It is seven a.m. Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. It is not the place for novices like my sister Lucinda and me. Shambolic, sprawling Saigon teems with life. Crumbling colonial villas and dilapidated Soviet-style blocks shed their skins and spill their contents onto the dusty sidewalks.
Meals are prepared, children groomed, and clothes washed here.
Women balancing baskets full of hairy lichees or mangoes on shoulder poles jostle for space with roving hairdressers and manicurists. The bartering is fierce, but punctuated with laughter. In Cholon, Saigon's Chinatown, colors get brighter and street traders get louder. The air is heavy with the smell of incense and food. If it's too early to face this traditional breakfast, baguettes and strong dark coffee are always close at hand.