District 7

Yoga this morning was the last of the taught beginner's course at the Sivananda centre. Our regular instructor had gone to Thailand, so we had a Vietnamese teacher. She ran us through 10 of the 12 basic asana that we have learned - the remainder involving headstands and other advanced moves. We were the only two in the class, so it was a relatively intense session in the heat.

Our host had invited us out for post-yoga breakfast which, given the time, turned into brunch.

It turns out that many of the nicest cafés are down unassuming side alleys in District 3. Our host led us to one of her favourites, i.d. café, only a few streets away from her apartment. Even when almost on top of it, I could barely see the concealed entrance.

Inside was an air-conditioned haven, serving imaginative drinks and freshly prepared food. Both K and I chose the vegetarian set, which consisted of mushroom and tofu in a sauce made intensely savoury with soy sauce, plus rice and a simple soup of morning glory. I ordered an iced peanut coffee concoction, which tasted as though someone had blended a Snickers into a caffè latte.

Having been recommended dessert, we couldn't decline. I ordered a sweet iced lotus seed soup, which was refreshing and, in addition to the nutty lotus seeds, contained sweetened seaweed, longan and jujube (táo tàu) - the latter tasting just like a tiny baked apple.

K had a very moreish hot dessert of purple and yellow sweet potato balls stuffed with some kind of fruit, in a warm coconut and ginger sauce.

In the afternoon, our host took us to District 7, one of the more recently planned areas of HCMC, to experience a different side of Saigon.

Aptly, for this modern area of the city, we reached it by means of a car dialled up using Uber, which has apparently only become active in Vietnam in the last few months. As we passed into the district, the low-rise buildings gave way to tall white apartments and office blocks, and the hubbub of Saigon melted away.

We exited the car and walked around hồ Bán Nguyệt (Lake Crescent) and over a curved chrome bridge into a park where many couples were having wedding photographs taken against the sculpted and sanitised backdrop.

Between the buildings are wide, mostly empty boulevards. There is a preponderance of cars (especially large Hyundais and Toyotas) over the motorbikes that dominate the city centre.

The area gives the impression of Singapore, as it has been described to me: clean and well regulated. I saw a man in uniform caution a couple for walking on the grass. Even the cyclos are freshly painted and adorned with flowers, in anticipation of being hired by romantic young couples for photo opportunities.

There are many expats in District 7 and the shops and restaurants cater for their international tastes. Starbucks stands proudly looking out onto rạch Đĩa (Dia canal). This institution is far from a unique sight for HCMC but, in contrast to District 1, it does not rub shoulders with small makeshift stands comprising a tarp pulled over the pavement, a few plastic chairs and a plastic beaker of cà phê đá.

Away from the shops, gated French villas are the dominant style of residence - their white picket fences the loudest thing in the eery suburban silence.

We stopped at Swensen's ice cream parlour to take on some delicious calories, as this seemed in keeping with the area. Hedonism is a nutty, crunchy, mocha, macadamia and banana sundae.

We stood at a crossroads, looking in four directions and attempting to hail a taxi. On each corner of the roads was a purveyor of food: Carl's Jr (charbroiled burgers), Texas Chicken (fried chicken), Cơm Tấm Mộc (Vietnamese broken rice), Ân Nam Gourmet Market (featuring Jordan's Crunch, Doritos and Old El Paso products).

In the taxi, we rounded the corner and the spell was broken. Vietnamese life came pouring back in and we found ourselves jostling for rank with packs of motorcycle riders zipping past makeshift stands selling cơm tấm, bún bò huế, bánh tráng trộn... The quiet streets of District 7 seemed like a dream evaporating. We were back on the crazy helter skelter.

To nourish our souls as well as our stomachs, we had booked tickets to a performance in the evening that was to be covered for the paper by our journalist host.

The James Cousins company has brought a contemporary dance piece inspired by Haruki Murakami's novel Norwegian Wood to SE Asia.

The performance was a double-bill. The first piece, Without Stars, was an intricate, controlled and fluid display by four dancers, which was at times beautiful and at others impressively kinetic. Given knowledge of the novel, I was able to infer meaning in the performance, although the choreographer has made a Matthew Bourne/Swan Lake-style gender reversal of the Midori character. Alongside Watanabe and Naoko, there is a fourth, shadowy figure that starts out as their mutual friend, Kizuki, but after his suicide could also be seen as the spectre of Naoko's spiralling depression.

The second (but earlier) piece is a sinuous dance between a couple (Naoko and Kizuki?) in which the woman's feet never touch the ground. It was an astonishing display of prowess and partnership, but my ability to intuit greater meaning in such performances is weak.

After the show (10pm), it was late to get food as the Vietnamese typically eat much earlier. Our host led us to an empty restaurant, outside of which were tables full of people eating and drinking. With no space available outside and sitting inside an apparent taboo, the waiters conjured three small chairs and a table for us on the bustle of the open street.

A series of dishes appeared, bearing rice noodles, fried tofu, greens cooked with garlic, and fried sticky cake (made from rice and mung beans). Hawkers came by approximately every 30 seconds to sell us lottery tickets, cigarettes, snacks, fruit, and tissues. With a bottle of Saigon Premium, this is how many people outside of District 7 enjoy a Saturday evening. It was a pleasure to be a part of it. This was all that remained when I remembered to get the camera out: