Because no Tết experience is complete without a little spiritual chaos, we decided to visit the Jade Emperor Pagoda…

….blissfully unaware that doing so during Tết is the cultural equivalent of wandering into Tesco on Christmas Eve and expecting a quiet browse. We thought it might be “a bit busy.”

It wasn’t busy.

It was carnage.

One of the City’s Most Important Temples (Apparently Also Its Busiest)

For context: the Jade Emperor Pagoda is one of the city’s most important temples. Built in the early 1900s, it’s dedicated to the Jade Emperor — the big boss of heaven — and packed with statues, altars, fortune-telling rooms, and enough incense to fumigate a small country. 

On a normal day it’s atmospheric. 

On Tết, it becomes a spiritual mosh pit.

The moment we stepped through the gates, we were swallowed by the crowd — no walking, no choosing, just swept along in a human drift that carried us from one shrine to the next like two bewildered dumplings in a very determined soup. 

The pagoda is a warren of little rooms and hidden corners, each one glowing with candles and thick with incense, and the crowd simply decided which ones we would visit. We had no say in the matter.

Sticky, Shiny, and Slightly Citrus-Confused

It was fascinating. Beautiful. Intense. 

And hotter than the inside of a dragon’s armpit. 

Within minutes we were both sticky, shiny, and smelling faintly of sandalwood.

At one point, someone shoved a tangerine into my hand.

A gift for me?

An offering for the gods?

A polite hint that I looked like I needed scurvy prevention?

No idea. I just clutched it like a confused toddler while the crowd swept me onward.

Craig, being a full head taller than me, had a completely different experience. While I was being buffeted around at chest height like a spiritual pinball, he could actually see what was coming. Every time the crowd surged, he stepped neatly aside at the exact right moment, leaving me to be carried forward like a leaf in a monsoon. 

He said he enjoyed watching my facial expressions — apparently I cycled through awe, panic, confusion, and citrus‑related uncertainty in rapid succession.

The Fire Horse Incident

The final room was the peak of the madness. 

I stayed in the human conveyor belt, letting it carry me along, when suddenly a woman grabbed my hands, then my head, and began enthusiastically rubbing me all over the Fire Horse statue. 

I had no idea what was happening. 

But she seemed thrilled, so I just surrendered to the process. 

By the end, I was either spiritually blessed, mildly polished, or both.

Beneath the Chaos

We eventually spilled back out into daylight — dazed, sweaty, and smelling like incense, fruit, and destiny. It would have been easy to laugh it off as pure mayhem.

But beneath the noise and the heat was something grounding.

Beneath the chaos, though, was something grounding. Families praying together. Young couples making offerings. Elderly women whispering wishes into incense smoke. 

We weren’t spectators. We were accidental participants in something deeply meaningful — even if we experienced most of it as spiritual bumper cars.

Chaotic. Overwhelming. Completely unforgettable.

Exactly the kind of glorious madness that makes travel magic –  and if that Fire Horse head‑rub works, we’re in for one wild, unstoppable year.