Vietnam’s Floating Markets Dwindle Amid Economic Growth

The iconic floating markets of Vietnam’s Mekong Delta, once a vibrant symbol of the region’s unique culture, are steadily disappearing as economic development and modern infrastructure reshape local trade.

A Diminishing Legacy

As the first light of day spreads across Can Tho, the river hums with the sound of tour boats navigating its waters. In the distance, traditional wooden houseboats emerge from the mist, marking the presence of the once-thriving Cai Rang Floating Market.

For decades, floating markets like Cai Rang were the heart of commerce in southern Vietnam, dating back to the early 20th century when waterways served as the primary mode of trade and transportation. Before roads and bridges connected the delta’s provinces, boats laden with fresh produce, seafood, and household goods converged at these waterborne marketplaces.

However, over the past two decades, these markets have steadily declined—first gradually, then suddenly—mirroring Vietnam’s rapid economic transformation. Of the region’s ten major floating markets, only two remain active on a significant scale.

“When I first visited Cai Rang in 2011, it was much larger,” said Linh, a local tour guide. “Now it’s about a third of that size.”

At its peak in the 1990s, Cai Rang boasted over 400 boats. Today, that number has dwindled to around 200. Nearby Phong Dien Floating Market has all but vanished, with fewer than a dozen boats left, while Cai Be Market in Ben Tre province shut down completely in 2021.

A tour boat operator navigating the Can Tho River, a tributary of the Hau River, one of the main branches of the Mekong [Oliver Raw/Al Jazeera]

A Market in Decline

Despite its shrinking size, Cai Rang still presents a lively scene from afar. Boats loaded with pineapples, melons, and other produce bob along the water, while vendors call out to customers. But a closer look reveals a different story—tour boats now dominate the traffic, and the market’s commercial activity is fading.

Many sellers still live on their boats, their daily routines unfolding in full view. Families cook meals over small stoves, wash dishes in river water, and rest in hammocks alongside their children and pets. Yet beneath the market’s charm, a growing sense of uncertainty looms.

“Business is not good,” said Phuc, a pineapple seller who now relies mostly on tourists. On some days, she sells just ten pineapples at 20,000 Vietnamese dong ($0.78) each. “Only in high season do we make enough money. The rest of the time, we’re barely surviving.”

Two years ago, Phuc and her husband Thanh worked as wholesalers, selling yams they sourced from Long An province, near Ho Chi Minh City. Every week, they undertook a multi-day journey to restock their boat. But as roads and highways expanded, land-based trade became faster, cheaper, and more efficient, undercutting the need for river-based commerce.

“The only people still working here are those who can’t afford a van or a big car to transport goods,” Thanh explained.

Tuyen, a wholesaler selling onions, garlic, and sweet potatoes, echoed their concerns. “Ten years ago, I made good money. Now, it’s just enough to get by,” she said while preparing a breakfast of fish soup on her boat.

For many traders, the COVID-19 pandemic was a breaking point. Unable to sustain their businesses, many abandoned the water to seek work on land. But for those like Tuyen, the cost of renting a market stall—around 5 million Vietnamese dong ($195) per month—remains prohibitive.

“I’d prefer to work on land—it’s more comfortable and convenient,” she admitted. “But I simply don’t have the money.”

More Than Just Infrastructure Changes

While improved roads are often cited as the primary reason for the markets’ decline, other factors have also contributed.

Many smaller markets never recovered from pandemic closures, as health regulations accelerated a shift to land-based trade. Government-led flood prevention efforts—such as the construction of floodwalls along the Can Tho River—have also made docking and unloading goods more difficult, further discouraging vendors.

But perhaps the biggest threat comes from cultural shifts. As Vietnam modernizes, younger generations are moving away from traditional trades.

“My daughter doesn’t want to work here,” Phuc admitted. “She’d rather work for a company and invest in stocks. She doesn’t like this life.”

For many in Can Tho, floating markets are no longer essential. Supermarkets and shopping malls now dominate retail, leaving little reason for locals to visit Cai Rang.

“For me, it’s nothing special,” said a hotel receptionist, who has visited the market only once.

The Future of Cai Rang

Despite this, Cai Rang remains a crucial part of Can Tho’s tourism industry, which accounted for 6% of the city’s economy before the pandemic. In 2017, Can Tho welcomed 7.5 million visitors, though this number dropped to 5.9 million in 2023 due to fewer domestic flights and lingering post-pandemic effects.

If the floating market disappears, reviving tourism could become even more challenging.

Some, like Son Ca Huynh, a local tour operator, believe the market’s survival depends on reinventing it as a tourist attraction rather than a commercial hub. She points to Bangkok’s floating markets, where vendors sell a diverse array of goods, from souvenirs to street food.

“At Bangkok’s markets, they sell many different things,” she explained. “Here, we sell mostly fruit and vegetables.”

For such a transformation to work, she argues, authorities would need to invest in infrastructure, such as new piers and financial support for traders—though she doubts this will happen given the high costs.

Even if it did, she worries the market would lose its authenticity. “It wouldn’t be the same,” she said.

A Fading Tradition

By 8 a.m., trading at Cai Rang slows to a halt. Vendors retreat to their houseboats, seeking respite from the rising sun.

Linh, the tour guide, fears the clock is ticking. “Cai Rang may not last much longer,” she said. “When it’s gone, I’ll have to find another job.”

As Vietnam continues its march toward modernization, it seems inevitable that its floating markets will become little more than a memory—preserved in photographs, stories, and the nostalgia of those who once called them home.

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Source: Vietnam Insider