How has your life been transformed in the past 30 years? Changes might materialize overnight, but some tend to creep up on you at a glacial pace. Through this collection of images from 1992, mull over how Vietnam as a country has grown with every 12-month cycle.

These photographs were taken by travel writer Mark Hodson, who had a rare opportunity to tour Vietnam in the early 1990s when international tourism was virtually unheard of here. Without the presence of themed resorts, travel agents, cable cars and cruise boats, scenes in the country were captured as closely as possible to the quotidian life of locals.

A busy phở joint in Hanoi.

“I was using a Canon AE1 SLR, shooting on Fujichrome Velvia 50, mostly with a 50mm lens,” Hodson writes on his website about the trip. “I had prints made from the original transparencies, and what you see below are scans of those prints. I haven’t adjusted any of the coloring.”

Here are some glimpse of Hanoi, Hội An, and Nha Trang in the 1990s:

Fruit vendors set up shop in front of rows of old buildings in Hanoi.

The vast emptiness of Hanoi's airport, where Hodson was heading to “Vientiane aboard an ancient Russian-built Tupolev jet.”

A casual food street in Hanoi where one can slurp on porridge and instant noodles, or chew on a plate of hot xôi.

Sampans were often homes of families in Hạ Long. There wasn't any hotels in the area, so Hodson reported sleeping in a Russian workers' hostel.

Living on the water was much more common in 1992 than today.

Wood-fired inter-province coaches were quite unreliable and often broke down mid-trip.

The colonial design of Huế's train station.

An ice cream cart in Hội An.

The boats of Hội An.

In Đà Nẵng's Chợ Hàn, a grain merchant took a nap during slow periods of the day.

Fishmongers in Hội An with their catch of the day.

Boats in Hội An.

A dapper Hội An man posed for a photo.

It's corn!
A big lump with knobs
It has the juice (it has the juice).

Cross-country trips were often truncated by rest stops and engine failures.

Xích lô drivers in Hội An.

A fiery cockfight in Nha Trang.

A Nha Trang resident and her morning fish haul.

In this rare collection of images from 1903 Indochina, life in the peninsula appears as if in a dream, with rows of colonial-style houses in between heritage trees and natural landscapes that weren’t interrupted by concrete.

These photos and illustrations were part of the book Les Colonies Françaises (The French Colonies) written by Brossard in the 1900s, a few decades into France’s subjugation of the Indochinese peninsula. Have a closer look below:

Traditional dancers performing in Vinh.

Chùa Cầu in Hội An.

Inside the Gia Long Mausoleum.

Court officials.

Ships and sampans congregate where the Thị Nghè Canal meets the Saigon River.

A pristine Vũng Tàu.

Naga Bridge in Cambodia.

A pagoda in Phnom Penh.

Two men smoking opium and thuốc lào.

The port of Hải Phòng.

Phố Hàng Nón in Hanoi.

A canal in Chợ Lớn, Saigon.

A village in Hòn Gai, Hạ Long Bay.

Rue Paul Bert, now Tràng Tiền, in Hanoi.

A temple in Vinh.

[Images via Flickr manhhai/Bibliothèque nationale de France]

While editing a retrospective of my recent work from Vietnam in the summer of 2019, I discovered 50 yellow boxes of Kodachrome slides in my basement that were shot in 1995. The images were from my first trip to Vietnam.

Back then, I was curious about the country because I grew up during the war, and despite being of draft age, I was exempt from serving. In 1995, there weren’t many foreign tourists in the country. It was a year after the United States normalized relations with Hanoi and lifted sanctions. Most of the passengers on the flight to Hồ Chí Minh City were Việt kiều, visiting their country for the first time since they left. The tension they felt as they cleared customs was obvious.

In many of the towns and cities I visited during my three weeks in Vietnam, the same scene repeated itself. Young men congregated outside in teahouses to watch American-made action movies, many of them depicting warfare taking place in the jungle. This was before digital flat-screen monitors but the audio/video was still impressive. From down the street, I would hear the soundtrack of American soldiers shouting orders at each other, with gunfire in the background.

I stayed for close to a month and mainly traveled overland by train on the Reunification Express from Saigon to Hanoi. I stopped over for a few days each in Nha Trang, Đà Nẵng, Huế and Hanoi, and made overland trips to Đà Lạt and Hội An. Passing through the rice fields of Central Vietnam as the sun was rising felt like a dream; the landscape out the window had so many variations of the color green. 

What initially struck me about Hanoi and Vietnam in general was the beauty, the color, and the charm of the people. However, when I looked through the lens and zoomed in closer, the picture wasn’t pretty. This city was digging itself out of war and poverty. This photograph taught me that from a distance all may look well, but up close there is a lot more than meets the eye.

There were also more sober moments, like having a meal with a psychiatrist in Huế who recounted how, as the pressure of modern-day life increased, more people would be in need of his services.

This photo was taken at a rest stop on the road between Nha Trang and Đà Lạt. We were in a minivan and the state of the road made it a truly frightening journey. 

In Hanoi, I met a widow whose husband was killed during the American War. She actually invited me up to her apartment and cried as she recounted the story.

1995 was a few years before digital cameras and technology were introduced and the web was in its infancy with ever-so-slow dial-up modems. After editing my work, I had scans made of about 30 images for what would become my very first website, called Vietnam Journal. It went live in the winter of 1996, one of the internet's early photography sites. It would be two years before the web was introduced in a very limited way in Vietnam.  

While traveling in Huế, I ate most of my meals at Luc Than Family Restaurant. The proprietor, Luc, was a deaf-mute whom I was able to reunite with in the winter of 2016.

For almost twenty years, I had done editorial and travel photography for magazines, some of which I later sold as stock to agencies in various countries, mostly in Europe. In Vietnam then, there weren’t many stock opportunities. Just the mausoleum where Hồ Chí Minh was preserved, people riding around on bicycles and women with conical-shaped hats. In 1995, the photography business model was on the verge of changing. Digital technology was still in its infancy; 35mm DSLR cameras cost over US$20,000 and weighed several pounds. A few years later, with the advent of royalty-free photos, the market for stock sales disappeared. The combination of these circumstances allowed me to simply explore and photograph what interested me. 

I fell in love with Vietnam shortly after arriving and returned several times between 2015 and 2019, including teaching photography via the Fulbright program in 2015. 

When I returned to Nha Trang in 2019 I was unable to find this bridge, not having taken note of its name. 

I have made countless photographs like this, but what sets this one apart are the memories I have of the time and place. Unlike most travelers in Nha Trang, I was drawn to the older, industrial part of town, not the beach which was just beginning to be developed. Now 25 years later, I still remember crouching on the ground photographing this group of boys who were about half my age. The light was fading quickly and I was concerned about holding my camera steady, with such a low film speed, about five stops fewer than what I'm able to shoot digitally today.

These children outside of the Đà Lạt bus station were dressed up for a family event. 

This couple with their bamboo mat, coffee and cigarettes had cordoned off their personal space at Hoàn Kiếm Lake in the heart of the city. It was a very hot day in June and it seemed as though nothing existed outside of their own little world. They didn’t seem to be aware of my presence although I was pretty close. It’s curious how both of the younger men in the background noticed them, perhaps because of my presence. The three elements make a curious little triangle.

A food vendor in Hanoi serves meals with a colorful mural depicting patriotic workers on the wall behind her. 

Elements in this image bring back sharp memories. The woman facing the camera is at least 55 or 60 years old and must have witnessed and experienced untold horrific events during the American War. While traveling in Vietnam on this first trip, I became haunted by these women. I tried to imagine what they had gone through, their direct suffering and loss.

The scene I captured of young people exercising around Hoàn Kiếm Lake in 1995 seems not much different from what I witnessed when I returned in 2019. 

