Late season rains in Saigon. I ran out with a plastic poncho in tow, hungry for soup but unable to ignore the dark clouds above the city. As I sat in an alleyway eating, the skies opened up and within moments the city changed. The lady who fries up sweet potatoes in a cart next to my street edged herself under an awning, pressed up against the side of the Family Mart. The hu tieu vendor unravelled his awning, stretching it past the length of his back. As he opened up his soup pot to pour out a bowl, smoked billowed up against the awning and circled his arms, seeping out into the cooler air. Motorcycles stopped by the side of the road and out came the ponchos, hoods up, front flap over the handlebars and covering the drivers arms, with the back flap occasionally draped over a wet passenger. Very few umbrellas -- hardly a point when it rains sideways -- but lots of drenched schoolkids on bicycles, unlucky enough to have forgotten their rain gear. Within minutes the side alley was flooded, forcing everyone to slow down as they turn off the main street. Office workers clustered against the edge of any overhang available waited out the downpour. And as I wandered back to my apartment to keep writing, the shoe repair guy next door gave me a toothless smile, no doubt laughing at my clumsy, slippery walking style, unused to wet flip flops and unable to move forward without sliding. Now sitting in my room and looking out, the rain shows no sign of abating. I know that as soon as it stops, however, the ponchos will be folded out, the carts will come back onto the street, and my hu tieu guy will unhook the wooden supports that keep his awning in place. I know I say this often but its watching all the little changes in a big city that constantly make it interesting. Whether its wandering on sunny days or watching as the wet seeps into the pavement, Saigon is never a boring place to be.
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 09:45:50 +0000
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