The Great National Spring Clean

Vietnam has a way of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. At Tết, the Lunar New Year, the whole country seems to pause, take a deep breath, and then burst into colour.

From Ha Tien to Ho Chi Minh City, and through the Mekong villages in between, people were scrubbing and polishing their homes with the kind of zeal usually reserved for tax audits.

It isn’t really about dust. It’s about sweeping away last year’s misfortune and making space for better luck to move in.

Even our little hem joined in. Lanterns were strung across the lane, glowing like fairy lights, and one neighbour had turned his front yard into what can only be described as a horticultural hallucination. Flowers everywhere. Lucky charms dangling. Money bags swaying.

It looked like prosperity had exploded all over his house. He stood there proudly, as if he’d personally invented spring, and invited us in to admire his oasis of optimism.

In the south, yellow apricot blossoms bloom everywhere at Tết, their colour meant to coax good fortune into the year ahead. Kumquat trees — heavy with small, perfect fruit — stand guard outside homes and shops, symbols of prosperity and balance. Our neighbour had clearly decided moderation was for lesser mortals.

Red Envelopes & Incense Smoke

During the days leading up to the 16th, the city felt oddly split in two. Streets that are normally a constant negotiation with scooters grew quieter. Many shops closed as families returned to their hometowns.

But behind half-shuttered doors you could see movement — trays of fruit being arranged, crates of beer delivered, altars glowing softly with incense smoke.

Children clutched red lì xì envelopes like tiny shareholders in the family fortune, their faces glowing with the promise of carefully folded notes inside.

Tết isn’t just another New Year’s Eve party. It’s the big one. The one that matters. The one where debts are cleared, houses are scrubbed, and ancestors are honoured. In almost every home we passed, fruit was stacked with surprising geometry before photographs of grandparents watching calmly over proceedings.

While Western New Year is about resolutions we’ll abandon by January 3rd, Tết is about renewal, family, and starting fresh. It feels less like a holiday and more like a collective exhale.

Enter the Fire Horse

This year is the Year of the Fire Horse — a rare zodiac pairing that comes around only once every 60 years. The Horse symbolises freedom and adventure; add Fire and you get energy, passion, and transformation.

In other words, the zodiac’s party animal.

I declared it my spirit animal after three G&Ts. Craig muttered something about hoping it wouldn’t gallop off with his wallet.

Standing in Saigon surrounded by flowers and lanterns, it felt entirely fitting.

Saigon After Dark

And where better to welcome a Fire Horse than Saigon?

The city was alive with dragon dances, singers, artists, and locals dressed in áo dài so beautiful they made our sweaty tourist clothes look like discarded laundry. Lion dance drums echoed down side streets, deep and rhythmic, vibrating through your ribs before the performers even appeared in flashes of red and gold.

But what we loved more than anything were the children.

Babies stared at us wide-eyed, clearly trying to process the sight of a Western face at close quarters. Some looked mildly alarmed, others fascinated. Mothers would gently reassure them — smiling, nodding — as if to confirm that yes, this pale, slightly sweaty foreigner was perfectly safe.

Toddlers marched up solemnly to shake hands. A few, clearly emboldened by festival sugar and new clothes, blew kisses before darting back to their families. It was impossible not to be charmed. There is something disarming about being inspected by someone under three feet tall and deemed acceptable.

We started with simple dining at The Alley, then moved on to Bùi Viện Street for beers and G&Ts. Confetti rained down, bands played, and yes — I had a little boogie. I love to dance and there was no stopping me.

By midnight on February 16th, we were perched on a brown paper mat — purchased by Craig with all the enthusiasm of a man being asked to donate a kidney — beside the Saigon River.

Fireworks exploded from islands and skyscrapers, lighting up the sky in a display so spectacular even the Fire Horse might have paused mid-gallop to admire it.

Nearly a million people crammed in around us. The romance of togetherness faded slightly when we attempted to walk home and accidentally wandered onto a highway before retreating, somewhat humbler, to the side streets.

We finally stumbled home at 2 a.m., hot, sweaty, slightly drunk, and completely exhilarated – having detoured back through Walking Street for a drink or two, and yes, a bit more dancing because I simply couldn’t help myself.

The Morning After

The next morning, Saigon felt tender and faintly hungover. Streets were quieter again. Incense drifted lazily through the warm air.

And everywhere we walked, people stopped to wish us Chúc Mừng Năm Mới — Happy New Year.

Our receptionist beamed as though we were long-lost cousins rather than temporary room occupants. The family on the main road who sleep under tarpaulin recognised us and waved cheerfully. Even the bar owner paused his morning sweeping to grin and offer his greeting.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t transactional. They took a moment.

Families gathered indoors over sticky rice and sweet treats, beginning the year gently. The noise dialled down to something softer, more intimate. Even the Fire Horse, it seemed, was resting.

Tết isn’t really fireworks. It’s polished floors, red envelopes and fruit arranged with suspicious precision. It’s toddlers blowing kisses. It’s strangers taking the time to wish you well.

And welcoming the new year here felt like the perfect beginning to something bold, bright, and — if it has anything to do with us — at least mildly chaotic.