On my first day in Nha Trang while I was drinking coffee, this Amerasian man, Linh, approached me. His English was much better than most of the locals so we hung out together for part of the afternoon. He thought I might have connections to help him to relocate to America.

More locals exercising around Hoàn Kiếm Lake. When I took the photo, I couldn't help but wonder if the man in the foreground had lost his arm during the war. 

This image almost looks like a scene from the war in Vietnam. A group of laborers were transporting stacks of coal. Each wooden crate attached to their bicycles weighed over 100 pounds.

In 1995, bicycles and cyclos were far more common and impacted the rhythms of traffic in the capital city.

The 50 rolls of processed Kodachrome film from my first trip to Vietnam in June 1995 that I discovered in the basement of my home in the summer 2019.

See more of Geoffrey Hiller's photos here. 

[Top image: On my second day in Saigon, I went to a park downtown and saw a group of students exercising. They approached me and asked where I was from, and who I was traveling with, interested by the unfamiliar concept of traveling alone. So I showed them photos of my wife and two young daughters in the US.]

We often see archival images of old Hanoi, but these photos are different — they are personal. The following shots, which come from a collection of five photo albums, are the only surviving record of my two great-great-grandfathers’ presence in what was then Indochina.

I don’t know when exactly they arrived, but it was around 1880, right in the midst of the French colonization of Tonkin. One, named Vézin, was an entrepreneur or a contractor; the other, Louis Vola, was a civil engineer for the colonial administration. 

The most remarkable subject in these albums is the documentation of early railway construction. We can see land being leveled, bridges being built, locomotives at train stations and workers toiling in the mountains.  

After gathering some information from my father and uncle, it seems more than likely that both my ancestors worked together on the railway from Phủ Lạng Thương, which is just outside Hanoi, to beside the Chinese border at Lạng Sơn.

Neither of the two men has gone down in history; their names are almost completely forgotten. And it might be for the best. As Tim Doling explains in his book The Railways and Tramways of Việt Nam, Vézin was not known for his kindness:

Kidnappings were a regular occurrence on the construction sites of the Phủ Lạng Thương–Lạng Sơn railway. Monsieur Vézin himself was kidnapped in July 1892 by a band that included many of his own workers, who then demanded money for his safe return.

While it can be hard for me to read about such a troubled and immoral family history, it at least seems clear that Vézin eventually received the treatment he deserved. 

Have a look at the railway’s construction below:

This article was first published on Urbanist Hanoi in 2018.

Old archives of images from 1960s Saigon are easy to come by, but how often does one get to have a peek into the past version of Đà Lạt.

Sans the ubiquity of camera phones today, photography was once an expensive hobby that few could afford. For most of the 1960s and 1970s, visual records of Saigon and Vietnam were created nearly exclusively by foreign travelers and American servicemen on their film cameras. This is one of the reasons why many albums of old Saigon photos are just limited to downtown Saigon, while those taken outside the city were often in the vicinity of US Army bases.

A view of the Saigon River taken from the Caravelle Hotel.

This set of film photos showcases a typical tourist’s trail in Vietnam in the 1960s: photos taken from the balcony at Caravelle, a detour to the Saigon Zoo, and local city streets chock-full of bicycles. Nothing much is known about the author, C. E. Hablutzel, apart from the fact that they were a prolific travel photographer who visited many countries across the world from 1960 to 1965.

Đà Lạt Market.

Hablutzel’s Vietnam itinerary included Saigon, Lái Thiêu, Thủ Dầu Một and even a rare trip to Đà Lạt, offering some vistas of the sleepy resort town during a time before today's rampant concretization. If the Saigon shots are filled with people and urban rhythms, Đà Lạt photos are awash in different shades of green, from luxuriant hills to checkerboards of vegetable gardens being grown in the open air without the greenhouses of today.

Have a closer look below:

A funeral procession on Lê Lợi.

Morning market on Bến Chương Dương (Võ Văn Kiệt Boulevard).

Hablutzel's tour guide at Lăng Ông Bà Chiểu.

Tomb of Lê Văn Duyệt.

A bird's-eye view of Saigon.

In front of the Saigon Opera House.

Vietnam from above.

The intersection of Nguyễn Biểu and Phan Văn Trị.

The temple in the Saigon Zoo.

The Bến Nghé Canal near Ông Lãnh Bridge.

River communities near Ông Lãnh Bridge.

Bến Nghé Canal.

Local kids playing in the canal. View from Bông Bridge.

Durian vendors on Hải Thượng Lãn Ông Boulevard.

Vendor selling mangosteens on the street in Lái Thiêu.

Garden in Lái Thiêu.

A pottery workshop in Thủ Dầu Một.

Đà Lạt Market.

Pathways near Prenn Waterfall.

Ankroet Lake.

An elephant serving tourists.

Prenn Waterfall.

Fresh fruits at Đà Lạt Market.

Cam Ly Waterfall.

Gougah Waterfall.

Liên Khương Waterfall.

Crop fields stretching across hilly areas.

No greenhouses to be seen.

Vegetable fields in suburban Đà Lạt.

A boy in Đà Lạt fishing on the bank of Hồ Xuân Hương, with the Palace Hotel in the distance.

[Photos by C. E. Hablutzel via Flickr user manhhai]

About 55 kilometers from Saigon, in the small commune of Tây Hoà rests the 17/03/1982 Railway Cemetery. It currently houses 85 unidentified graves of victims of the Train 183 Disaster, the deadliest railway accident in Vietnamese history.

March 16, 1982

It was a humid night at Nha Trang Station. Almost all of the surrounding area had sunk into a deep slumber, except for the platform housing SE6, also known as Train 183. It was about to embark on an eight-hour journey to Hồ Chí Minh City, with designated stops to accommodate additional passengers. Inside the locomotive, engineer Đậu Trường Tỏa, first mate Phạm Duy Hạnh and trainee Trần Dao Chi were finalizing their preparations, while conductors welcomed the first group of passengers onboard. Train 183 was part of the main North-South intercity railway, so the crew had expected a high volume of passengers as the route progressed. But for now, everything appeared to be in order, and 183 began to depart at 10pm.

Train 183’s route with 9 stops before arriving at Saigon Station. Map via JHNews.

Train 183 continued operating without incident until the early morning of March 17. After passing through the provinces of Ninh Thuận and Bình Thuận, Đậu Trường Tỏa was instructed by the authorities to stop at Long Khánh Station in Đồng Nai. The surprise inspection was intended to detain potential smugglers, as black market operations were rampant at the time. The inspection could also assist the crew in removing unticketed passengers, who had been on the train for the past hours. 

Free-riding had plagued intercity lines such as 183 for years, so much so that people would refer to them as tàu chợ (lit: market trains), meaning “trains without laws.” It was common knowledge that smaller, less strict stations in the countryside offered the easiest means to sneak onto trains. And in most cases, unticketed passengers would bring their entire possessions on board, even animals, in order to relocate to a larger city. As a result, by 4am, over 400 passengers including commodities, livestock and cargo of different sizes were crammed inside the 11 carriages. The suffocating stench of diesel and animal waste led some passengers to disregard safety measures by standing near open entrances, flocking to carriages for oversized goods, or even riding on the train’s roof. It was as hectic as one might imagine, but no one expected disaster to strike. 

A typical scene on tàu chợ. Photo via Văn hóa & Phát triển.

At Long Khánh Station, contraband inspectors were waiting for Train 183. However, as it approached, they soon noticed a problem. The locomotive did not appear to be slowing down; rather, it was accelerating. Before reaching Đồng Nai, Đậu Trường Toả had noticed that the train was deviating from its speed limit of 55 km/h. As he tried to apply the brakes, to his horror, he realized that they had stopped responding. This meant that either the main air compressor or the braking pipes connecting each carriage had been damaged. With no emergency braking system installed, the three engineers now faced the reality that the train was accelerating out of control. At 4:33am, the train rushed through Long Khánh Station, leaving those waiting bewildered at what just happened.

