Finding the 'Authentic'

HO CHI MINH, Vietnam—When I ask one of my young cousins, born and raised in Vietnam’s vibrant Ho Chi Minh City, to show me the best places to go “as a local,” he takes me to one of the fanciest department stores in the city. (“There's a movie theater that's really nice up there,” he says.) The famous Benh Thanh Market is too much effort, according to another cousin, because she doesn’t know how to bargain. These family members, comfortably middle class, direct me to destinations like Japanese restaurants and classy coffee shops that could’ve been transported off the streets of Boston. When they vacation in Vietnam, they head not to Hue or Hoi An—places rich in history—but instead to the ritzy white-sand beaches and multi-million dollar resorts of Nha Trang.

The first couple of weeks I spent in Ho Chi Minh City, I was frustrated by my inability to find the “authentic” Vietnam. Markets, temples, war sites, hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the cheapest, most amazing food. And now, I can say this: They’re there. If you look for them, flip through Western guides, and wander the city streets.

But the “locals”? They’re not really that interested. A harsh spectator might say that they don't have any awareness of the cultural uniqueness and significance of their country. But aren't they doing just what I am: trying to find “the exotic”? What to me is remarkable is to those around me just life. I feel a little ashamed walking into a gorgeous temple with a camera to see people too busy kowtowing three times at the feet of the Lady of Mercy on reed mats and praying with bundles of incense in their hands to be snap a photo of the mesmerizing 10-foot statue. And I’m also embarrassed that—even though I was born in Vietnam—when I think of the country, I see the same straw roofs and bustling markets that a complete stranger might imagine.

The motorbikes, though. The motorbikes with their violent honking horns and dare-devil attempts to one-up each other on streets crammed to capacity. They are the Vietnam I remember, one that I hope never disappears. Things have changed a little, of course—reflections of the continual forward march of time and Vietnam’s rapid developmental pace. The bikers wear helmets now. And drive on the right side of the street. Mostly.

Quynh-Nhu Le ’17, a Crimson news editor, lives in Eliot House.