Southeast Asian Monsoon

I once stood on the front porch of a gentleman during a downpour of rain. The shower was so intense that it reminded him of the monsoon season in Vietnam when he served in the war. “It was so reliable,” he said, “that you could set your watch by it.” 

For some reason that little conversation has always stayed with me. I knew that someday I wanted to go to Vietnam, but would I really want to go there during the monsoon? On one hand I wouldn't want inclement weather interfering with sightseeing. But on the other, a Southeast Asian monsoon would be an experience few on the other side of the globe would ever have. 

Several years later I finally got the opportunity to travel to the Mekong Delta area of Vietnam and Cambodia. Our visit would be during the first two weeks of October, which would not be at the peak of the monsoon season, but on the shoulders. Phnom Penh receives an average of 9.7 inches of rain during October, while Ho Chi Minh City receives 13.4 inches. For both places, September is the wettest month, followed by October. 

Storm clouds brewing near Sam Mountain in Vietnam.

I didn't want to be stuck indoors or beneath an umbrella for the entire two weeks, so I did my research and many people online assured me that when the monsoonal rains came, they hit hard and heavy, but after an hour or so Heaven would turn off her spigot and all would return to normal. No matter what the scenario, our journey would be an adventure. 

During our first day and a half in Saigon, it didn't rain at all. Then, while we sat at a table in Chinatown in a restaurant with a full open-air front, the sky began to release its water. With excitement I stood up and walked to the front of the restaurant where I met the sidewalk and watched the street, traffic and people turn wet. Some pedestrians and motorcyclists quickly donned plastic ponchos while others braved the storm. 

But as quickly as it came, it left. The skies gave no more. I waited for the rest of the evening and there was no more rain. I was surprised that after two days in Vietnam we only had one measly outburst. Certainly no setting our watches with that. 

Our first heavy rain came on days 3 and 4, both in Phnom Penh. They began in late afternoon and lasted several hours after dark. It made navigating the streets more difficult. Many streets had no sidewalk, which left us to dodging potholes of water, cars and mopeds, all while holding wide umbrellas above our heads. And all this in the dark. 

It also made it more difficult to find a place for dinner. Most street vendors and restaurants with outside seating closed shop once the rain began. 

Puddles of water on the street in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

The majority of locals wore ponchos rather than use umbrellas.

We observed the locals. Most preferred ponchos to umbrellas. A surprising amount used nothing at all and chose to get soaked. It was always cute to see a family on a moped, perhaps the father on front wearing a poncho, and his two school-aged daughters on back getting soaked! 

I recall our final night in Phnom Penh. We went to the night market to look around, then to the food court where we ate on red mats placed on the ground, kind of like a picnic. After our dinner the rain began to pour. It wasn't heavy, but constant. Jordan and I both walked a mile to our hotel. I used an umbrella and Jordan chose to go without. Needless to say, he was soaked by the time we got back (but he said it felt good). 

Another remarkable thing about this time of year is how much water there is . . . everywhere! The Mekong River swells in size and this is why those living near its banks dwell in floating homes or on stilts. The Tonlé Sap River connects Tonlé Sap Lake with the Mekong, merging near the city of Phnom Penh. During the dry season the river flows toward the Mekong, nearly draining Tonlé Sap Lake. But during the rainy season the river actually reverses course and brings water from the Mekong back into Tonlé Sap Lake. 

Houses built along the swollen Tonle Sap River in Cambodia.

Water is everywhere during the rainy season.

In addition to extra water in the river, many of the fields and other places are also flooded with water. As a tourist it was difficult to know which places always had water versus those that were flooded due to it being the rainy season. Once you got out of the city, much of the land, it seemed, was submerged under water. 

The seasonal floods are vital to rejuvenating the river's ecosystems. Floodwaters bring nutrient-rich silt which is necessary to nourish the vast amount of rice fields in the Mekong Delta. Additionally it also provides moisture needed to water crops. 

Storm clouds over the Mekong River near the Cambodia / Vietnam border.

One positive benefit for the tourist is that it brings temperatures down to bearable. I recall a trip to Thailand several years ago during the dry season. They say in Thailand there are only three seasons: hot, hotter and hottest. We were there between “hotter” and “hottest” and although beautiful, Thailand was scorching. Here in nearby Cambodia and Vietnam during the rainy season, other than a little mugginess and heat during the climax of the day, I felt comfortable most of the time. 

As far as the rain restricting and interfering with our trip, fortunately for us, I would say it didn't too much. Most of our downpours came in the final 2 or 3 hours of daylight, or even once the sun had already set. Our biggest daytime downpour came while we toured the infamous S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh, and we were inside for most of that. My advice is to come prepared with an umbrella or poncho, and a little flexibility. 

Downpour at S-21 Prison in Phnom Penh.

During our stay in Chau Doc, a Vietnamese city near the Cambodian border, I purposely booked a hotel on the edge of town that overlooked rice patty fields and the distant Sam Mountain. My favorite monsoon experience came here while sitting on the balcony. 

Rain came down in droves, starting just before dusk and lasting into the night. It was exhilarating to relax and observe the storm, listening to the flood of water descend from the sky. Wind blew the cold scent of storm across our skin. Suddenly a flash of lightening lit up the sky and for a moment the palm trees, rice fields and Sam Mountain flickered before us in silhouette, only to instantly disappear. Seconds later a low rumbling echo of thunder bellowed through the night air. 

After several hours the rain stopped. 

Now was the next movement of our symphony. Cicadas buzzed in the distance and frogs chirped a melodic song. Somewhere out of view, probably in the bar in the next building, we listened to the singing of karaoke. 