Long Khánh Station in the 2010s. Photo via Vietnam Railways.

Passengers on board had also noticed the train’s increasing speed. Although most assumed that the engineers were making up for lost time, some remained anxious as vibrations grew more intense by the hour, with overhead luggage starting to pile up in the passageways. To maintain order, the conductors announced that the train was traveling in rough terrain, and everyone must remain seated until further notice. It was unclear why the conductors were not informed of the current situation. Perhaps the engineers dreaded the resulting panic. Or perhaps with his years of experience, Đậu Trường Toả believed that he could solve the problem in time. Nevertheless, upon failing to stop at yet another station in Dầu Giây, Train 183 was traveling at a speed of over 100 km/h. 

Remnants of the old Bàu Cá Station located in today's Trảng Bom District, Đồng Nai Province. Photo via Thanh Niên.

At 5am, convinced that the engineers had lost control of the locomotive, passengers had begun to flee from 183. As most exits were blocked by mountains of luggage, some plunged themselves through the train’s roof and windows, in a last-ditch effort to survive. However, at such high speeds, all attempts proved fatal. For many passengers, especially families who were hoping to start anew in Ho Chi Minh City, their worst nightmares had become a reality. Now, they might not make it beyond Tây Hoà. As cries of terror reverberated throughout the train, some passengers decided to vent their anger upon the conductors, while others embraced their loved ones for what could be their last moment together. With the train descending further into chaos, patrolman Nguyễn Thành Sơn was pleading for 183 to drop speed. Being the last personnel present at Bàu Cá Station, he was the only one who knew that the train was fast approaching a C-shaped curve about 500 meters away. If 183 did not decelerate, derailment was inevitable. 

Unfortunately, it was all too late. After final warnings were given and received no response from the engineers, Nguyễn Thành Sơn watched helplessly as 183 veered off the railway track and crashed into a nearby field, as a massive explosion engulfed what was left of the locomotive. Đồng Nai provincial police, firefighters, and dozens of Tây Hoà volunteers arrived soon after. They were confronted with burning wreckage, horrific wailing and raging fires that consumed the day's dawn.

Map showcasing Bàu Cá station, its train track and the site of 183’s derailment (red pin).

While the injured were transported to a hospital in Saigon, authorities estimated at least 160 people had perished upon impact, with children as young as four years old found among the wreckage. Most of the crew of 183, including Đậu Trường Toả, Phạm Duy Hạnh and Trần Dao Chi, along with officials of neighboring provinces were among the casualties. A few hours later, the final death toll reached around 200 after dozens of victims succumbed to their injuries. The derailment was, by all accounts, the worst railway accident in Vietnamese history. 

Having a definitive confirmation on the death toll, authorities began attempting to identify the victims. However, problems arose. Reunification had taken place only eight years prior and the national identification system remained inadequate and almost non-existent at communal levels. Furthermore, the fire had destroyed any remaining documents needed to notify the victims' next of kin. As such, only a handful were recognized by their families through names and initials sewn onto their clothing. Up to 113 victims remained unidentified two days later. In order to clear traffic and console the grieving residents, the victims were then transferred to a plot of land 3 kilometers from the site of the derailment. Volunteers began digging temporary graves for the dead, praying that one day, the unfortunate souls would reunite with their families. 

Nameless graves in the area. The Headstone on the right reads: "These are the two gravesites where our mother is buried. If you are a family member of the other person, please contact us for more information." Photos via Pháp Luật.

Two years later, Vietnam Railways (VNR) issued a statement confirming that brake failure and inaction of the engineers were the primary causes of the derailment. The corporation also aided Đồng Nai provincial police to indict those related to the disaster. Four employees at Long Khánh Station received sentences of 15 years apiece for gross negligence, while seven smugglers received 8 years for violating railroad traffic laws. Although the charges were meant to comfort the victims’ families, many felt unsatisfied as hundreds of bodies were left stranded in Tây Hoà. In response, VNR agreed to construct tombstones as well as a fence enclosing the graves, while vowing to aid local authorities in identifying the deceased and bringing them home. However, that promise was never fulfilled, and the nameless victims remained at the Railway Cemetery for the next 30 years.

By 2014, the cemetery had fallen into disrepair after years of neglect. Only parts of its wooden gate remained with untamed grass and rubble obscuring most of the burial grounds. Families of the victims were shocked by the condition. Within a year, a petition was sent to VNR with four requests requiring immediate resolution: first, the retrieval of burial records to locate victim’s gravesites; second, DNA analysis for the identification of the victims who may or may not be buried together; third, low-cost renovation of the gravesites to ensure distinction; and fourth, the renovation of the cemetery’s gate and fences. Only one request was granted, which was to repair the external infrastructure of the Cemetery, while the others were denied on grounds beyond VNR’s jurisdiction. 

The main gate and inside the cemetery in disrepair in 2014. Photo via Thanh Niên.

Who exactly held authority over the Railway Cemetery had been a source of contention for years. Even during the 1990s, the People's Committee of Đồng Nai and the Department of Labour stated that the cemetery was the responsibility of VNR and the railway industry, as it was the result of a railway accident. VNR, on the other hand, was adamant that only the provincial governments could authorize the excavation, as doing so without permission was illegal. By the time the renovation was completed, both official agencies delegated responsibility for the cemetery’s upkeep and care solely to the people of Tây Hoà. Most agreed without hesitation and continued to fund the construction of a shrine at the disaster site.

The shrine built for the railway disaster. Photo via Thanh Niên.

Many who lived through the Subsidisation Era will forever remember March 17, 1982. It was a day that revealed decades of blunders and destitution in a country still recovering from the war. Yet, it was also a day that brought about changes. As Vietnam entered a period of economic growth in the early 1990s, several legislations were enacted to improve railway safety, including the mass recall of D9E engine, which had been used by Train 183, in favor of the new D19E, aptly named the ‘Đổi Mới’ locomotives. Infrastructure development also received increased funding, and the curve that caused the disaster, as well as Bàu Cá Station, were soon dismantled to give way to a new railway route. 

Maingate and within the cemetery in 2018. Photo via Thanh Niên.

Today, 85 graves are housed at the Railway Cemetery after 23 remains were reunited with their families after years apart. The main gate has been refurbished for a second time, now sporting a golden coat of paint and a plaque that describes the tragedy that once befell the small commune of Tây Hoà. Once deserted, the disaster site has been given new life via the development of a housing complex for railroad workers, inside which the shrine sits reverently at the center. Each year, residents come to the cemetery with baskets of offerings in hand to sweep and clean the gravesites of those who remain.

About 45 kilometers from downtown Quy Nhơn stands the Quang Trung Museum (Bảo tàng Quang Trung), one of Vietnam’s finest museums.

It chronicles the life of Nguyễn Huệ: the rise of the Tây Sơn rebellion in Bình Định that he led with his brothers, and the stunning defeat of the Nguyễn Dynasty in the south and the Trịnh Lords to the north via a series of battles, that established him as one of the nation’s most revered military minds. And finally, the museum honors his eventual self-coronation as Quang Trung when the nation was briefly reunified. In addition to providing ample information about a figure who has attained near-mythical status, it introduces facets of the region’s not-too-distant past.

The museum was built in 1978 but the spacious grounds and airy buildings feel much newer thanks to the careful upkeep, wealth of artifacts and general love and resources that accompanied its creation. Whenever anyone requests advice on where to go when visiting Quy Nhơn, I put the museum at the top of the list, particularly because the drive there offers a charming and colorful jaunt through pastoral serenity. 

