George Dürrwell spent nearly three decades working for the Cochinchina legal service. His 1911 memoirs, Ma chère Cochinchine, trente années d’impressions et de souvenirs, février 1881-1910 (My Dear Cochinchina, 30 years of impressions and memories, February 1881-1910) afford us a fascinating picture of life in early 20th century Saigon and Chợ Lớn. This is part 2 of a three-part excerpt from the book.

To read part 1 of this serialisation, click here.

It’s 6pm. The cafés fill with customers and groups begin to form around small tables. Gossipers’ tongues wag while the concert orchestras throw their discordant notes to the wind. The squares and the streets become increasingly animated and noisy, with pedestrians and carriages, automobiles and pousses-pousses crossing this way and that: all of Saigon is outdoors!

The focus of this exuberant scene is the Municipal Theatre, which presents a very stately air with its vast monumental staircase and high-arched open portico framing artistically sculpted allegorical figures. Flooded at this time of the evening by the last rays of a bright sun, its white façade is tinted a pale purple of infinite sweetness. Then suddenly, the curtain of night falls, almost without transition. Saigon is lit up, but the lighting is very poor, despite the pretty penny spent from the municipal budget on the profusion of electric lamps. This is truly “light hidden under a bushel.” Only the place du Théâtre forms a bright spot amidst the darkness.

From October to April, when the theatre season is in full swing, the entertainment of the evening extends long into the night. The Theatre and the adjacent hotels and cafés overflow onto the streets, transporting the intense nightlife of the French boulevard some four thousand leagues from the great city of Paris to this remote little corner of Asia, where the French soul has already become so deeply rooted.

By midnight, “the day is over,” as the song says. The Theatre closes its doors and turns off its lights, and with them are extinguished the lights of the square and surrounding streets. On the terrace of the Grand Hôtel Continental, there remain just a few groups of late diners, several incorrigible gamblers playing bridge or poker, and here and there a few clowns who have stayed up to contemplate the moon. Good luck to them all – and to all a good night.

The arrival of the theatre company is the big social event of the year in Saigon. Well in advance, it becomes the major subject of conversation and it is also advertised in the windows of our chic bookshops, along with portraits of the performers who are so impatiently expected: the ladies, of course, take the place of honour. Some of the city’s so-called arbiters of elegance are snobbish enough to travel to Singapore in order to be the first to contemplate the stars that will come to us from France: Ave maris stella!

Finally, the big day arrives. The boat is signalled from the Cap; it enters the river and heads towards Nha-Be. Immediately, all of Saigon’s high society gets dressed up and invades the pier of the Messageries maritimes. After negotiating the last loop of the river, the great courier ship advances majestically into port and wastes no time docking. As soon as the gangway is in place, it is immediately stormed by the crowd, which eagerly spreads itself onto the deck. The impact of all those waxed moustaches and starched collars and cuffs is naturally lost in the crowd and many of our hungry socialites are inevitably obliged to return home empty-handed, with only the platonic satisfaction of having witnessed the arrival of their idols. However, most of them are content, and for good reason, in this special sport where many are called but few are chosen. Then calm returns, as theatre lovers bravely begin to study their scores and all Saigon awaits the minor intrigues which inevitably attend the presence of thespians. Some days later, the Theatre solemnly opens its doors to serve the gathering crowd of attentive spectators. Once more, we are treated to that venerable masterpiece of Gounod, the inevitable Faust, which every year is featured mercilessly in our opening programme. Saigon’s theatre season has begun, and that’s it for the next six months.

The Saigon public have a reputation for being connoisseurs, and they are therefore very difficult to satisfy. In fact, among the self-appointed art critics, there are some who have never attended any theatrical performances other than those of Landerneau or Pont-à-Mousson. But no matter; it is fashionable to be a connoisseur and each tries to be one, judging with equal severity the débuts of the unfortunate artists and the efforts of their director. Many circumstances, however, argue in their favour. For example, the almost insurmountable difficulties of recruitment for performances in the Far East and the consequent lack of homogeneity of the troupe; not to mention the rigours of a climate which constantly threatens the artists’ health and often attacks their vocal cords; and finally, the excessive labour imposed on them to rehearse a programme which changes every day.

There is, in fact, a remedy for this state of affairs, and I would like to suggest it to the honourable committee which is entrusted with the organisation of our annual theatre programme. In my humble opinion, it would be wise to cease the performance of cumbersome operas with full orchestral accompaniment which require special staging and a standard of performances that only our Music Academy is able to achieve. Instead, the offerings should be limited to some light comedies and comic operettas whose spirit and quality is so exclusively French. I know that my proposal will make our excellent amateur critics leap with indignation, and I can’t offer any cure for that: however, on their return to France, they can at least console themselves by attending performances in Landerneau or Pont-à-Mousson.