All was right in the world. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do but sit and listen to beautiful music in a foreign land. ♠

Storm moving over Sam Mountain in Chau Doc, Vietnam.

First Hours in Ho Chi Minh

We stepped outside our hotel and into the humidity and chaos of Ho Chi Minh City. Horns and mopeds blared all around. The amount of two-wheeled conveyances boggled the mind. Everyone, it seemed, was on a motorbike: ladies in dresses, fathers holding toddlers, buddies, singles⸺most wearing masks and helmets. The chaos on the roads spread like an ant colony, especially at intersections where no obvious rules could be observed. Ants just weaved in and out as they pleased. 

Vietnamese women sat along dilapidated sidewalks and set up shop for the day. Dogs sat with them, some wearing leashes and some roaming freely. 

We found a man selling Banh Mi from his cart. With excitement he came and translated the options for us. “This one is fish,” he said in a strange accent. He gave us a strip of fried fish from his cooler where he kept it warm. We wanted two of them. 

He took a baguette and sliced it in half lengthwise. He piled on greens and cucumbers, along with fried strips of fish, more toppings and two types of sauce. When I bit in I could taste the sweetness of the sauce alongside the burning of raw pepper. I began to sweat.⸺ I gave him 200,000 dong and he gave me change. It only came out to 30,000 dong and I think he short-changed me, but I didn't catch it until later.

Our morning stroll took us past a Chinese temple, with images and burning sticks of incense along the sidewalk. Around the corner was another house of worship, this one appearing Christian due to figures of Christ and the Virgin Mary. Built next to it was a tall pagoda, crowned with a cross. 

River near our hotel in Ho Chi Minh City.

Our journey took us on a bridge that crossed a river. From here there were many good views of Ho Chi Minh, including the pagoda of the church. The trees along the bank reflected in the water. On the far side of the bridge we crossed over a street that ran parallel to the river. We peered down over the railing and watched the mopeds buzz underneath, their four-cylinder engines revving in unison. We watched the fruit shops down below setting up for the day. Ladies in cone-shaped rice hats pushed out plastic tables and cut herbs to sell with swimming broth of pho.

The smell of asphalt and exhaust filled the air, along with an occasional whiff of anise and herbs. Everything was dingy, from sidewalks to stacked buildings that served as homes. Some of the flats that faced the noisy street had clothes hanging out to dry on the balcony. 

Morning in Saigon.

Clothes hanging out  to dry.

Setting up shop on the streets of Ho Chi Minh.

Every intersection was a new adventure. Wait, wait, wait, read . . . after that car⸺hold on, not yet. Now! We walked slow and methodically across every busy intersection, with cars and mopeds passing in front and behind, usually honking. They didn't stop or slow down. They just swerved around. 

In a park we were approached by Mr. Tung. He wore green pants and a shirt that resembled military attire. When he learned we were Americans he became very friendly. I could barely understand him because of his thick accent, but from what I gathered he admired Americans because they helped his cause. After the North Vietnamese won the war, his family fled to the Philippines. I finally learned he was offering tours. He was very nice, but I could hardly understand a word he spoke, so I decided to pass it up. 

In that same park we passed a group of ladies doing slow aerobics (maybe Tai Chi?) to music. They pointed their arms in the air and slowly spun to music like synchronized swimmers. 

One of many crazy intersections in Saigon.

On the sidewalk we passed a man carrying a long stick over his shoulder, a wooden tray of coconuts on one end and a box of tools on the other. He was very convivial and let Jordan carry the weighted stick on his shoulder. We didn't think anything of it.  Then he stopped, pulled out a butcher knife from the wooden box, and whacked off the top of a coconut and handed one to each of us with a straw.

Of course he is expecting money, I thought. I pulled out my wallet, expecting to pay perhaps 10,000 dong each. When I asked him how much, he replied with 150,000 dong! There was no way two coconuts were worth 150K in Vietnamese dong. Reluctantly I gave it to him, but was determined not to be hustled again. 

Jordan carrying a load for the "coconut man."

Around the block we came to the Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon. I highly anticipated this visit. I had seen many cathedrals in Europe, as well as South America. This would be my first in Asia. This architectural marvel dated back to the French colonial period. 

To our disappointment the building and grounds were covered in scaffolding and fencing. It was closed to the public. Even the two iconic bell towers were obscured. We watched from across the street as workers labored on the roof. 

Workers on the roof of Notre-Dame Basilica Cathedral of Saigon.

Not far away we came to an interesting sign on a lamppost. Depicted on the sign were four people, including a construction worker and college graduate. In the background on one side was a farm, and on the other, skyscrapers. But what caught my attention the most was the banner in the center. It looked like an old Soviet-style red flag with a hammer and sickle in the corner. I found this curious because I knew this wasn't the flag of Vietnam (a red flag with golden star), but I also knew that Vietnam was one of five communist countries in the world (the others being China, Cuba, Laos and North Korea). 

The hammer and sickle has become a standard symbol around the world for communism as a whole. The hammer represents the workers and the sickle the peasants, and put together they are unified. Jordan translated the words of the sign on his phone: “Vietnam journals: unity, creativity, building the country for a more sustained development.” I don't know if you would consider this “communist propaganda,” but that's certainly what came to mind. 

Just a few more blocks and we arrived at our destination. Several tanks, a Chinook helicopter, and a Huey sat in front. We paid 40,000 dong and entered the War Remnants Museum. ♠

 

A propaganda sign on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City?

 

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. ♠