S3H3 #108 D4 Virgin Territory
There is a special, unhinged brand of madness reserved exclusively for those who believe a Friday evening in Saigon ought to begin not with a civilized martini in a polished rooftop lounge, but by sprinting blind through the darkened, steaming, labyrinthine alleys of District 4 in pursuit of dodgy marks laid by your Hare, 3 Shitty Tits.
To call The Sophisticated Sirs of Saigon Hash House Harriers a “drinking club with a running problem” is to vastly overstate the amount of actual athletic intent involved and radically understate the sheer, glorious absurdity of the enterprise.
District 4 at night is already a masterclass in sensory overload—a dense, throbbing maze of neon-lit hems, sizzling street-food stalls, rats, cats, cockroaches, stray dogs and evil-eyed grandmothers cooking bún riêu on sidewalks narrower than a bicycle tire. Throw in a bunch sweaty lunatics in blinding fluorescent tank tops bellowing “ON-ON!” into the thick tropical night.
When you join us, you will have achieved peak urban chaos.
We will assemble in the lofty perch of Soul Classic Pub to savour the view while we can, before descending literally and metaphorically into the depths of the D4 Hems. You have been warned! You will need a headlamp!
The locals won’t flinch; they will simply nudge their plastic stools six inches to the left, offer a sympathetic nod, and watch the parade of middle-aged (& old-aged) runners duck under terrifying webs of low-hanging power lines while hopelessly lost on a deliberate false trail. And oh, the unbridled “sophistication” of it all!
There is no finer sartorial elegance than salt-crusted compression shitty trainers, and a fragrance profile that is three parts DEET, two parts damp cotton, and one part sheer Saigon humidity.
We will navigate the back-alley grid with the refined grace of startled water buffalo, dodging high-speed scooters and sizzling woks, all bound by the sacred, single-minded promise of the B point. Because when the trail finally terminates at a roadside quán, the true high society of the Sirs reveals itself. Here, perched on tiny plastic chairs that actively test the structural integrity of the human spine, the ceremonial Down-Downs begin. Warm local lager poured over giant, hand-sawed blocks of ice, accompanied by chorus after chorus of scandalous drinking songs and endless plates of garlic snails and grilled squid.
Is it cultured? Unquestionably. Is it sensible? Not in the slightest!
But as the Friday night traffic hums along the canal and the first freezing sip cuts through the heat, you realize there is no grander luxury in Southeast Asia than being lost, soaked, and utterly, magnificently unrefined in D4.
Your A Point is:
Soul Classic Bar, 6 Đoàn Văn Bơ, Khánh Hội.
https://maps.app.goo.gl/oBj7cMw6zXce6ZPy8
(Overlooking Duong Calmette in D4. Enter from elevators in car park).
Your B-Point is:-
Bo Ne 3Ngon, 208 Tôn Đản, Khánh Hội.
https://maps.app.goo.gl/HSzWxiQuXfgC4dn66
Your trail is 5km-ish, run it or walk it.
Beer Stops will be frequent.
The trail will be unnavigable unless you wear a headlamp or you hold the hand of some FRB.
No liability is accepted – for anything except attendence.