Vietnam
by Anne Harrison
Having spent a few years living in the city, Graham Greene’s The Quiet American is in many ways his homage to Saigon. Despite a somber tone colored by the knowledge of what is to come, Greene’s love of Saigon and her people shines throughout the novel.
The Majestic Hotel
The rooftop bar of the Majestic Hotel is a perfect place for sipping a cocktail as evening embraces Saigon. In The Quiet American the place overflowed at all hours of the day with American journalists. Close to the Saigon River, it proved a good spot to watch boat movements and garner knowledge from Vietnamese working in the area. Fowler met a fellow journalist here the night Pyle died.
With its colonial charm and retro style the hotel remains a city landmark, and the rooftop bar offers a quiet corner to overlook the Saigon River. The sounds of the traffic rushing along the streets are blown away by the evening breezes, which in turn bring some refreshing coolness after a day of the tropical heat.
Le Rue Catinat
After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat.”
After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat.”So opens The Quiet American. The Majestic Hotel stands on the corner of Duong Dong Khoi, formally the Rue Catinat brought so vividly brought to life by Greene. Especially down near the Saigon River, Duong Dong Khoi is a perfect place for an aimless stroll, whether browsing through local art works or loosing oneself in some of the best shopping in Saigon. French can still be heard in the occasional café or restaurant, and many women still wear traditional dress.
Up the street came the lovely fiat figures-the white silk trousers, the long tight jackets in pink and mauve patterns slit up the thigh: I watched them – with the nostalgia I knew I would feel when I had left these regions forever.”
The Rex Hotel
Further along Duong Dong Khoi stands the Rex Hotel. Here the rooftop bar (complete with elephants) overlooks the heart of Saigon; perhaps this is why a bottle of champagne here comes with six waiters. The heavens of the wet season opened just as we sat down, so for an hour or so we had the place – plus waiters – to ourselves. After beginning life as a French garage, during the Vietnam War the Rex Hotel became home to the Press Corps, and probably the CIA. Now it is owned by the Communist Party.
Hotel Continental
I had seen him last September coming across the square towards the bar of the Continental.”Fowler first spies Pyle at the Hotel Continental, and again this is where Pyle first meets Phuong. Greene lived here for two years (in room 210, a corner suite). The Hotel Continental is just up from the Rex Hotel on Le Loi St. Many journalists stayed here during the Vietnam War; wandering past the designer stores and into the chandeliered reception, I could understand why. The infamous bombing, where so many civilians died but Pyle took great care to ensure no Americans were injured, was close to the hotel, in the Place Gamier, just off the Rue Catinat.
Cholon
In Cholon you were in a different city where work seemed to be just beginning rather than petering out with the daylight.”
Cholon is the world’s largest Chinatown. By the time of The War Against The French (the period in which The Quiet American is set), the place had become a maze of opium dens and brothels. During the Vietnam War an uncountable number of US and foreign troops went AWOL here (many never seen again), and somewhere in the unnamed back streets Fowler met with Mr. Chou.
A Wooden Balcony
A few tree-lined blocks to the north of the Rex Hotel, the Cathedral Notre Dame and the Central Post Office face one another across a small square. Although Fowler was dismissive of the style, the cathedral is quite delightful, with each stone shipped from Marseilles, and the stained glass from Chartres.
I crossed to a café on the far side of the square, and was ushered up some rickety back stairs to a spacious wooden balcony overlooking the chaos of the cathedral square. Ceiling fans from the time of Indochine turned lazily above me. The Vietnamese rolls and papaya salad proved perfect in the heat.
Saigon is full of balconies such as this; Ho Chi Minh beckons be explored, but there is always a quiet place to sit, and ponder the past while time barely moves, drinking strong coffee from tiny cups while dreaming of writing a novel.
