In the Big Market: Exploring Saigon's Chinatown

I’m pretty happy too, as it’s Sunday morning and I’m wandering aimlessly around the streets of Cholon, aka Saigon’s Chinatown. Whilst it’s unlikely that such a large, unruly, chaotic city as Saigon could ever be gentrified, it’s equally true that District 1, where most tourists stay and where you’ll find most tourist attractions, has had its rough edges smoothed off over the last decade or so. To discover the Saigon of old – the tiny alleyways, the markets, the incredible street food, the conical hats, the pavement barbers and coffee stalls, the boisterous locals – you need to escape D1 and dive into the outlying districts, and few are more fascinating than District 5, which encompasses the historic city of Cholon. 

Originally settled in the 18th century by the persecuted Hoa people (Vietnamese of Han Chinese ancestry), Cholon (the name means Big Market) officially became a city in 1879 before merging with neighbouring Saigon in 1931. Yet despite having been absorbed for almost a century, Cholon has managed to retain a character all its own, and longer term residents of the city will always feel as if they’re crossing an invisible but very noticeable border when they travel from one to the other. 

Most tourists who visit Cholon are Chinese or Taiwanese; the few westerners who venture here tend to stop at a couple of the more popular pagodas before heading back to D1. At Smiling Albino however, we like to go deep into a destination and spend our time exploring on foot, to really get a feel for the place. Coming into an area as fascinating and historic as this, and just hopping between a couple of pagodas by car, is a huge waste, and we’d argue that Cholon has as much to see – if not more – than its more famous neighbour.

Of course, like most visitors I start with two of the city’s most famous pagodas – Thien Hau and Quan Am. If you’re expecting the lavish golden temples of Thailand, Cambodia or Laos, then you couldn’t be more wrong: in this part of Vietnam, worshippers practice a very local form of Buddhism based mainly on Chinese traditions, rather than the Theravada form more common elsewhere in Southeast Asia, and this is reflected in the smaller, more simple nature of the pagodas.

Here in Thien Hau, unlike on the streets outside, peace and quiet reigns. Worshippers quietly light candles and wave incense, whilst picturesque incense coils hang from the ceiling. Interlopers such as I are made cautiously welcome, provided we don’t get in the way. Bored security guards (everywhere in Vietnam has at least one security guard, and they rarely have anything to do other than smoke endless Hero cigarettes) happily stop and chat or pose for photographs, delighted to meet a foreigner who speaks Vietnamese. You really don’t have to be remotely spiritual to enjoy the cool air, the smell of incense, and the respite from Cholon’s bustling streets.