacies across the street under a scorching sun.
In addition to nostalgic travelers like me, HCMC has been attracting more and more digital nomads – who take their laptops to the various options of trendy cafes and coworking spaces in the city; and not for rundown hotel bars that sell themselves as what they once were. With one of the lowest costs of living in the entire Asian continent, the diversity of options is one of the main attractions of the city. There are quiet places, busy places, cheap places, fancy places. A perfect balance between chaos and comfort. The internet, the most important item on the digital nomads checklist, is very fast – with the exception of the Hotel Continental.
I pay the bill and head towards the Saigon River. It’s April 30th, the 47th anniversary of Vietnam’s reunification, and as fireworks explode on the horizon, I watch the smiles and teary eyes of Vietnamese of all ages. I buy a delicacy from an old lady and on the way home a young woman hands me a flyer for a party called Apocalypse Now. HCMC never sleeps.