Ancient weapons, coins, musical instruments and earthenware, alongside dioramas, model architecture and detailed maps help one envision life during Nguyễn Huệ’s staggering ascension to power. Unlike many museums in Vietnam, the artifacts and images are accompanied by detailed text descriptions in both Vietnamese and English which enhances the museum experience and enables one to spend several hours slowly strolling the cool rooms, imagining the bygone era.

Saigoneer first visited the museum with low expectations, however. Having been disappointed by museums even in major metropolises, we didn’t foresee one situated seemingly in the middle of nowhere fostering such an engaging and informative experience. We were thrilled to be so wrong. 

The most impressive elements at the museum are the enormous murals that depict important plot points in the Quang Trung story. Some of them stretch across entire cavernous rooms, with the smallest background details such as burning ships, flailing soldiers and voluminous clouds that symbolize auspicious futures having received beautiful brushstrokes. The site should certainly be used if anyone wants to pitch a big-budget historical Nguyễn Huệ animated film.

While these photos don’t do justice to seeing the murals in person, and the museum’s other exhibition items demand witnessing as well, they offer an appropriate introduction to the museum’s focus and stellar presentation of an important figure whose history is too often summed up with a few simple sentences. Below are some of our favorite murals from the museum along with the surrounding narratives that the museum offered to introduce them:

Positioned between the Nguyễn Lords who controlled southern Vietnam and the Trịnh Lords in the north, since the mid-16^th century, modern-day Bình Định was subject to an oppressive system of corrupt mandarins. Selfish local leaders lived lascivious lives while peasants remained impoverished. Unfair taxes coupled with harsh living conditions resulted in rampant destitution, starvation and death. Within this context, farmer insurrections were not uncommon.

One of the area’s most notable insurrections of the era occurred in 1695 when Mr. Lía, born Võ Văn Doan in Phù Ly District, Quy Nhơn province, united with other peasant rebels in the area. Even though he was born an orphan, circumstances led him to become a strong and charismatic leader who gained support from his compatriots including a number of ethnic minority groups who the Nguyễn lords similarly oppressed. After some initial victories, he was defeated, but his efforts became legend and a popular lullaby honoring him exists today:

The mountainous region in the west of 18^th-century Quy Nhơn Province (modern-day Bình Định Province) was known as the Upper Tây Sơn (literally Western Mountains). It was there that the namesake rebellion began, led by three brothers; in descending order: Nguyễn Nhạc, Nguyễn Huệ, and Nguyễn Lữ. In 1771, Nhạc began to prepare the peasants in the area, including members of Bahnar ethnic minority group with whom he had become close via the trade of betel leaves and areca nuts.

From the strategic position protected by natural barriers, they consolidated their resources and trained for their eventual movements to Quy Nhơn City to the southeast. It is said that Nhạc, a tax collector, had amassed a great deal of wealth by withholding the tax payments he was tasked with gathering and instead using them to fund his growing army. Vestiges of the group’s activities remain in the form of coins and artifacts which bear the markings of feudal dynasties before their reign. 

The Nguyễn Lords in the south used the Quy Nhơn Provincial Citadel as an important provincial base for administrative and military activity. Nhạc was wanted for his failures to deliver collected taxes with a bounty placed on his capture. Taking advantage of this, he pretended to have been captured and his men brought him into the citadel in a cage. Once inside, he sent up a signal flair to alert his waiting army who staged an ambush attack on the citadel. The Trojan horse tactic worked and the victory against the provincial government allowed the rebellion to progress toward their goal of attacking the Nguyễn forces.

In 1775, the Tây Sơn were caught between the Trịnh forces commanded by Hoàng Ngũ Phúc from the north and the Nguyễn led by Tống Phước Hiệp in the south who had recaptured the Phú Yên Citadel from the Tây Sơn. Nguyễn Huệ commanded a force that was greatly outnumbered by Tống Phước Hiệp’s soldiers and thus staged a false compromise, pretending to assist them against the Trịnh. But during the negotiations, Nguyễn Huệ launched a sneak attack on Xuân Đài Gulf. The Nguyễn were lured out of the citadel and promptly defeated. In the aftermath, the Tây Sơn re-secured control of the Phú Yên Citadel and by extension, the region. The Nguyễn retreated south, the Trịnh fled north and Nguyễn Huệ emerged as the highest-ranking general of the insurgent army at the age of 22. It proved to be an important moment in the establishment of his legacy as a military genius and the displayed prowess sent the Trịnh and Nguyễn into a panic.

After the battle for the Phú Yên Citadel, The Tây Sơn army set its attention on wiping out the Nguyễn Lords in the south, beginning with their troops at Gia Định. They originally defeated them and took control of the Gia Định Citadel in 1776, but would later withdraw with men and provisions to Quy Nhơn, ushering in a back-and-forth control of the fortress. Nguyễn Huệ and Nguyễn Lữ re-took it in 1777 and, in 1782, Nguyễn Huệ and Nguyễn Nhạc again retook it. This later battle to reconquer it drove Nguyễn Ánh and his men, which included French support, off the mainland and in search of assistance from the Siamese King. Ultimately the Tây Sơn attacked the Gia Định Citadel five times before conquering the entire southern region which ended the 200-odd year feudal reign of the Nguyễn Lords in the south. 

Nguyễn Huệ rose from farmer to national hero during one of Vietnam’s most famous naval battles. The Rạch Gầm-Xoài Mút battle set 20,000-man Tây Sơn forces against Nguyễn Ánh and the Siamese King Sakri (Rama I) who led 50,000 navy and infantry soldiers and 300 gunboats. The Tây Sơn attacked the enemy stationed in Trà Tân from their base in Mỹ Tho and feigned defeat and retreat which lured them up the Tiền River. Early in the morning on January 19, 1785, Nguyễn Huệ ordered an ambush, bringing his navy in from both ends of the river. Trapped, the enemy forces were assailed by cannons on the riverbanks and gunboats stopping their movement up or down. The combined Siamese and Nguyễn forces were quickly annihilated in what is considered a righteous defeat of aggressive invasion and pathetic actions of selling out the nation by Nguyễn Ánh.

In 1786, Nguyễn Huệ led the staggeringly quick and resounding defeat of the Trịnh Lords that ended in Thăng Long via sequential naval routes beginning in Phú Xuân (later renamed Huế). Upon the Tây Sơn’s arrival, Lord Trịnh Khai rushed out atop an elephant to confront them, but his soldiers refused to follow him. In just 10 days, Nguyễn Huệ and his forces overthrew the Trịnh Lords, ending a nearly 300-year reign and re-unifying the nation.

The Trịnh lords that fled sought the assistance of the Qing in southern China who mobilized 290,000 troops to retake Thăng Long. From his capital in Phú Xuân, Nguyễn Huệ decided to return north to drive them out. But before doing so, he erected a platform on the top of Mount Bân to pray to the gods. He proclaimed at that moment to have ascended to Emperor with the dynastic title Quang Trung.

At the end of 1788, Quang Trung traveled with his troops to retake the Thăng Long Citadel. While the Qing were celebrating the Lunar New Year, he attacked the Ngọc Hồi Fort, 14 kilometers from Thăng Long, while another group of forces attacked the Đống Đa Fort. Shocked that the Tây Sơn were not celebrating Tết, the Chinese forces were unprepared and got destroyed. The victory ultimately secured independence for the nation for the remainder of Nguyễn Huệ’s life and is considered one of Vietnam’s most significant military successes. 

While other versions of this story exist, including the academic take offered in The Tay Son Rebellion by George Dutton, the one accompanying the murals at the Quang Trung Museum is engaging and should certainly give you some incredible scenes to envision the next time you stroll down Nguyễn Huệ Street. The artwork and museum as a whole represent a powerful way to make facets of history resonant in the modern age, reminding visitors of what legends lurk behind our daily lives.