If You Go:
The Quiet American
For dining, try:
♦ Temple Club (29-31 Ton That Thiep St) Once a pilgrim house, it now serves specialties from all over Vietnam
♦ Xu (75 Hai Ba Trung S)t An elegant restaurant near the river
♦ Ciao Bella (11 Dong Khoi St)
♦ Ngon Restaurant, (138 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia, opp Reunification Palace). Sit upstairs on the balcony and sample the local dishes
Don’t miss:
♦ Hoa Binh Noodle Shop or Peace Noodles (7 Lo Chinh Thang St) US troops ate pho downstairs, while upstairs the Viet Cong planned the Tet Offensive
♦ War Remnants Museum (28 Vo Van Tan St) Not for the faint-hearted. Upstairs is a spectacular, although graphic, photography exhibition.
♦ Reunification Palace (106 Nguyen Du St) The Fall of Saigon was cemented by tanks crashing through the gates; they are still on display. Within, little has changed since April 30, 1975
ESSENCE OF SAIGON – PAST AND PRESENT FROM HO CHI MINH CITY
About the author:
Anne Harrison lives with her husband, two children and numerous pets on the Central Coast, NSW. Her jobs include wife, mother, doctor, farmer and local witch doctor – covering anything from delivering alpacas to treating kids who have fallen head first into the washing machine. Her fiction has been published in Australian literary magazines, and has been placed in regional literary competitions. Her non-fiction has been published in medical and travel journals. Her ambition is to be 80 and happy. Her writings are available at anneharrison.com.au and anneharrison.hubpages.com.
Photo credits:
Majestic Hotel Saigon by trungydang / CC BY
All other photos are by Anne Harrison:
The touch of the French is everywhere
The rooftop bar at the Rex Hotel
Uncle Ho watches all
View of Notre Dame from a balcony
The train from Colombo had brought us nearly 2000 metres up into the Sri Lankan Highlands amid acres of tea plantations. For six hours we climbed higher and higher leaving the urban sprawl of the capital, travelling through tangled jungle to reach the patchwork neatness of the tea country. We left the train at Nanu Oya and bumped along the potholed road to Nuwara Eilya in a taxi, passing hillside tea plantations with names such as Edinburgh and Glasgow.
Entering Nuwara Eilya the dilapidated race track was immediately in front of us. Our taxi driver assured us that two meetings a year were still held here although this seemed unlikely. In front of the down-at-heel grandstand the final straight was uneven and unkempt and the fence outside the perimeter of the track was falling down. Ponies available for tourist hire grazed on the track. The condition of the racetrack was a stark contrast to that of the nearby golf course which was immaculate.
Walking into the commercial part of the town we explored the shops and market before crossing the road to one of Nuwara Eilya’s most distinctive buildings to post a card home. Slightly elevated, the pretty Victorian brick post office has a tiled roof, gables and a clock spire. From the outside it reminded me of something from an English village and the lines from Brook sprang to mind ‘Stands the church clock at 10 to 3, and is there honey still for tea?’ but inside the somnolent air was dispelled by the eager and noisy customers.
Sheltering from the rain we took a tuk tuk up the hill to the gothic looking Holy Trinity Anglican Church built in 1863. The church has a cemetery full of the graves of British civil servants, soldiers, diplomats, planters, their wives and children. Although cared for this corner of a foreign field felt sad and lonely, marking forever the resting place of those who remained behind long after their families had left for Home.
Instead of water, they came face to face with a soldier. Not a miniature soldier, but a life-sized models, in terracotta. And, there were more. The size of the models varied with the status of the soldier being modeled; the officer was always taller than the foot-soldier, and the Generals were tallest of all.
There was much more than the few figures that the farmers found. Here was rank upon rank of model soldiers, each one different; it was believed that actual soldiers had acted as models for each piece. If this was the case, their facial characteristics, and differences in their dress and equipment show from what a large area the soldiers were recruited. There were archers, cavalrymen, charioteers and foot-soldiers. Most of them held real weapons; some of these still exist, but many of these have either decayed over time, or been looted in the past.
