For some people, New Year’s Eve is an excuse for debauchery. For others, who drag their feet into the future, it’s a dreaded reminder that time is passing. For the optimists, it’s a hopeful night of resolutions. If these are just a few possible meanings of New Year’s Eve for an individual, imagine the significance December 31 has for an entire city.
For Saigon, New Year’s Eve is a coming of age party. The city is another year older, maybe more mature, or even wiser. The streets and buildings are as dressed up as the crowds who inhabit them — a sensory overload of lights and noise. What better time to meet a place, than the night it is illuminated in every sense of the word?
This was the way Saigon introduced himself to us. Our group picked it as the pseudo-midpoint between our homes in New York, Hanoi, Bandung and Shanghai. To welcome 2012, we planned to join the throngs of Vietnamese and fellow foreigners in Saigonese chaos.
It started at noon. The tourist attractions were no different than any other day. Only a surplus of brides and grooms and wedding photographers suggested it might be a special time of year. We drifted from site to site, wondering if the normalcy of the day was any indication of what the night had in store. Perhaps this was one of Saigon’s tricks: to take us by surprise...
It was 5.30 p.m. Happy Hour. We were in an elevator. It climbed twenty-three floors of the Sheraton Hotel, to a macroscopic, westward view of the city. We watched the sun set on 2011. As the sky darkened, the nocturnal Saigon lights woke up below us. Within minutes the cityscape was twinkling. Sounds of car horns and a concert wafted up to us from District One...
It was 7.30 p.m. We left the hotel. The crowds were still mostly sober, everyone rushing to dinner. Motorbikes saturated the streets. We chained our hands together and weaved through the webs of bikes and pedestrians. We followed a friend towards an Indian restaurant. He was a pilot, so we trusted his sense of direction. As for crossing the streets — like usual, the best approach was ‘Don’t Hesitate’. Penetrate the traffic, a few turns, and then dinner, followed by a bar and more pilots. I lost at darts, then I won at darts, then I lost at darts...
It was 11.30 p.m. Back out into traffic. The crowds were denser. Less sober. Happier. Our chain of hands — now longer, but somehow more secure — snaked once again through District One. Finally, we arrived at the nucleus: Saigon’s Time Square...
It was 11.59 p.m. The countdown began. Then, within seconds, like a Cinderella story, midnight brought a sudden transformation. People kissed. Fireworks exploded. The birth of 2012 had happened, and with it the rebirth of its witnesses. There was a collective sense of joy, not only at the glamour of the city, and it’s glowing rite of passage. Perhaps it was a moment when we realised we were all coming of age, growing, and sinking a little more comfortably into our own skin. In short: it was a new year.
