Chinatown—Saigon

Sanshan Hokkien Temple, Ho Chi Minh City.

We did something we had never done before. The two of us piled onto the back of a moped, trusting our taxi driver to take us through the crazy streets of Saigon. Two-wheeled vehicles are the preferred means of transportation here and it is not uncommon to see three, and sometimes four people on a bike.

He drove us four miles, weaving in and out of traffic until he dropped us off at Bình Tây Market in the heart of Chinatown. 

The emergence of the Chinese in present-day Vietnam dates back to 1664 with the collapse of the Ming Dynasty. During subsequent years many Chinese fled the Motherland. In 1778 some of them took refuge near present-day Ho Chi Minh City due to a fear of retaliation for their support of the Nguyen Lords. In 1782, more than 10,000 of them were killed in what is known as the Tay Son Massacre. 

This Chinese community became its own village, known then and now as Cho Lon. Over the years it has been absorbed into Saigon, but retains much of the original Chinese flavor. It is now the largest Chinatown in Vietnam. 

Chaotic street just outside Binh Tay Market in Saigon.

Aromas come from all directions. 

Inside of Binh Tay Market.

Motorbikes are the principle means of transport in Saigon.

I don't even know how to begin describing Cho Lon. The smells are different. Maybe it's the herbs, the scent of fresh fish, the dank alleyways, the humidity, the incense. I don't know. 

There is the Chinese script that is everywhere, the lanterns, the different foods and Chinese temples. There is an older feel to it, as if you stepped back in time fifty years. 

Chinatown is not confined to a block, or any small space, but spreads in all directions, and there is no distinction as to where it begins or ends. The substance of Chinatown is a blend between Chinese and Vietnamese culture, making it difficult for the casual stranger such as myself to distinguish between the two. 

Fresh ingredients waiting to be used.

Taking a break at a park in Chinatown.

Food cart attached to a motorbike.

Our first stop was into the heart of Cho Lon: Bình Tây Market. This chaotic hub is arguably the best in Ho Chi Minh City. The market building itself had two stories, but vendors spilled out into the streets. The place was packed with fresh produce and food stalls. 

Compared with the other major market in Saigon, this one had no tourists and vendors were not at all pushy. Much of the space was devoted to practical items such as cookware, towels, blankets and the like. No souvenir items at all. 

The food section was sensory overload. There were so many smells and so many foreign foods that I couldn't comprehend them. I didn't even know most of what I was seeing. 

Pet rooster on the sidewalk.

A seller of headstones.

Chinatown felt like Saigon, but crazier and more chaotic. There seemed to be less room, more traffic, and more congestion. Sidewalks often had no room because they were filled with vendors and parked motorbikes, leaving the wary traveler at his own peril to walk along the edge of the street with traffic whizzing by just inches away. 

Of course, we had to eat Chinese food while in Chinatown. Not being too familiar with either Chinese or Vietnamese cuisine, it was difficult to distinguish between the two. We settled on a restaurant serving dim sum, a name referring to small Chinese dishes. I ordered dumplings filled with shrimp, which I ate with chopsticks and dipped in an unknown sauce.―Later in the afternoon we stopped at another restaurant and ordered wonton soup. 

It was while eating wonton soup that we experienced our first Vietnamese rainstorm. We stayed safely dry within the recess of the restaurant while fat drops of water fell from the smoggy Saigon sky. No one missed a beat. Pedestrians and motorists alike donned colorful rain ponchos and continued on their way. Within five minutes, it was over. This was a tease of what was later to come. It was monsoon season here in Southeast Asia. 

Dim sum.

Wonton soup.

No visit to Chinatown would be complete without a visit to one of the many temples. We visited three altogether, and all were similar, but unique in their own way. Common to all were the incense, the intricate sculptures, fine paintings, Chinese script and solemn atmosphere. 

The most iconic was Thien Hau Pagoda, built in 1760 by Chinese immigrants from Guangzhou. It was dedicated to the goddess, Lady Thien Hau, who gives blessings of prosperity and health on fisherman, sailors and others who travel on the sea. The new immigrants believed they had been helped by her during their travels to Vietnam, and thus built a house of worship in her honor. 

The main room was the Black Hall where there was a statue of Lady Thien Hau, as well as spiraled incense hanging above and sticks of incense in large pots. There were several red pillars with Chinese characters. As with all the temples, there were many intricate sculptures, both in the halls and outside on the grounds. 

The Black Hall of Thien Hau Pagoda with spiraled incense hanging above.

Courtyard of Ong Bon Temple.

Detail on Thien Hau Pagoda.

Pots of incense inside a Chinese temple.

One thing that amazed me about Saigon, but also Chinatown, was the innumerable amount of narrow side-streets that wound their way between buildings. They reminded me of the narrow slot canyons back home. But people live here. They park their motorbikes outside. If you peek inside, you can catch a glimpse of their humble living quarters. Although small, they keep them well decorated with plants.

One of the oldest alleyways in Chinatown is Hau Si Phuong, with two levels of colorful homes. When we visited, all was quiet. A man sat shirtless outside his door and a solitary scooter passed through. That was it. Wrought-iron railings surround the second-level balcony. Clothes were hung out to dry and plants decorated near the front door. Some had a rooster in a cage. This alley is over 100 years old and retains much of its original beauty. 

Hau Si Phuong Street, one of the oldest in Saigon's Chinatown.

Pharmacy of traditional Chinese medicine.

Along a street corner we found a pharmacy that sold traditional Chinese medicine. I stood and observed for a few minutes, watching many customers come and go. The shop was small—like almost every shop in Saigon—stacked with small boxes and bags of herbs. Some were behind a glass sliding door that a lady had to unlock. As I observed I became curious about this traditional art of healing, and wished I had known more. But, for now, a quick glimpse would have to suffice. 

Unlike our four-mile motorcycle taxi ride that brought us to Chinatown, we ended up walking the entire distance—and then some—back to our hotel. The Chinese script, the lanterns, the dim sum—they gradually faded out and were replaced with the usual din of Ho Chi Minh City. ♠