The morning route along the Saigon River
Soft light, slow laps, and the smell of fresh bánh mì on the riverfront.
2024-04-12 · 6 min read
The river keeps time better than any clock. By 5:30, runners and cyclists draft in the soft light while vendors begin stacking bánh mì. The air smells like pepper, diesel, and the steam from a dozen pots of phở.
I keep the notes simple: a corner to revisit, a cafe that keeps its lights low, a bench where the breeze is unbothered. There is no rush to arrive. The joy is in the drift, the short stop to watch a wedding shoot, the way the skyline glows orange before the sun fully clears the bank.
If you have time to wait for the light, you have time to see the city properly.
By seven, the pace quickens. Offices pull their shutters, taxi horns scatter the doves, and the promenade becomes a runway for commuters. I finish a final lap, close the notebook, and order another coffee—slow mornings deserve refills.
