Sunday 18 September 2022
I have a memory of Ho Chi Minh City which is now a generation old and in the intervening period this city has modernised at an extraordinary rate. The wealth born of this very entrepreneurial people is reflected in the new high rise buildings but also in the refurbishment of the colonial buildings which are not torn down these days but repurposed. That’s as it should be but in one building the old fraudsters who could paint a startlingly good copy of any painting you presented them have now made way for French luxury brands with which we are so familiar. And it’s my regret I have lost to glass and chrome the second hand book seller I found here on my very first visit whose resources triggered many of the characters I have included in the novel grounded in this place.
But you don’t visit a place to have regrets. There are none to be had here. Not really. On my left under a rising oven sun the broad flat sweep of the Saigon River. Maps never do its breadth any justice and I watch freighters laden with containers slide past. On my right the sun softens the yellow facade of the colonial pile otherwise known as the Majestic. Despite the glass towers now surrounding it the Majestic anchors the French colonial theme in this part of town.
People are enjoying the Sunday morning reprieve like people anywhere and they drift down to the water in small groups to take selfies, to sit and talk, to laze into the start of the day. But the glass and steel skyscraper hotels have the feel of modern Singapore with some of the soul lost when an area is so cleaned up. That’s evident from the so called Walking Street which is now devoid of grass and now sports stone, bright lights and modern branding. There is little to recommend it. Give me the bustle of the street market which we visited a little later to buy greens for lunch.
Lunch! What a delight that proved to be with an introduction for Kavitha to Shane, Ngung, Sam and Daphne, and a renewing of these connections for me. I last saw Sam when I attended his 5th birthday. 12 years ago. These decades slip past all too quickly and can be carelessly handled when thinking about the effort made to keep connection. But Sam and Daphne are bright and engaging youth who represent all the positive elements of a cross cultural, bi-lingual upbringing. Well done Dad and Mum. Savvy, urbane even, in their youth they are lively conversationalists and pleasant company. We walk with Daphne down to the local markets which give us a flavour of the local scene far better than downtown. Fish in flat shallow dishes. Chickens. Ducks. Vegetables of all sorts. Flowers. The backdrop chatter and din of all that activity. Daphne knew what she wanted and was soon through her shopping list of salad ingredients and off we set back home, too soon of course since this market begged for more exploration.
The afternoon turns dark and the wind whips us over the rooftop as dark rainclouds slide over the city, disgorging their contents. A downpour here. A downpour there. Columns of dark grey/black targeting city blocks. It’s warm. The clouds are talking, their bellies seething and moving against the grey wall of water falling behind them. Our walk up the street will clearly wait until the rain is done.
As indeed it is but it still smatters across the falling evening as we walk to the markets, loop around past the Independence Palace and stop for supper near the Cathedral. The rain descends in fury while we dine but eases sufficiently for us to get back to the hotel with any serious soaking.
Next post: Up the Mekong
