Ho Chi Minh City - Day 4

The day I didn't buy anything

With no more training scheduled, it made sense to spend the day as a tourist. After a few days of information overload, briefings, and getting my bearings, I wanted something simple and obvious. Somewhere well-known. Somewhere that didn’t require too much decision-making.

That naturally led to Ben Thanh Market, the iconic central market so often labelled a tourist trap.

Ben Thanh Market is frequently described as chaotic, aggressive, or wildly overpriced, but in practice it didn’t feel dramatically different from other large markets. The atmosphere was busy, but manageable, and certainly not as hostile as it’s sometimes made out to be. My hesitation there wasn’t really about the market itself, but about haggling. I’ve never enjoyed it. I would much rather pay a clear price, even if it’s more expensive, than negotiate and second-guess whether I’m being taken advantage of.

There were signs throughout the market, mostly indicating what items were rather than how much they cost, which at least made it easier to understand what you were looking at. I can’t really judge pricing, because I didn’t attempt to haggle, but everyone knows what this place is. Locals shop elsewhere, tourists come here, and everyone involved understands that dynamic. It’s also worth considering the difference between what locals earn and what foreign visitors arrive with on holiday.

Even when prices are higher, the sums involved are usually small by foreign standards. Complaints about being “ripped off” often ignore the fact that the difference amounts to very little for the buyer, while meaning far more to the person selling. Expecting rock-bottom prices everywhere simply because a country is cheaper overall misses how tourism actually works. This isn’t unique to Vietnam. It’s true of tourist economies everywhere.

The market itself sells almost everything. Fruit and vegetables, sauces, dried and preserved goods, meat, fish, clothes, shoes. Pretty much everything you could need in one place. Fresh produce markets are usually one of the highlights of travel, and not fully engaging with them can feel like opting out of the experience. Early hesitation around hygiene and sourcing is real, especially when you’re new, but with hindsight it’s probably something worth pushing through. Sometimes the safest option isn’t the most rewarding one.

Across the street, I noticed a shop I didn’t realise I’d been looking for until I found it. If you want to see what real expensive chocolate looks like in Vietnam, go into Maison Marou. I may have been craving proper chocolate since arriving, but I knew this was the kind you don’t buy casually. Still, if you’re visiting rather than living here, it’s absolutely worth trying.

From there, the route toward Book Street passes by the post office, which is worth a stop in itself. It was busy, full of tourists, and lined with beautiful postcards. Sending one should be easy, but it somehow felt complicated. Not because it’s actually difficult, but because it requires a tiny amount of confidence and forward-planning: choosing one, writing it, working out what to say, figuring out where it goes, and then doing the small social interaction involved in sending it. I hovered and looked at them all, but didn’t do it. It’s something I regret a little now.

Outside, the stalls were selling individual postcards, some of them more charming than what was inside. One stall had pop-up cards, and one of them featured a golden retriever, which immediately reminded me of my late dog. I asked to buy it, only to realise, too late, that I didn’t have enough cash. As soon as the stall holder realised this, I became completely invisible. Which, oddly, was more of a relief than anything else.

Book Street itself is visually pleasant but repetitive. A long line of bookshops, almost identical in layout and stock, with very little to distinguish one from the next. It was something I was beginning to notice more generally, food stalls and markets with direct competitors lined up side by side, offering almost the same thing. I was also slowly realising that cookbooks, at least in the way I was searching for them, aren’t really a thing here, which felt like a shame.

After a bad meal the day before, lunch became an overthought process. I ended up in a quiet Chinese restaurant with a huge space and completely empty tables. Nothing fancy. The dish was a classic seafood stir fry. Simple flavours, done well. Nothing special, but importantly, nowhere near as bad as the day before.

The rest of the day was deliberately unstructured. Multiple visits to the pool. A stop at a familiar shop to restock on a few reliable items. Nothing ambitious. Sometimes that’s the right choice.