Our new Theatre, opened on 15 January 1900 on the occasion of the visit by Prince Waldemar of Denmark, is undoubtedly a very beautiful monument, worthy in every respect of our beautiful Saigon. It has, moreover, even excited the jealousy of the incomparable Hanoi; and that says it all.

But I would be ungrateful if I didn’t also mention our former theatre, so small and so simply decorated, yet so cosy and intimate, surrounded by lawns and shaded by large trees. There, we saw no “dressing to impress,” no show of luxury; we attended without any fuss, as if we were attending a family gathering, and we always came out happy. All the old Saigonnais, myself and my contemporaries, certainly regretted the loss of this lovely theatre in its corner of greenery. But we must, it seems, march with progress, using a catchphrase like that of the seller of the first boxes of sardines in Nantes: “Always for the better.”

Like a Parisian boulevard, the rue Catinat has had its characters who have lived a little of its life, and whose absence is noted and regretted.

A good example is the former official who became the landlord of several large buildings and could invariably be found perched at the corner of rue de Lagrandière. His thick crop of white hair, cut in the style of Titus, served as a contrast to his amiable ruddy face, a sign of good living. Always smiling, he would sit and watch the passers by, and for him, each was a friend to whom he extended his hand.

Then, in the vicinity of the Grand Hôtel Continental, at all hours of the day and night, we could once find a character with an opulent black beard and a booming voice with a touch of a Gironde accent which resounded across the square. He knew everything about Saigon the day after he arrived, and all Saigon knew and loved him.

And there too once went a perky little man, trotting daintily along boulevard Charner [Nguyễn Huệ] with a triumphant waxed moustache. That was our “king of automobiles.”

Also operating in this area of the city was one of the friendliest people in our legal office. Dressed elegantly in his light jacket, he would stride along the street with his nose in the air, like the ogre in Tom Thumb, sniffing the fresh and fragrant scent of…. female flesh. Yes, he was out hunting, and you would always find his prey just a few steps in front of him.

Today, the judiciary is still represented in the rue Catinat by a friendly group which we call familiarly “the Fifth Chamber,” whose members wander along the pavement with slow, rhythmic steps, chatting about the interests of their clients. Happily when I pass them today I don’t have to count the missing, as they are still numerous in this country where the dead go quickly.

From the rue d’Espagne [Lê Thánh Tôn] to the place de la Cathédrale, the rue Catinat climbs between two rows of government buildings, on which it would be pointless to dwell. The same must be said for the Cathedral, which similarly deserves little attention. Completed in 1880, it replaced the modest little wooden chapel that once stood on the present site of one wing of the Christian Brothers’ Institution Taberd. It is therefore one of the oldest monuments in modern Saigon, but it is certainly not one of the best – its inelegant mass is enhanced only by its two front towers.

I much prefer the pretty little church [Huyện Sỹ Church] which was built next to the high road to Cholon, according to plans drawn up by an artist in a cassock, and with the posthumous piastres of an old Annamite Crésus in search of absolution.

In the same way, I prefer the elegant Hôtel des Postes, which was built a few years ago in the immediate vicinity of the Cathedral. I followed with great interest the various phases of its installation, and have even contributed, in a very small way, to its interior decor. But I see you are smiling in disbelief, so let me explain….

The Indochina Postal Administration was placed under the direction of a great man, an outstanding public servant who remains etched on the memory of all who knew him. Hard on himself, he was also hard on others, but his spirit of high equity and impeccable righteousness, the extent of his technical knowledge and his tireless work ethic made him the model department head, a man for whom no detail could be left unattended. And it is to him that the colony owes the organisation of its admirable telegraph network.

Today only old Cochinchinois can still remember the tenacity and energy with which he carried out this gigantic work. His epic battles with the elephants of Annam, who took pleasure in shaking and demolishing the telegraph poles, are also legendary in Saigon. He left us knowing that if all had not loved him, he had at least forced everyone to hold him in high esteem. And is not this the highest praise that a public servant can hope for?

I had, in fact, quite frankly sympathised with him in the early days of my arrival in Cochinchina, and out of this shared sympathy was born a strong friendship marked by frequent meetings. I also never forget our Sunday walks along the paths of suburban Saigon: with such a guide, a veritable walking encyclopaedia, each of these walks was for me a lesson of the most captivating interest.

