W
e’re out early and we’re shooting contrasts, not the clichéd jungle-in-theforeground with the high-risecity-behind kind of shot. Instead we’re looking for examples to demonstrate the difference between the Saigon that is and the city we’re told it’s going to become. Saigon, many people are saying, is starting to become generic. Buildings of potential historic importance have been knocked down, canals have been concreted over, there are less green spaces, more highrises are reaching for the clouds, and the international brands are entering en masse. Part of a movement, a belief that is pushing this city towards becoming global, the transformations are turning this metropolis into a modern, urban ‘monstrosity’ that looks no different to its steamy counterparts elsewhere in the region. Or so they say. Yet it’s not just the physical aspect of this city that is being transformed. It’s the mindset. It’s the type of mindset, for example, that has convinced a resident of Vung Tau to build his house to mimic the Sydney Opera House, or the mindset that causes a land development company to construct a glass-panelled skyscraper that looks exactly the same as an equivalent building overseas. Or the mindset that elevates a trip to Starbucks as being far superior to say a trip to one of the plethora
of locally styled cafes that dot Ho Chi Minh City. But is Saigon really in danger of losing all that makes it unique? Will it really become the faceless Asian city so decried by urban planners the world over? Or will it maintain its character, that quirkiness that for many has been the main attraction of this 10-million-strong city?
Plastic Fantastic We start our little photoshoot at an outdoor, plastic-stool cafe on Bui Vien, the kind of place that gets packed out everyday. The joint is typical. A family — a mother, her youngest sister and a son — runs the café. They are on friendly, first-name terms with more than half the customers. And the communal atmosphere, one of typical streetside conversations, coffee drinkers reading the morning paper, lottery ticket sellers and shoe-shine boys, is similar to scenes found all over this city. Drinking coffee in such an environment is a ritual, part of everyday life. It’s a unique social aspect not just of this city, but of Vietnam. From here we go to Starbucks. It’s our first visit and couldn’t be more of a contrast. We queue for our drinks and as we order, we’re asked our names. I call myself Gordon Bennett — it’s written down as Golden, an approximation I wish was true — and then I wait in turn for my drinks. In
the meantime our photographer is zipping around the entire downstairs of the store, snapping shots. From the people through to the décor and the coffee serving counter. We both expected him to be restricted, but until he gets too close to the coffee counter and a friendly reprimand is thrown his way, he is given a free range. The staff, all smiling, and all speaking good English, even give me two free WiFi passes, valid for an hour each — they don’t want people to sit over one drink for five hours in this place. And everything is happy, happy, service with a smile (and a western price tag). It’s an experience that is bringing an international selection of customers. Foreigners are purchasing their morning, takeaway latte aplenty, and well-dressed middle-class Vietnamese are chatting in pairs or threesomes over an iPad or a Galaxy Note. It’s all surprisingly civilised, exotic even, and it’s all part of a future that many envisage or believe is a foregone conclusion for this city. Yet for all its niceties, and pleasing-onthe-eye décor, and for all that so soughtafter western experience that can now be purchased for under a hundred thousand dong in the centre of this city, Starbucks lacks the character of its street-side counterpart just a few blocks away. Most important, it lacks community. It is places like Starbucks that are generic, not Saigon.
May 2013 Word | 157