Saigoneer makes no attempts to hide our love for Quy Nhơn.

The Bình Định Province capital seemingly has it all: mountains for hiking, pristine coastlines, a unique food scene and fascinating history that includes the rise of Nguyễn Huệ and his brothers, as well as the life of Hàn Mặc Tử. It is thus a special pleasure to marvel at the city when it was even less-developed and still had many scenes to get our ventricles throbbing.

Boats on the beach.

These photos taken in 1965 by American Tom Robinson reveal a Quy Nhơn of red dirt roads and working fishing boats, farmers going about their daily affairs, and a growing collection of western architecture spurred on by the increasing presence of foreign residents.

Classic handwriting signage lining the main road.

The collection presented by Flickruser manhhai reveals that before it straddled the line between tourism destination and an essential provincial capital, Quy Nhơn existed in the quaint nexus between an urban center and agricultural outpost. Take a peek at the photos below:

Locals on the beach staying safe from the sun. 

Fertile farm land on the outskirts of the city.

General commotion downtown on the unpaved streets.

An old van loaded up for transport.

Vendors pausing en-route.

Preparing for a journey beyond the city.

A one-way street with no traffic lanes.

Rickshaw drivers enjoying some mid-day shade.

Looks a bit different, but the commerce is generally the same 50-some years later.

Before all the resorts, large buildings were few and far between in Quy Nhon.

An elderly couple unwraps their purchase on the street.

Kids goofing for the camera.

Lunch time!

A pretty warm, comfy scene.

An average day in the city.

Freshly caught fish for sale.

Toodling about.

Not an insignificant amount of cattle.

[Photos via Flickr user manhhai]

When they first drew up plans for a citywide tramway network in 1894, it seemed as though the Hanoi authorities would follow Saigon’s example by opting for steam traction. Yet, by the time government approval was forthcoming in 1899, advances in technology made it possible to construct the entire system as a state-of-the-art, one-meter gauge electric tramway.

In 1900, the Compagnie des Tramways Électriques d’Hanoï et Extensions (CTEH) was to set up to build the first two tramway lines, which were jointly inaugurated in November 1901.

A CTEH Line 1 tram at the Place des Cocotiers terminus.

Setting out from the Place des Cocotiers terminus next to the Petit Lac (Hoàn Kiếm Lake), Line 1 led southward to Bạch Mai and Line 2 northeastward to Giấy village, near today’s Bưởi Market. A subsequent decision of July 20, 1905 authorized the extension of Line 1 to Chợ Mơ on the Route Circulaire (now Đại La Street).

A CTEH Line 1 tram passes the Petit Lac.

In 1904, work began on Line 3, which led east from the Petit Lac to the Pagode des Corbeaux (the Temple of Literature) and then headed southwest to Thái Hà Ấp. This line was extended to Hà Đông in 1914 and to Cầu Đơ Market in 1938.

A CTEH Line 3 tram at Hà Đông.

Construction of Line 4 got under way in 1907. Following the path of Line 3 from Place des Cocotiers to the Pagode des Corbeaux, it then branched westward to the Pont du Papier (Cầu Giấy).

In its early years, despite its apparent popularity, the Hanoi tramway network suffered continuous financial problems. Until as late as 1913, CTEH remained a deficitary operation. Thereafter, profits remained relatively modest, precluding adequate maintenance on its rolling stock, track, catenary and buildings. In 1929, the increasingly run-down network was taken over by the Compagnie des Tramways du Tonkin (CTT), which upgraded large stretches of track and catenary and ordered replacement second-generation tractor and trailer sets from France.

It was under the CTT that the final stage of network expansion was implemented. A decision of November 14, 1930 authorized the creation of Line 5, which branched off Line 3 and headed south along the Route Mandarine to Kim Liên and northward from Place Neyret to Yên Phụ on the Red River Dyke. In 1943, Line 5 was extended further south as far as the Route Circulaire, in order to serve the René Robin Hospital, the radio station and Bạch Mai airfield. With the completion of Line 5, the tramway network in Hanoi had reached approximately 30 kilometers in length.

13 CTEH Line 3 tram at Place Neyret.

In 1952, at the height of the First Indochina War, the CTT was renamed the Société des Transports en Commun de la Région d'Hanoï. However, on June 1, 1955, this company ceased operations and all track, equipment and rolling stock was transferred to the new Democratic Republic of Vietnam.

A Hanoi Line 1 tram (1927 stock) heads south along Hàng Bài towards Bạch Mai in 1960.

Unlike its Saigon counterpart, the Hanoi tramway system continued to function for nearly 30 years after independence. In fact, in 1968 the Hanoi People’s Committee even built an additional spur from the Cửa Nam junction along Cột Cờ Street (now Điện Biên Phủ) and Hùng Vương Street, rejoining Line 2 south of Trúc Bạch Lake. However by the early 1980s, track, catenary and rolling stock had deteriorated to the extent that the tramway was no longer fit for its purpose. Line 1 (Bạch Mai Phong) was closed in 1982, followed in subsequent years by Line 4 (Cầu Giấy), Line 3 (Hà Đông), Line 5 (Yên Phụ) and finally, in 1989, Line 2 (Đường Bưởi).

A Hanoi Line 2 tram (1927 stock) picture in the 1980s.

Line 4 (Cầu Giấy) was offered a brief reprieve of sorts in 1986, when the route was taken over by a small donated fleet of old trolley buses from Eastern Europe. The Hanoi-Cầu Giấy trolley bus fleet outlasted the trams, soldiering on until 1993 when it, too, fell victim to modernization.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebooks Exploring Huế (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2018), Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019) and Exploring Quảng Nam (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2020) and The Railways and Tramways of Việt Nam (White Lotus Press, 2012) For more information about Saigon history, visit his website, historicvietnam.com.

What do you miss most about the 1990s?

Is it the jean-on-jean fashion, the distinct lack of air pollution, or the childhood snacks and toys that have more or less gone extinct? While roaming the neighborhoods of central Hanoi, a Swedish tourist by the name of Per Lander snapped these black-and-white shots of the capital on an unremarkable day. Without the fanfare of Tết or the Christmas season, these scenes of the city stand out for their pure urban rhythm and are great nostalgia fodder.

Have a closer look below:

Nguyễn Siêu Street.

An old man selling used glasses and a street vendor grilling chả.

A trà đá stall and shops.

Shoe shop on Hàng Dầu Street.

Đông Kinh Nghĩa Thục.

Driving through Hàng Gà.

Honda Cubs are prevalent.

Bamboo for sale on Hàng Gà Street.

Local students at the end of a school day.

Phố Cầu Gỗ.

[Photos via Redsvn]

If there’s a thing this writer remembers distinctly about the early 1990s, it would be nothing, because I was barely a person that could eat and survive by myself.

Which makes these photos taken from 1992 to 1994 all the more fascinating because they are a hodgepodge of the familiar and the strange. I can identify all the species present in the neatly arranged pyramids of fresh fruits; I recognize the shiny and hyper-ruffled wedding gown because my sisters got married in one of those; I can read the names of the deceased inscribed on tombstones — and yet, it feels strangely voyeuristic and surreal to marvel at these images, to transiently set foot in someone’s memories, because I’ve never lived these moments.

The shots are part of a collection of travel images taken by Flickr user Laurent KB, a French tourist who traveled across Vietnam in the early 1990s. Their subject matters are nothing new, but they are valuable as reminders of a crucial time, both for the one who photographs and the ones who were photographed, we can’t get back.

Morning on Hạ Long Bay with freshly caught seafood.

The chaos of a wet market.

Spices and condiments.

A banana xích lô in Hanoi.

Tropical fruits at a market.

Rice varieties and beans.