Originally, the figures were brightly painted, but this has faded almost to nothing over the ages. It’s believed there are many more still to be discovered; some estimates put the total figure at over 8000. But any further excavation has been put on hold, for it’s thought that any still to be discovered figures may have retained their original colours, so they’re waiting until such time as a method of fixing those colours can be devised.
The public aren’t allowed into the pits themselves. That’s a privilege normally reserved only for trained archaeologists and visiting Heads of State. There’s a balcony around each pit, though, from which they can be viewed. But, if you want some close-up images, there’s a gallery within the museum in which some selected figures are displayed in glass cases … most spectacular of which is the bronze chariot, provided to convey the Emperor in the afterlife.
Amazingly one of the largest mosques in Central Asia was built in just five years as Timur rushed in architects to finish the job. This lack of patience, as well as humility, fatally undermined the building and as large cracks appeared in the masonry it fell into disuse before an earthquake in 1897 leveled a significant section. The mosque is still in this semi-ruined state. The main prayer hall sits beneath a light blue dome which crouching behind another large tiled entrance façade. The sky blue dome is now crowned by a growth of moss and along the outside walls parts of the tiled covering have crumbled away littering the ground with dark and light blue fragments.
Only a small part of the Ak-Sarai is left but it’s enough to demonstrate the scale of the palace. Two towers of brick would have been connected into a giant arch but are now separated. Standing at 65m the towers dwarf anything in Samarkand. Whilst now two huge piles of brick, at the time the towers would have been awash with the ubiquitous blues and turquoise of Timur’s other constructions. Some traces of this beauty are found on the walls lining the gulf between these two towers. Hesitantly I climbed the interior stairs to reach the flat open air top. At first there was little I could do but stand in the middle of the platform gazing at the flat green country around. When I nervously approached the edge and took a quick look over a low wobbly fence to the distant ground below a sudden bout of dizziness quickly made me step back.
The most famous set of buildings in Samarkand are the three madrasas standing together on Registan Square. Once again I was staring up at large brick structures over laid with an array of blue tiles. Here though it is the decoration rather than the size which was meant to leave an impression. The three buildings form a square with one side left open, perhaps meant to be filled by a line of astonished onlookers. The area between, the ‘Sandy Place’ (Registan), was the main public square of Samarkand. The three madrasas seem to lean in and shrink the already small square.
Opposite, the 15th century Ulugh Beg Madrasa presents lighter colours, with yellows and purples adding to the traditional blue and turquoise. On the third side of the square sits the madrasa of Tilya Kan with a light blue dome poking up on the left side. Each of the buildings would be a major landmark on their own were they to be separated. Together they form an utterly unique space. Yet as I crisscrossed the square from one building to another there was the sad feeling that the space is a little too well restored. The cleaned and polished buildings, missing not a single inch of tile despite being several hundred years old, bear the hallmarks of a professional but perhaps overly zealous restoration.
Despite the hours, a co-teacher and I decided to spend one of our short weekends out of town, and made a bee-line from our Seoul address to the town of Samcheok on the eastern coastline.
Outside of notorious areas in South East Asia, I had normally found traveling through Asia to be (at least on the surface) a sexually tame area. Tradition and protocol seem to dictate that people keep modesty and save face. So it was a bit of a shock to come across such blatant eroticism in South Korea and of course begs the question as to why these penises exist in the first place.
We spent the day wandering among these outlandish statues, laughing and taking ridiculous photos. The dark colors of the penises blended beautifully with deep azure of the Pacific Ocean. After the park we walked along the beach and along with dozens of other families we frolicked in the shallow water, some cold beers in our hands. As the sun slowly set and we made our way back to the bus stand, our brief voyage into the world of South Korean dicks came to end. I pondered in my head how a park such as this would be received back in parts of the United States, and I realized that maybe South Korea wasn’t so prudish after all.
