Tokyo in Saigon: An Evening in District 1's Hidden Japan

Under the gentle glow of red lanterns, Tokyo Town offers a quiet reprieve from Saigon’s relentless energy, serving up not just authentic ramen and sashimi, but a fleeting sense of having crossed continents without ever leaving District 1.

The transformation is as sudden as it is disorienting. One moment, I’m in the full-throated roar of Ho Chi Minh City’s District 1—a symphony of honking motorbikes, shouting vendors, and exhaust fumes. The next, I slip through the unassuming entrance of Alley 15B on Le Thanh Ton Street, and the clamour of Saigon dissolves into a pocket of serene, meticulous calm. Strings of chōchin lanterns in classic red and white cast a warm, subdued light over narrow walkways. The air, thick with humidity just steps away, now carries the subtle, comforting scents of miso soup, grilled yakitori, and polished wood. I’ve found Saigon’s Tokyo Town, and for an evening, I am deliciously, wonderfully lost in translation.

A World Built in Alleys

This isn’t a theme park replica or a sprawling district. Tokyo Town is an intimate enclave, a tight-knit network of alleys spanning less than two kilometers between Le Thanh Ton and Thai Van Lung streets. Its magic lies in its compression and authenticity. Over 300 Japanese expatriates call this warren of lanes home, and their presence is felt in every meticulous detail. The bilingual Japanese-Vietnamese signs are the only real giveaway that you haven’t been teleported to a quiet side street in Shinjuku or Kyoto.

I wander slowly, letting the atmosphere sink in. Deep-toned wooden sliding doors and indigo noren curtains mark the entrances to tucked-away eateries. Storefronts are adorned with bamboo and minimalist wooden signboards, their kanji characters glowing under the lantern light. The famed cleanliness and order of Japan are on full display here; the streets are unusually tidy and well-maintained for this city, a testament to the community that has shaped it. It’s a pedestrian’s paradise at this hour—no cars can navigate these narrow paths, leaving space for quiet footsteps and murmured conversations.

The Soul of the Place: An Izakaya Pilgrimage

As the evening deepens, the true heartbeat of Tokyo Town emerges: the izakaya. These Japanese gastropubs, where salarymen unwind after work, are the social engines of the neighborhood. Following a tip, I find my way to Izakaya Kamura on Thai Van Lung. The space is snug, dominated by a long wooden counter where a chef works with focused precision. The air is hazy with the smoke from the robata grill, laden with the smell of charring scallops and glazed chicken skewers.

I take a seat and order a draught beer, the universal izakaya starter. The menu is a journey through Japanese comfort food. I point to a picture of glistening sashimi—salmon and tuna, reputedly imported directly from Japan—and watch as the chef slices the fish with a swift, practiced hand. It’s served with delicately seasoned vinegared rice, a simple, perfect combination. Later, I join the locals in ordering crispy gyoza from the nearby specialist shop, Gyoza no Chikara, the pan-fried dumplings arriving perfectly golden and begging to be dipped in sharp, vinegary sauce.

This is where the cultural fusion feels most organic. Around me, Japanese expats debate over glasses of sake, Vietnamese friends laugh over shared plates of tempura, and curious tourists like me simply observe, soaking in the convivial, wood-panelled warmth. The clink of glasses and the sizzle from the kitchen are the dominant sounds. It’s lively but never loud; a shared, unspoken rule to preserve the area’s serene atmosphere seems to be in effect.

A Canvas of Light and Shadow: The Nocturnal Stroll

Fortified by my meal, I head back into the alleyways. The post-dinner stroll is a ritual here. The lanterns are now fully illuminated, transforming the lanes into a cinematic scene of light and shadow. It’s the prime time for photography, and the area delivers. I pause under the most famous canopy of lanterns in Alley 15B, their soft glow creating an unforgettable Instagrammable moment.

Venturing deeper, I discover another of Tokyo Town’s artistic surprises. On a wall that once might have been forgotten, a vibrant graffiti mural explodes with color. It’s a modern, dynamic contrast to the traditional architecture—a depiction of Japanese pop culture motifs that feels both out of place and perfectly at home. Further on, I pass a charmingly out-of-context red Japanese mailbox and rows of wooden sake barrels, each a miniature tableau begging to be photographed.

For a moment, I peek into a different world at Mangetsu Shochu Bar. The interior is a capsule of subdued Kyoto elegance: warm wood, soft lighting, and an impressive array of spirits. It’s a place for quiet reflection, a sharp contrast to the energetic izakaya. I choose to stay outside, preferring the moving canvas of the alley, where groups of friends spill out of restaurants and the night feels young and full of possibility.

The Promise of Change and a Final Bowl

My journey is punctuated by whispers of the future. On my way in, I noticed architectural renderings posted discreetly. The area, for all its charm, faces the very Saigon problem of congestion and crowded sidewalks. The city has taken note. A major revamp project for Thai Van Lung Street is slated to begin in 2025.

The plans are ambitious: expanded sidewalks, a new lighting system to make the street “sparkle,” more trees, and symbolic architectural features to better highlight the Japanese culture. Most intriguingly, the city plans to pilot turning the street into a weekend promenade from 7 to 11 PM, banning traffic to create a safer, more comfortable environment for pedestrians. It’s a vision of Tokyo Town not just preserved, but elevated—a deliberate fusion of Japanese aesthetic and Vietnamese urban innovation.

This forward-thinking energy sticks with me as I seek one final experience: the late-night ramen. I find it at Ichibanya on Thai Van Lung. The shop is tiny, just a counter with a few stools. A steaming bowl of tonkotsu ramen is placed before me—the broth rich and creamy, the noodles perfectly chewy, the chashu tender. Slurping noodles in the quiet intimacy of this hidden shop, surrounded by others on their own nocturnal quests for comfort food, is the perfect, authentic end to the night.