Tet, or Lunar New Year, is the most important holiday in Vietnam. Officially called Tết Nguyên Đán, it marks the first day of the lunar calendar, usually somewhere between late January and mid-February, aligned with the new moon. Western New Year is festive; Tet feels existential. It isn’t just a holiday—it’s more like a reset button for the entire country.
Unlike Christmas in Europe, which stretches over several days but still keeps the economy going, Tet more or less hits “pause” on Vietnam. Government offices close. Factories shut down. Logistics slow to a crawl. Even little neighborhood shops roll down their shutters. On paper, the country observes a five- to seven-day official holiday, but in reality, the slowdown lasts much longer. People start traveling home days before and trickle back to work afterward.
And travel home they do.
Tet triggers one of the year’s largest domestic migration waves. Millions of workers in Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi, and industrial zones head back to their hometowns. Highways clog with traffic. Airports run beyond capacity. Train tickets sell out weeks ahead. Bus stations turn into moving crowds. The pull of going home, of reunion, is stronger than the discomfort. Tet is about returning to one’s roots, honoring ancestors, and renewing family ties.
The season is defined by ritual. Houses are scrubbed from top to bottom to “sweep away” the bad luck of the past year. In the north, families decorate with peach blossoms (hoa đào); in the south, with yellow apricot blossoms (hoa mai). Altars are laid out with offerings to ancestors. On New Year’s Eve, families gather around a special meal. Children receive lì xì—red envelopes with lucky money. The ideas of renewal, luck, and gratitude are woven through everything people do.
Food sits at the center of it all. In the north, families make bánh chưng, a square sticky rice cake with pork and mung beans, wrapped in green leaves to symbolize the Earth. In the south, the cylindrical version, bánh tét, shows up on every table. Pickled vegetables, braised pork with eggs, candied fruits, and watermelon (seen as a sign of prosperity) are everywhere. In the weeks before Tet, supermarkets hit record sales, especially in premium food, alcohol, sweets, and gift baskets.
From a commercial angle, some of the strongest Tet sellers are:
- Gift hampers (premium tea, wine, imported snacks)
- Confectionery and dried fruits
- Alcohol (especially beer and imported spirits)
- Decorative flowers and ornamental trees
- Red envelopes and festive decorations
- Home appliances and fashion (many people like to start the year with something “new”)
Retailers often take a big slice of their annual revenue during the pre-Tet rush. Then, as soon as the New Year actually begins, the marketplace falls quiet.
Some industries simply can’t function during this time. Manufacturing plants—particularly in textiles, footwear, and electronics—shut down because most workers return to their rural provinces. Construction stops. Administrative services shut their doors—even many restaurants in big cities close for several days. Only essential services,l such as hospitals, some convenience stores, and transport hubs, continue to operate.
From the inside, this collective pause is meaningful and often beautiful. From the outside, it can be a source of friction.
For European companies sourcing from Vietnam, Tet can be a real disruption. Production schedules shift. Shipments are delayed. Inboxes sit unanswered. Europe runs on the Gregorian calendar; Vietnam follows a lunar rhythm. In global supply chains, this mismatch creates temporary inefficiencies. International buyers who understand this plan—placing orders earlier, building up inventory, and working Tet into their calendars months in advance.
When Vietnam’s economy was less tied to global trade, such a pause didn’t matter as much. Now, with Vietnam increasingly central to electronics assembly, garments, furniture, and agricultural exports, the Tet slowdown has become a serious factor in global logistics planning.
But the inconvenience also points to something deeper.
Tet shows that Vietnam still prioritizes collective cultural identity over uninterrupted economic activity. In a world where productivity is often treated as sacred, Vietnam chooses to stop together. It’s a rare moment of synchronized national reflection.
That’s where the modern tension sits: between tradition and global integration. Young people in big cities sometimes choose to travel abroad rather than go home. Multinational companies experiment with staggered shifts. E-commerce platforms try to stay at least partially active. Yet the emotional core of Tet, the sense of reunion and return, is still very much there.
The beauty of Tet isn’t only in the blossoms or the fireworks. It’s in the sense of continuity. Despite decades of economic reform and rapid digital change, the ritual of coming home persists. Ancestors are remembered. Family hierarchies are reaffirmed. People forgive each other. Debts—both emotional and, quite often, financial—are settled before the new year starts.
The cost is real, though. Productivity drops. Urban services are stretched thin. Traffic accidents spike during peak travel days. Prices often temporarily jump due to high demand. Within the same two-week window, Vietnam experiences both its warmest family moments and some of its most chaotic logistics.
Economically, Tet is a paradox: a surge in consumption followed by a sharp pause in production.
Culturally, Tet is coherence.
For Europe and other trading partners, understanding Tet isn’t just about moving shipping dates on a spreadsheet. It’s about recognizing that Vietnam’s growth story includes deliberate pauses that reflect culture, not structural weakness. The country runs hard for eleven months, then stops to remember who it is.
In a century that worships speed, Tet is Vietnam’s quiet reminder that time doesn’t only move in a straight line—it turns in cycles.
And for Vietnam, every cycle begins again with spring. 🌸
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