Children frolic at a neighborhood playground.

Jet fighter-themed twister hits different.

A fishy xích lô.

A new bride on her wedding day.

A man in Hạ Long ferries coral clusters.

Rushing to work.

Sun-drenched Hạ Long.

Patterns and fabrics of the 1990s.

Ready to spice up broths and dipping sauces.

Sugar vendors at a market.

A sugar shop in Đà Lạt.

Floating on emerald.

A small hamlet on the water's surface.

Setting sail.

The rocky central coast.

Thiên Mụ Pagoda in Huế.

Artisans working on a Nguyễn-Dynasty urn.

Smile! You're on camera.

Peppa what chu doin'?

Đà Nẵng's morning fish market.

A family on their houseboat.

Drying fish in Hạ Long.

Coal mining in Quảng Ninh.

The vast nature of Điện Biên Phủ.

Xóm Bóng Bridge in Nha Trang.

Ladies mending a fishing net.

Riverine merchants in Cần Thơ.

A lady manning a stall selling utensils made of coconut husk.

Workers at a brick kiln.

An old Hanoian artist does sketches.

A busy market in Hanoi.

In 1996, it had been one year since Vietnam officially joined ASEAN, the first legitimate volume of Doraemon was released, and some of us at Saigoneer were actually alive.

Silvery nostalgia aside, one must acknowledge that the country was plagued by numerous developmental issues in the 1990s. Poverty was common, and diseases and nutritional deficiencies were rampant, but for once, many of Vietnam’s natural landscapes were intact — many of those diverse aspects of the country were present in these travel photography shots by Flickr user tobeytravels.

Tobeytravels gave us permission to share some of her shots taken on the road in 1996, spanning Saigon, Hội An, Huế, Đà Nẵng, and more. Have a closer look below.

Central Post Office, Saigon.

Hàm Nghi Boulevard, Saigon.

A shooting range in Củ Chi, Saigon.

The souvenir shop at the War Remnants Museum, Saigon.

Lê Duẩn from the Reunification Palace, Saigon.

Bình Tây Market in District 6.

A couple having their wedding pictures taken on Mỹ Khê Beach, Đà Nẵng.

Ngũ Hành Sơn, Đà Nẵng.

The karsts of Hạ Long.

Cát Bà Harbor in Hải Phòng.

Drinks and vegetables in Cát Bà Market.

Homewares for sale in Cát Bà.

Snacks and bia hơi in Hạ Long.

Tourist boats in Hạ Long.

A bridge over Suối Yến.

Boats crowd the sides of Suối Yến.

At the starting line of a boat trip of a lifetime.

Honda Cub in Hội An.

Freshly caught seafood in Hội An.

Life by the Thu Bồn River, Hội An.

The misty national road from Hội An to Quy Nhơn.

Morning market on the road to Quy Nhơn.

Makeshift market kiosks.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

A camion carrying vegetables.

Young Quy Nhơn kids sell bananas to tourists.

A small fishing village in Nha Trang.

A feast on the water in Nha Trang.

A smorgasbord of bananas at Chợ Đà Lạt. 

Fresh flowers in Đà Lạt and Cao Đài worshippers in Tây Ninh.

What is it about coming across old photos that tugs on our heartstrings so much, even when they depict a time when some of us weren’t alive yet?

It’s no secret that we’re huge fans of nostalgia at Saigoneer — so much so that we created this whole category of articles for it — and we have seen and featured a myriad of vintage images. This collection of Vietnam shots by Stefan Hajdu, a German traveler who visited the country in 1989, is one of the most outstanding sets of old Vietnam photos we have come across in recent memory.

Hajdu has kindly allowed us to share his album of travel photos, which he scanned from slides. In these captures, some fascinating scenes emerge, like passengers sleeping on hammocks inside the North-South train, or Hanoi’s rickety red tram chugging its last service days — 1989 was also the last year that Hanoians could ride on these vehicles.

Have a closer look at these scenes of Vietnam in 1989 below:

An impromptu Honda Cub (and Vespa) "race" in front of Bến Thành.

Bicycles were still a crucial part of personal transportation.

The Bạch Đằng promenade from the Hotel Majestic. In the distance on the water is the Saigon Floating Hotel — an Australian hotel that was repurposed by a Japanese company for use in Saigon. 1989 was the first year that this luxurious behemoth was docked in Saigon.

A picnic in front of City Hall.

Đoàn Văn Bơ Street in District 4 was still a dirt road.

A collection of portraits of Saigoneers.

An interprovince bus stops on the Hải Vân Pass.

The scenic view from the North-South Train.

Sleeping inside the train is not for everyone.

A misty vista on the train tracks.

The Hiển Nhơn Gate on the eastern side of the Imperial City.

Floating homes in Huế.

A chicken vendor in Huế.

Another entrance to the Imperial City.

Riding a bike with a poncho is a great way to relish the local scenery.

The coolest bike gang in Huế.

Fancy a chicken?

The badassery of Huế residents.

A family on the way to Quảng Trị.

Standout fashion from a Hanoian man and two young boys near Quảng Trị.

Young children with their female guardians on the way to Quảng Trị.

The essence of old Hanoi in one shot.

Inside Hanoi's now-defunct tram.

A tram car on its way in Hanoi. In the 1980s, the capital's tramway network had deteriorated to the point that the government had to start shutting it down. In 1989, the only route remaining was Line 2, which eventually went out of commission by 1990.

[Photos courtesy of Stefan Hajdu via Flickr]

Along the rivers and canals of Mang Thít, clouds of smoke from the Mekong Delta’s last brick kilns languidly stream into the air.

For the longest time, clay brick-making was very common tradecraft in southwestern provinces. It thrived the most in Đồng Tháp, Vĩnh Long, and An Giang. Rich clay deposits, combined with a dense network of waterways, helped create a robust hub ideal for brick production and distribution.

Through specialized craft villages, these brick kilns offered abundant work and a good way to earn a living for locals. Rivers and canals were filled with vessels transporting these building blocks, and with them, the region’s culture and way of life to locations across the country.

Among these communes was the district of Mang Thít, Vĩnh Long, once heralded as the south’s “Kingdom of Bricks.” In its heyday in the 1990s, the village fired up over 1,500 kilns to create roof tiles which were highly sought-after for their mineral content and baking technique.

But Vietnam’s pottery pinnacle faces obscurity in light of engineering advances and environmental concerns. Some abandoned brickyards are reclaimed by moss, vines and time, crumbling in obsolescence like long-forgotten ruins.

The gift of brick-making was "bestowed" upon the people of Mang Thít by the Mekong River. The nine river distributaries pick up silt from far upstream, course it through basins across the land, and deposit it at its final stop to terraform the Mekong Delta into a massive flatland. And from the river sediments, humans shaped and constructed materials to assemble shelters of their own.

At clay pits, miners dig through meters of soil to reach the dense layer of clay. In the past, a good number of men became người cạp đất (lit: dirt scraper) — meaning to scrape clay and sell it to brickyards. Miners were supervised and clocked in and out by pit owners and received their pay at the end of the day based on the number of barrels they quarried. Once so commonplace it entered the local lexicon, the term has faded into obscurity as fewer and fewer Mang Thít natives are getting into the business of “eating dirt” when excavators can do a more efficient job.

The clay’s transformation begins when it gets mixed with sand using a ratio determined by the brick mason. The mixture is poured into molds to be shaped into bricks, tiles, pots, and other products. The kneading and molding of clay used to be completed manually, but machines have also taken over these processes, minimizing the time and effort needed.

