Saigon is not a minimalist city. Here, forms are confusing and many things — such as the power supply or drainage system — do not always function. Integration or harmony with the surroundings only works when everything has been built to look the same, usually by accident. So why all the Modernist architecture?
American Vietnamese writer Nguyen Qui Duc once compared Saigon to a prostitute in a piece he wrote about the country's sometimes haphazard architectural development.
"Saigon was for a while a garish ageing prostitute … the state of affairs in the early 1990s, its former grandeur not quite restored," he elaborated later via email.
The big southern commercial hub often suffers when it comes to comparisons with Hanoi. The old, lake-filled capital is touted as an example of old colonial elegance combined with Asian tradition.
Saigon is quickly and unfairly dismissed as "just another big city" — richer yes, but culturally barren and lacking the Parisian elegance found up north.
Hanoi has been the capital of Vietnam for 1,000 years. Saigon became part of Vietnam only in the 17th century and until the French arrived, it was a small port town. But many of those old colonial buildings, mustard yellow and green shuttered and beloved by tourists seeking "charm", have been knocked down. Saigon is developing so fast that soon anything old might be gone.
The old Chinese merchant houses in the city's Chinatown — Cho Lon in District 5 — are also in danger of being pulled down for new developments. Efforts are under way to protect and preserve them, possibly an irony in an area whose name translates as "Big Market" and was always known for rampant commercialism.
But Saigon's pace and rapid modernisation are also its strengths. While housing in Hanoi replicates (or tries to) the French styles of the past, housing in the south is distinctly Modernist.
Clean lines, less clutter and more creativity. The same spatial limitations apply as Hanoi: tall, narrow houses on small blocks of land and cheek-by-jowl building. But architects in the south seem to have turned these restrictions to their advantage, using basic Modernist-influenced templates to make the most of what they have. Hanoi's French villa-inspired look bundled into a three-metre frontage, or less, looks odd in comparison.
Mel Schenck is an American architect who first came to Vietnam in 1972 straight from university to work on construction projects for the United States government. The Modernist house he lived opposite startled the young graduate. It was a style which still hadn't caught on strong in the US and seeing it in a developing Asian country was a shock. "So I started looking [for more]," he says. He documented his finds with a camera and the photos now appear on a blog he writes about expat life and, more specifically, Saigon's Modernist architecture.
"Here they refine ideas over a long period. Modernisation as they've refined it … they've made it special here," he says.
His blog, "Antidote to Burnout", lists many examples of Modernist design in Saigon. Most are unassuming houses and shop fronts, sometimes cafés. The larger the building, the more bland or confused its design.
"Modernist architecture as evolved in Vietnam is well-suited to the tropical climate and the high density of small lots … it is tied intimately to the everyday lives of the people. I believe Modernist architecture serves as a cultural marker for the southern Vietnamese ... characterised by the wide range of experimentation with colour, texture, lines, planes, materials and landscaping."
The Saigonese will tell you the difference between their cheery, clean-lined houses and Hanoi's ornate French-inspired wedding cake houses is simple — culture. "Hanoians are very traditional but Saigonese are much more modern," says 15-year-old Le Tran Cac Vong, in English, in the living room of his large family home. The Les moved in here four years ago.
They built their four-storey house in a newly developed area of Phu Nhuan, a district about two-thirds of the way to the airport. It isn't a new district the way much of District 7 is, home to a large Korean community that has a look that is often compared unfavourably to Singapore.
But certain areas have been recently developed. The wide streets with large grassy and flower-filled median strips and footpaths that are pedestrian friendly are all common to new residential areas and anathema to the chaos on most city streets.
Their house is typical in some ways of Saigon's Modernist styles — small balconies, little decoration and curving angles as the house sweeps around the corner of its street junction location.
They designed the house with their architects' assistance, wanting a large amount of space for their family of four and a downstairs area for the wife's private clinic. They picked out the indoor fittings and the stone for the outside veneer.
The interior is similar to any house in Hanoi or Saigon — a sweeping wooden staircase, old-style hardwood furniture inlaid with mother of pearl. There are elements of French and traditional Vietnamese. As well as chandeliers and a big TV.
Dr Tran Thi Thanh Mai, a skin specialist, hasn't heard of "Modernism"; she likes her house the way it is but doesn't know much about architectural styles. After a mutually confusing discussion about styles and stuff such as Minimalism, she offers: "Life in Saigon is very busy, so we like things to be more simple and basic [than Hanoi]."
One person who has thought a lot more about design and Modernism is Nguyen Nam Hung.
His café chain Soho, with six outlets in Saigon, is an example of a conscious choice to design with Modernist elements in mind. The first outlet, on Nguyen Thi Minh Khai street in downtown District 1, opened in 2007. Unlike older houses, with their poured concrete decorations and small balconies, Soho is mostly large walls of tempered glass and expanses of dark concrete.
"I studied overseas and I couldn't find a place [in Saigon] where I was comfortable," he says, with slight traces of an Australian accent. He had studied for years at Melbourne's RMIT and lists the city's modern-looking Federation Square complex as an influence on the design.
"Coffee culture was a very old-style coffee shop. Modern, contemporary design was only in five-star hotels. I wanted to create a place with traditional Vietnamese coffee but with modern style architecture."
Vietnam is the world's second largest coffee exporter, after Brazil. Café culture is a huge part of life in both cities and functions as a way for friends to get together much as pubs do in the West.
The idea was initially met with scepticism by architects. "I would say that they are very conservative. I faced problems. What you really want is not what they think of, so it's a struggle. They are new to the Minimalist style and still stuck in the old-fashioned ways."
Customers have been quick enough to embrace his new ideas though, with five more outlets opening in three years.
"I think the perception of customers is changing. People thought this was a very upmarket place. They are starting to get used to that kind of style."
On a Friday morning, this seems to be true enough. The café is packed with the young professional crowd, meeting for an early office lunch or coffee, or sitting alone in corners with their laptops.
The huge sheets of glass, which act as walls and ceiling, were not hard to get hold of, says Hung, but tempering them was costly. And the difference in design extends beyond the exterior.
Writer Nguyen Qui Duc, who owns a bar and gallery in Hanoi and a large Modernist house in the mountain area Tam Dao which has been featured in many magazines, also had problems with his architects.
"My architect in the house put up flowers on the ceilings — because ‘everybody does this'. But this is a Modernist house, straight lines!"
This can be one of the problems. The country, in the south at least, has evolved its own Modernist style but architects have got used to designing that way, or replicating French villas, and little else.
Cuong Le, a Vietnamese Frenchman and architect who worked in Paris for decades before moving to Vietnam, is optimistic but grounded.
"Up to now they don't have an opportunity to do architecture. In Vietnam they are just beginning. I don't think there is a specific style of architecture but they are eager to learn."
Helen Clark is a writer based in Vietnam.
