Though it may seem like an obvious thing to say, some days in HCMC you have a sensory overload. I remember especially my first few months here, often being overwhelmed by it all. There are the smells, of rotting rubbish and sewerage, of steaming concrete after the rain, of simmering broths, durian, fried foods, smoky grilled pork, incense, exhaust fumes, urine at certain (seemingly designated) corners I try to avoid. Then there is the heat. Some days, when you are on the street, wading through throbbing humidity or withering under the fierce sun, it’s all pervasive. And then there is the visual feast which can turn into frenzy, the streets a hotchpotch of tall, narrow buildings squeezed up against each other, the footpaths a mess of street vendors, motorbikes and people spilling out of their cramped houses.
After a while, you don’t get used to it so much as have good days and bad days. I try not to get bothered too much but when I do it’s the relentless noisiness of this place that rankles me the most. I can manage the heat and I mostly enjoy the spectacle. The worst smells are momentary and the others are now familiar enough to be comforting. But the noise of construction, or the constant rumble of the traffic gets inside me. I recently found something I’d written a while ago that said the noises of this city were eating away at my soul (!) That must have been a bad day. Are natives of this city immune to this form of pollution? I sometimes think so as I see someone sitting on the street looking unperturbed while a jackhammer plows through a nearby building, the passing stream of motorbikes keeps up its constant drone, and a clothes shop opposite blasts out thumping techno. Or are they just more tolerant and resigned?
Before this turns into an ugly and predictable expat rant, let me say that I do not have a problem, in fact find comfort in a lot of the sounds I hear in this city. As I sit hear typing I can hear the distant calls of some children who are playing in my alley. An occasional itinerant vendor will pass, and advertise their wares in a sing song cry. Then there are the jangling bells of the massage guy or the noodle boy. I hear a few beeps and motorbikes passing, which is fine, as an isolated occasional sound. There are the entertaining sounds too, like the ice cream wagons. Their 5 second tune is like a cross between synthesized 80s pop music and a muted car alarm. There is also the sticky rice vendor. Whenever we used to hear his cry of ‘Banh Chung Banh Gio’ , we used to follow it with ‘Who banged the door?’ as that’s what it sounded like he was saying. So there are many sounds that make me happy about living in this buzzing, vibrant city.
And what also consoles me, in the midst of the noise, is that sometimes you can see things that radiate quietness, and can transport you for a moment out of the beeping and the droning. I noticed this first when I watched an elderly man serenely peddling his bicycle though the traffic. He looked so dignified, making his way on this most humble mode of transport.
It is the extremes of frenzy and calm that you often experience within the same minute that keep me wondering and wandering around this city.
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