In Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), crossing the street feels like taking a leap of faith. As you step forward, a torrent of motorcycles rushes past, parting like the Red Sea. The drivers carefully gauge your speed and distance, instinctively adjusting to avoid hitting you. It’s an almost subconscious calculation—one that could turn dangerous if you hesitate and stop midway.
Motorcycles are to Saigon what bicycles are to Amsterdam. There’s at least one (and a fraction more) for every Saigonese resident. Even apartment buildings are designed with ramps along the staircases, allowing tenants to drive their motorcycles home and park them inside for the night.
Without motorcycles, traffic would be unbearable. But beyond practicality, there’s something exhilarating about hopping on the back of a Grab bike (a Southeast Asian ride-hailing app) and pretending to be Lizzie McGuire (Sing to me, Paolo) while watching the city lights and vibrant streets blur past.
I meet up with a friend from the monastery—Vipassana really is the gift that keeps on giving. We hop onto a motorcycle and zip through the streets on a food tour, stopping to eat bánh xèo (crispy rice pancakes), dry mixed noodles with prawns, and banana sticky rice. At every red light, there’s a chance to chat. My driver tells me he’s studying computer science and dreams of working in data analysis. But in Vietnam, he explains, data science jobs are scarce, so he’s considering moving to Germany to build a better career.
The War Remnants Museum and Cu Chi tunnels offer a sobering look at the horrors of the Vietnam War. It’s incredible to see how Ho Chi Minh City has risen from adversity to become what it is today. The Vietnamese are hardworking—thousands of businesses line the streets, fueling both the formal and informal economy.
One of those businesses belongs to my new friend Quy. She runs a bánh mì stand where I stop every morning for a grilled pork bánh mì and a salted cream coffee. Each day, we talk a little more. She tells me about her previous career as a financial consultant and how she took over the bánh mì business from a friend. But her real passion is digital marketing. Starting over is a leap of faith.
Bùi Viện Street is Saigon’s infamous backpacker party road—think Khao San Road or Bourbon Street, and you get the idea. Live bands play rock music, clubs spill out onto the street, and a mix of travelers and locals roam the chaos. But it’s impossible to ignore the presence of discreet hostess bars, attracting a different kind of crowd. I overhear someone say, “It’s Asia—you can get away with anything.”
On a night out, I’m dancing with friends when a guy persistently tries to dance with me. I decline. He tries again. And again. After the third time of him invading my space, I tell security. The bouncer just stares at me—lost in translation, maybe? The guy approaches me once more, and this time, my friend angrily shoves him to the ground. Suddenly, the security guard reacts. The guy is kicked out of the bar. My friend turns to me and says, “It’s Asia—they think they can get away with anything.”
The rest of my time in the city flows seamlessly—sipping coffee in countless cafés, indulging in street food, and chatting with fellow digital nomads. The conversation always starts the same: Where are you going next? But sometimes, it drifts into deeper topics—psychology, natural medicine, wellness, and personal stories. There’s something to learn from everyone.
At 7 AM, my friend takes me for a run along the Saigon River. As I move through the city one last time, I mentally wave goodbye.
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