On Friday night, Paul, Andrea and I went to Vasco’s, a popular expat spot in Saigon which, after over a year of living here, I had yet to sit down and order a drink from.
One of the things I love about a city like Saigon is how history creeps up into the surroundings, suddenly and unexpectedly. “The Refinery” — the complex that Vascos is nestled in — is named such because it was once a big opium refinery. One need look no further for evidence than to glance up at the archway where, clearly visible, in an artfulness and grace not so easily found in this city, sits a gorgeous carving of opium poppies.
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