Once the bricks have dried into a russet color, they are placed in a kiln to be tempered. Well-honed craftsmen arrange the slabs in such a way that heat is distributed evenly, giving them a uniform color and texture. Rice husks have traditionally been used to fuel kilns, but some yards are also experimenting with electric furnaces. The mason watches and keeps the chamber ablaze for about a week. On the seventh day, when the temperature reaches 900°C, the fire is put out, and the peephole is sealed shut with clay so that the bricks can cool down until the kiln is reopened. Baked bricks shed their earthy brownish tint and don a new coat the color of sunrise, emboldened by their fervent gestation.

In front of each kiln is a small altar, or as explained by the craftsmen, a shrine for the “god of the kiln.” Workers believe that everything is protected by the divine, thus the worship of such divinity can mitigate the turbulence of their profession, and fill the sleepless nights spent next to the burning kiln. The perpetual cycle of opening and closing the kiln mirrors the life of these brick masons. They establish a sacred bond with their kiln and its fiery life stages, trusting that the kiln, a spiritual entity, will protect those who keep its fire burning.

But the flame that keeps these brickyards going is slowly being extinguished. Craft villages such as Mang Thít are under immense pressure to adapt as better alternatives begin to compete with traditional bricks, while criticism regarding the environmental impact of emissions from masonry activities is also curbing ongoing production. At the crossroads of a society in transition, what remains of a prosperous kingdom is the debris of its former glory, and soon to be the remnants of a distant past.

But not all hope is lost. Around the world, decommissioned industrial structures are sometimes preserved and rehabilitated to serve new functions, gaining new lives as galleries, cultural attractions, and art studios. The architectural treasure of Mang Thít, too, awaits its chance at a metamorphosis into a recognized modern architectural heritage.

Until official acknowledgment comes, the village remains faithful to what it has been doing for the past decades: baking bricks to build the country while serving as a witness to how the people of Vĩnh Long innovate, live, and love through the eras.

If you ever have the chance to travel on the waters connecting Cái Bè, Vĩnh Long, and Cần Thơ, be on the lookout for the banks of Mang Thít where the village’s chimneys still hum a century-old work song, binding soil into homes, and bidding river-farers luck on their voyage into the heart of the Mekong.

This article was published as part of a content collaboration between Saigoneer and Architecture Excursions (Tản Mạn Kiến Trúc), an independent collective focused on Vietnam’s urban heritage, especially of southern Vietnam. To find out more about Tản Mạn Kiến Trúc’s work, visit their Facebook page here.

Get ready for a road trip with nostalgia riding shotgun.

Đà Lạt of 1992 is a video posted by YouTube channel Lâm Tre Bụi. In that year, most of us at Saigoneer hadn't been born yet, but somehow the footage still feels familiar. Perhaps it's because of the narrative subtitles that Lâm added based on his personal experience of the city.

The video starts the same way most people come to Đà Lạt in real life: in a car through the Prenn Mountain Pass. The on-screen drive through the pine forest is made more real with Lâm as the "tour guide" in the annotated video sequences. Lâm adds that he got the reel from Viet Pham, a contributor who must have been well off to afford to record color videos back then.

The video then takes us to the city center as Lâm points out places of interest such as Đà Lạt Market and Xuân Hương lake. The city was much quieter back then, without the throngs of tourists and the cluster of shops we see there today. Still, some things remained unchanged through the years and here and there, the streets are littered with trash while couples hold hands and exchange smiles in one of Vietnam’s most romantic cities.

“Whoever passed through here during that time can feel themselves immersed in the reel,” Lâm writes. And whoever hasn't can still feel the same, too. Such is the case of this writer, who was a mere infant in Hanoi when the footage was taken. Watch the video below and see for yourself:

Video via YouTube channel Lâm Tre Bụi.

From the end of the 19^th century to the beginning of the 20^th century, hát bội left a major mark on the hearts and minds of many viewers, including French colonizers. The French brought this form of folk performance art to the 1889 Exposition Universelle in Paris, a world’s fair organized to showcase international cultures. Scenes of hát bội can be seen on promotional materials, souvenirs, and lithograph prints from back then.

A poster advertising the 1889 Exposition Universelle.

Hát bội can be traced back to the 12^th century, when it was first performed as a pastime activity for royal members and noble families. Gradually, the colorful art started to reach other demographics through traveling troupes on boats across the Mekong Delta. Over time, hát bội became a significant cultural artifact, taking root in the life and leisure of southern Vietnamese, and even nationally. Hát bội often imbues moral lessons, promotes grace and respect, praises the good, chastises the bad, and seeks good fortune for the next harvest season.

A poster with the caption: “How we entertain soldiers in the Far East.”

Thanks to its popularity, hát bội artists have always been invited to perform at Kỳ Yên festivals in southern Vietnam, with the sounds of their production signifying an exciting time to be had by all. Kỳ Yên festivals are usually held at the start of the year in villages to wish for an auspicious year. One show tends to be a long event, extending to several nights and divided into different acts. An example is San Hậu, which takes three performances to finish the story. Thus, many fans practically abandon their family while the troupe is in town to participate in the festivities.

An illustration of a hát bội show. Image via the Claude Debussy Archival Center.

An illustration depicting a hát bội performance at the 1889 Exposition Universelle. Artwork by Frederic Baile. Image via Vẽ Về Hát Bội.

A painting by Paul Doumer depicting the production. Image via Gallica digital archive.

During their occupation of Vietnam, the French studied and were fascinated by the art of hát bội, a distinctly Vietnamese form of folk art.

A hát bội show at the Paris world's fair.

A lisographic print of hát bội actors.

One example is Vua Đời Đường (Tang-Era Emperor) is a play directed and produced by Nguyễn Đông Trụ. The production chronicles the assassination attempt on Lý Tiên Vương orchestrated by his brother-in-law, who schemed to steal the throne. The aspiring murderer was assisted by four court mandarins during a royal banquet. After narrowly escaping death, the king managed to survive thanks to the help of his adopted son. Following the violence, he returned to the throne. The play was a polarizing performance among foreign academics due to the novel way it approached costume design, music, and musical execution. Still, one can’t deny that many viewers and critics were enchanted by the unique tones of Vua Đời Đường. French composer Debussy even compared it with Ring des Nibelugen, an opera by Wagner. It was reportedly the inspiration for his composition ‘Pour Les Quatres.’

Hát bội on commemorative plates from 1889.

As part of the 1889 world’s fair, scenes of people watching and performing hát bội were portrayed in many promotional materials and souvenirs, so we now have a chance to glimpse how this centuries-old art form has existed through the eras.

Behind the scenes of a play.

Much like their descendants today, schoolchildren of 1930s Vietnam also took art classes as part of their syllabus. In this rare collection of what was essentially our grandparents’ homework, we can surprisingly learn a lot about the daily life of Mekong Delta residents from nearly 100 years ago.

Art is a crucial subject in assisting the development of a young child’s sense of aesthetics, even though not every pupil is excited by drawing lessons. During these hands-on hours, students not only learn how to record what they observe on paper, but also how to appreciate art and life.

Just by flicking through these intricate art assignments by students of the École Primaire de Long Xuyên in 1930, one can feel the pulse of life imbued in every household object and scene portrayed. The scans were archived by the French National Museum of Education.

École Primaire de Long Xuyên, 1920.

Long Xuyên County (as it was then called) received its first administrative designation in the 1860s–1870s. In 1900, Long Xuyên became a province, consisting of three districts: Châu Thành, Thốt Nốt, and Chợ Mới. In 1917, Governor-General Albert Sarraut issued the General Regulation of Education in January 1917, allowing Long Xuyên as a province to establish public schools — which led to the birth of École primaire de Long Xuyên, or Long Xuyên Primary School.

In this artwork collection from 1930, students commonly opted for household items in their still life sketches, like areca nut trays, vases, and even one ghe hầu — an ornate pleasure barge used by members of the upper echelons on vacations. One student chose to draw a pair of geckos, which, as thằn lằn fans at Saigoneer, we feel should deserve more than a 7/10 grade.

