Secret Garden Cafe
9/231 Văn Cao
“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
I think Secret Garden is the most perfect example of why I love living in Haiphong. It’s fifty metres down a little alley off Văn Cao Street, in the downtown area of Haiphong. You don’t know about it unless someone tells you about it — it’s not a place you just stumble across of your own. Everyone here is here by recommendation. And that’s why it’s so, undeniably a cafe representation of Haiphong. You have to find out about it for yourself. You have to go looking. You have to ask questions. And the community answers.
I lived one minute away from Secret Garden for three months and never knew of its existence. I never asked. I moved over to Lach Tray Street last June. It wash’t until November that a friend took me here. I lived in Haiphong for eight months and never knew about what is now my favourite cafe. Now that I look back, it’s not for lack of walking around or not going to cafes — it’s that I never asked anyone, “where’s a good cafe?”. It’s so easy to be caught up in your own life and imagine that you know everything. None of us know everything. Especially not when it comes to Haiphong. Now I always ask questions to everyone I meet. What cafes do you go to? Why do you keep going back? Can you take me there?
I’ve lived in Haiphong for one year now and just about the only thing I miss is my garden at home. I miss green grass and green plants and looking up into treetops. Haiphong is decidedly an in between colour, somewhere around grey and brown and yellow — the colour of the summer’s smog clouds that hide the sky away from March to September. It’s the colour of late afternoon traffic. It’s the colour of faded 2000vnd paper notes crumpled at the bottom of my wallet. Old, yellowing, and just a little dry.
Secret Garden Cafe is a paradise hidden just off Văn Cao. It’s a tranquil, atmospheric hideaway. And it’s alive with green.
You can sit in love-seat benches under overhanging vines. You can sit in the glass-paneled indoor room with low tables and cushions to sit on (shoes off, Japanese style). The word ‘zen’ comes to mind. The waitress almost seems out of place with her loud “OK” after taking orders. But this is her world, her paradise, so who am I to criticise?
I’ll be the first to admit the coffee isn’t that special. My usual order is a sữa chua cà phê (yoghurt coffee) and hot churros. There’s not much in the way of food, just cafes and sweets, and the menu is in Vietnamese, but the waitresses speak enough English to help you out if you’re not sure what cà phê dừa is (it’s coconut coffee, which I highly recommend, by the way). Always make sure to specify if you want your coffee hot or cold — this goes for all of Vietnam, though, because hot coffee doesn’t seem to be the standard.
Orders never take too long and there’s free wifi to entertain yourself (as of today, the password is 20092015). There’s a WC which is clean and stocked with toilet paper (always a bonus). Inside has an air conditioner so when summer arrives (which will be soon) no one has to drink their own sweat along with their coffee. When you’re finished, head up the stairs to the house and pay. Be mindful of the white dog. He barks.
My bill comes to 53,000vnd — 28,000vnd for coffee and 25,000vnd for hot churros. It’s a very standard price for Haiphong. “Hẹn gặp lại, Clare,” the waitress says in her booming voice so out of place in this cafe. I don’t know how she knows my name. “Hẹn gặp lại, chị,” I reply. See you again, sister. “Have a good day.”
Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
