There is such a seat!

More than a hundred years ago, this place was once a place for people with a standard lifestyle like civil servants, for example. The higher I go, the more the past seems to open up before my eyes.
Saigon, roaming nostalgia are the discoveries of author Dao Thi Thanh Tuyen about Ho Chi Minh City – her second hometown. It is also the sentiment and attachment of the author to this city and the regions that she has passed through, with quiet and affectionate things.

That apartment building is very old, looking up from below, I think I’m in the center of Saigon because the walls are peeling off, revealing the light red brick color, sad; iron color rust, color time coating thick layer; the old, very old color, the color of opaque eyes witnessing many changes, kept secret in the heart and did not tell anyone. Going inside, what impressed me was not the rows of electric meters dotted on either side of the wall or the clotheslines fluttering in the wind, but the covered outdoor-style stairs that I’m sure. that the roof could not block a heavy rain and wind. The old-fashioned staircase, only seen in movies, features French architecture, crossing two blocks but not the main way up, but I don’t think it’s an exit because it only stops to the second floor, and leading up to some houses. This place has a cool breeze, so I guess it might be the stairs to get some fresh air. From here I can take multi-angle pictures of a historic Saigon. Opposite the apartment I am standing in, built in the French period, is a building with 70s architecture, temporarily called the American period, with most of the straight lines, the iron frames have almost no unique patterns. Saigon book, nostalgia roaming. Photo: Chi Books. On a small wall there is a frame of barbed wire reminiscent of a time of war and beyond is the Bitexco tower, a modern icon located in the heart of Saigon. I moved the camera a little and found in the bottom corner a wire clothesline with small clips attached. All in one. In the heart of a modern Saigon, there are things that are a bit messy, messy, lazy, and sloppy. On a patch of red brick, ferns emerge from an empty square. On another wall, in addition to ferns, there are strange trees or huts emerging from between the bricks, which cling tightly as a symbol of strong vitality. I descended the outdoor stairs and entered the main stairway. There are stairs with traces of mosaic tiles, stair handrails with typical patterns of French architecture. The elevator room looks old, the mooring lines are tangled. Everything is too old. More than a hundred years ago, this place was once a place for people with a standard lifestyle like civil servants, for example. The higher I go, the more the past opens up in front of me, an old Saigon in the French colonial period. And it’s surprising that next to the old, bold doorways of that time, there are cafes, colorful clothing stalls. Strolling around the floors of the apartment building, I entered a cafe on the top floor. I walked through a small, cozy space decorated with old objects as reminiscent of such a time. I chose to sit on the balcony overlooking the Bank building on the other side. The river below the boats moved slowly up and down. On a wall with many ventilation holes, sparrows chirped, naughtily dropped in a little and then flew away. That day, at that corner of the shop, I felt time stopped, as if I had left the noisy space below and was busy pursuing my own thoughts…