Nightlife in ‘Nam.
I was sleepless in Saigon (obviously I had to check out the Nightlife as well, then check out from our hotel at 4:30am on Monday, then check into the HK Mag office straight off the plane to file the column)
Fierce Deputy Editor texted: “Douche. Mira’s shef [SIC] is JUSTIN Quek, not Steven. You might wanna mention that in your next column. You douche,” she reiterated. Hmm... how bizarre... I totally said hi to chef Justin Quek when he personally offered his crunchy suckling pig to me at Whisk during THE MIRA party. I have no idea why I printed Steven (he doesn’t even look like a Steven). A thousand pardons, Chef Quek. Justin. Bygones.
Well those bizarre booboos are what you get when you fly off to a whirlwind media familiarization tour of Ho Chi Minh City for the weekend. I was sleepless in Saigon (obviously I had to check out the Nightlife as well, then check out from our hotel at 4:30am on Monday, then check into the HK Mag office straight off the plane to file the column). Well at least UA flew us back business class on their 180-degree flat beds. Maybe that’s why they made us all return to HK at that ungodly hour—they wanted us to LOVE those flat beds. Oh, did we love them. On the airport express back to Central, in complete zombie-in-K-hole mode, I texted the other editors: “Nam was fab; I’ll come in & finish column but I am not capable of pleasantries today. Please do NOT talk to me.”
Yes, Saigon is spellbinding. The first bar I visited was the historical Saigon Saigon bar, right on the rooftop of the old wing of the equally iconic Hotel Caravelle which was celebrating its 50th anniversary and graciously invited us to stay there. On that same exact terrace war correspondents gathered to discuss the future of Vietnam during the conflict. They also make the BEST martinis.
The next night, I left Paul Kay, editor of Time Out HK ,at Apocalypse Now, a giant club where American G.I.s used to party, back when they were stationed in Nam. The place is like a two-storey Wan Chai on drugs, with harlots and everything; I decided to check out Q Bar, somewhere decidedly more my style. Q was literally right across from the entrance of our hotel Caravelle, a dark, technicolor cavern directly underneath the grand Municipal Theatre, this marvelous colonial structure. Lola, the cool bar manager of Q (who also was a stylist in LA for the Vietnamese-American extravaganza, “Paris by Night”) said they just launched their “Reloaded” nights, attracting the alternative Saigon scenesters. Thinking, “Oh, it’s just Nam. How fashionista can they be?” I walked in totally underdressed. I mean, I was wearing beige Givenchy trousers, but they were COMFORTABLE fit. And the Viet stylistas all came in skinny fit. A boy came in with a military-inspired top and fuck-me stilettos; he wasn’t even in drag. I guess they put more into it to differentiate themselves from the peasants and their sandals.
They adore their Gaga there too. When DJ Khanh dropped one of the best mixes of “Poker Face,” these Viet princesses began to wrap their scarves into a ribbon shape and tied it over their heads. I applaud such spontaneity and DIY-creativity!
Sure, most Saigonites’ nightlife consists of sitting on plastic stools on shitty broken pavement smoking harsh cigarettes and drinking Tiger Beer, but the party people in HCMC are way more rockstar than those in HK. And you know what’s SAD? Ho Chi Minh City has better sound systems than almost every club in Hong Kong. Bitch, please!