It does come as a surprise when we marvel at these sketches because the level of attention to detail was remarkable. From the vases’ elegant inlaid mother of pearl to regal dragon patterns on trays, the students did a sterling job at capturing the artisanship of past craftsmen in their work. Moreover, by looking at these artworks, we can have a glimpse into the range of home items of past Vietnamese that might longer be in use today, such as the areca nut sets.

A noticeable motif present in the decorative items that were portrayed by students was the “lotus and duck” subject or liên áp in Vietnamese. The character for áp (鴨), meaning “duck,” has an element of giáp (甲), meaning “first.” This signifies an aspiration to attain high achievement in academic pursuits. Liên (蓮), meaning “lotus,” is a homophone of liên (連), meaning “continuous.” Depictions of “lotus and duck” reflect people’s desire to have good luck in their studies and future career.

Interestingly, one of the most popular subjects is the areca nut and betel leaf kit used by past generations. A set usually has a tray or lidded pot, a pitcher of lime powder, a cutter, a mixing spoon, dried thuốc xỉa leaves, and a spitting bottle.

In three works by the authors Sư, Huỳnh Văn Mới and Kỳ, we can identify some of these instruments in three different styles, all beautifully crafted to showcase their owners’ financial station. In the set drawn by Sư, the exterior of the box is lacquered and embellished with a “lotus and duck” scene. For the sets owned by Mới and Kỳ’s families, the receptacles were made of bronze.

Three sets of different trầu cau utensils show us the diversity and complexity of our ancestors' areca nut-chewing pastime.

An areca nut box, or cơi trầu, is a multi-component container with a lid, used to store the various tools needed in the consumption of areca nut and betel leaf mixture. Ô trầu, on the other hand, is simply a hollow cylindrical container where everything is kept. According to Trọng Tính, a co-founder of history forum Đại Nam Hội Quán, these setups were usually displayed by wealthy households back then in their living room to flaunt their social status.

Commenting on this set of artworks, Tính also noted that the opulent boat drawn by Trần Tấn Tước isn’t just any mode of transportation commonly seen now. It’s a ghe hầu, a leisure vehicle reserved for river cruise and is decorated with festive flags, a prominent rudder, and other amenities. Today, not many have survived, though two are still kicking around, including the Sáu Bổ owned by Trần Văn Thành, and the Sấm owned by Lê Văn Mưu, also known as Ông Trần.

Marveling at these art assignments by students in the 1930s Mekong Delta, we get to know a delightful facet of the life of past Vietnamese. Areca nut boxes have largely disappeared from our daily routine, and now mostly exist as artifacts in museums. If you’re lucky, there might be one lurking in a corner of the family living room, waiting to be rediscovered. If not, then you’ll probably have to settle for digital images or one of these detailed sketches by students of the Long Xuyên Primary School.

Vietnam is certainly a country looking to the future, but sometimes it's worth looking back at the past as well.

With an old building in Hanoi making the news this week, it's as good a time as any to consider previous decades. Redsvn recently shared a set of photos taken by an unidentified photographer from across the northern region around the year 1900. 

Hanoi's Old Quarter is recognizable thanks to its low-slung shophouses, many of which remain today in various stages of disrepair. But other areas are completely unrecognizable.

A street in Hanoi's Old Quarter. The traffic and fashion are certainly different, but the buildings wouldn't look out of place today.

A village on the outskirts of Hanoi.

Buildings along Hoàn Kiếm Lake. 

Hoàn Kiếm Lake looking a bit less crowded than today. Tháp Rùa can be seen in the background.

A water wheel outside of Hanoi.

Hanging out with enormous birds in Hanoi's Botanical Gardens.

A buffalo being bathed in rural Hanoi.

Taking water from a temple well.

A snapshot of Bưởi village, which was famous for its production of dó paper. 

Karsts in Kỳ Lừa, Lạng Sơn Province.

The Bắc Ninh Citadel.

A large French building along the railway in Bắc Ninh.

Fishermen pulling in nets at Hải Phòng's Đồ Sơn beach.

A temple in Hài Phòng.

A French-built factory at 61 Trần Phú, Hanoi is being destroyed to make way for a multi-purpose building.   

According to Tuổi Trẻ, the colonial-era block of buildings has four facades facing Trần Phú, Lê Trực, Nguyễn Thái Học, and Hùng Vương streets. The street-side buildings are a staple of early 20^th-century architecture, while the factory in the middle had a unique roof structure. At the time of writing, demolition work is already well underway.

Photo by Linh Pham.

Back in 1996, the building was given to the Post and Telecommunication Equipment company (Postef) — a part of the Vietnam Post and Telecommunication group —  to be developed as a research and development center. However, it was converted to commercial land for real estate development a few years later.

On the side of Lê Trực-Nguyễn Thái Học, the building has a plaque that commemorates the Hanoi People’s Army shooting down an American plane in 1967. A Ba Đình District official told Tuổi Trẻ that since this is a municipal-level project, the district has no information and the plaque would “probably be destroyed along with the building.” Since then, the district has asked Postef to preserve the relief during the construction process.

Photo by Khôi Nguyên via Tuổi Trẻ.

Rising in place of the factory will be an 11-story hotel-office building designed in a contemporary international style. After the newspaper shared a rendering of the new structure, many Hanoians took to social media to voice their concern that the new building would be incongruent with the neighborhood's architectural style.

Image via Alinco.

Martin Rama, the project director of the Center for Sustainable Urban Development, told Tuổi Trẻ that the new structure is an “attack” on the “personality” of the city. Rama suggested that while the high-rise could be built in the middle of the block, perhaps the street-side buildings, along with the plaque, should be preserved and renovated.

[Top photo by Tao Van Nguyen via Facebook user Martin Rama]

To make room for new developments, Huế authorities are mulling options to uproot and relocate a century-old villa.

Tuổi Trẻ reports Hoàng Hải Minh, vice chairman of the Thừa Thiên-Huế People’s Committee, as saying the province is considering employing relocation expert Nguyễn Văn Cư to move the historic mansion at 26 Lê Lợi in Huế.

The villa was constructed in the early 20^th century in the French colonial style on a lot near the banks of the Hương River, right across from the South Gate of the Imperial City. The building once served as the base of the Huế branch of the Vietnam Alliance of Arts and Literature Associations and played host to many members of the country’s literati in the 1980s and 1990s, including poets Nguyễn Khoa Điềm and Thanh Hải, composers Văn Cao, Trịnh Công Sơn and Trần Hoàn, and more.

Since the alliance moved their office elsewhere, 26 Lê Lợi has sat abandoned, suffering from significant wear and tear. In 2018, Huế authorities issued a list of 27 remarkable French-style architectural relics to be preserved, but curiously excluded 26 Lê Lợi. In the same year, it was announced that the lot at 26, 28 Lê Lợi would be demolished to make room for a tourism-commercial complex, a decision that incensed the local intelligentsia.

While Huế officials have not moved forward with any specific strategy to relocate the decades-old structure, Nguyễn Văn Cư has reportedly done preliminary inspection at the site to devise a relocation plan. Cư, a Saigon-based engineer and founder of a company specialized in tackling subsidence and other residential foundation problems, became well-known after his firm successfully elevated a 1,500-ton villa in Thảo Điền Ward two meters above the ground in 2020.

He told Thanh Niênduring the inspection on March 15 that the relocation of 26 Lê Lợi is “challenging but could be done.” As the old building was constructed with a brick foundation instead of cement, he proposed removing only the above-ground portion and resettling it on the opposite lot. Moreover, as that lot is blocked by a heritage banyan tree, the building will also be rotated 90 degrees. The work is estimated to take five months.

[Photo via Mot The Gioi]