One can expect that the construction and development of a new building to house his Postal Service would not leave our man indifferent, and indeed, it provided him with a unique opportunity to apply his infinite skills and energy. As soon as dawn broke, he was everywhere, keeping an eye on everything, sometimes emerging from the basement of the Post Office like a cricket coming out of his hole, sometimes appearing like a genie of the Bastille on the roof ridge of the building.

One morning, I found him perched high on scaffolding which had been erected in the vast central hall, brush in hand, exerting his topographic talents on one of the large maps which decorated the walls. “Climb up here to help me,” he shouted from his perch. I happily climbed up the bamboo ladder, and, installing myself next to him. immediately set to work, marking with strong artistic design the exact location of the good town of Chau-Doc, “capital of mosquitoes.”

Behind the Cathedral, a wide boulevard stretches the entire length of the plateau from the Botanical Gardens up to rue MacMahon [Nam Kỳ Khởi Nghĩa]. Baptised with the gracious name of His Majesty King Norodom of Cambodia, this beautiful avenue, lined with tamarind trees, provides access to the Palace of the Government General. This imposing monument, the elegant proportions of which harmonise perfectly with the greenery around it, stands in the middle of a large park full of old trees which extend their high foliage into the adjacent Jardin de la Ville (City Park).

For over 30 years, the Palace of the Government General has been home to the high functionaries to whom the government of the Third Republic successively entrusted the fate of the colony – first the Governors of our Cochinchina, and then, after the consommation of the beneficent Union of Indochina, to the Governors General of Indochina, on those occasions when they visited their southern capital. When I landed in Saigon, the palace was looked after by an energetic and shrewd administrator, one of those men of whom one can say, with reason, “he’s a real character,” and who leave in the countries they are called to direct an indelible mark of their passage.

We had to appear before this terrible man the day after our arrival; and I beg you to believe that, as we climbed the steps of the side porch which led into his office, my colleagues and I felt very uncertain indeed. I could, but dare not, use a much more intimate and forceful expression which would describe more accurately the intense feeling of fear which gripped us.

When we were introduced to him, I must admit that our initial reception was rather cold. “What are you doing here?” cried the ogre as soon as we crossed the threshold of his office. “I have not asked for you, neither do I have any use for you.” Then, seeing our discomfited expression, he suddenly calmed down and explained that the Collège des stagiaires was about to be abolished and that we had unfortunately arrived in the middle of a complete administrative reorganisation.

We took our leave of him on these good words, especially happy that our meeting had finished. In fact, it was this short interview which decided my colonial career; a few months later, without having otherwise been consulted, I traded my junior professional officer’s stripe for a deputy judge’s hat. Later, I learned to understand and appreciate the “beneficent coarseness” with which we had been greeted; and then I realised that his apparent rudeness hid true goodness and loving concern.

Many years have passed since the colonial adventures of my youth, and over time I have become an old and disillusioned magistrate who is surprised and intimidated by little. Yet even today, when I enter the former office of the ogre in the Palace of the Government General, I still feel a disagreeable frisson creeping across my skin.

On major public holidays such as 14 July or the first day of New Year, or when some prominent person honours our city with his presence, the Palace is decorated to the peak of its dome with illuminations. The doors of its reception rooms are opened wide and all Saigon dances breathlessly until dawn, while lovers of the Queen of Spades crowd around the gaming tables. These balls, known as “ouverts,” are particularly interesting, and it is prudent on such occasions to delay as long as possible the opening of the buffet … and the boxes of cigars.

Our Governor of Cochinchina, dispossessed of his palace, had to seek asylum in a large building located on rue de Lagrandière which was originally designed as a commercial museum, and for the construction of which the architect was inspired by the Munich Pinacothèque. Although it was only a poor copy, costly adjustments made it habitable, and it would, in fact, look good too, if the great caryatids flanking the entrance porch did not so miserably disfigure the façade they claim to decorate.

The Judicial Service is housed nearby, on the corner of rue Mac-Mahon [Nam Kỳ Khởi Nghĩa]. It is very comfortably installed in the Palais de justice, and it may be said that the sober architecture of that building and the perfect harmony of its proportions may be among the most beautiful sights of Saigon. During my early days in the colony, the premises of this important government office, which then existed in its infancy, were infinitely more modest.

The Tribunal once occupied the former Hôtel de la gendarmerie (Police Station). As for the Court of Appeal, it was encamped, after a fashion, in the stores of the Service local on rue Thu-Duc [Đông Du], while the French Chamber held solemn audience in a long hangar which can be admired even today on rue Taberd [Nguyễn Du], near the place de la Cathédrale. The magistrates there had, at short notice, replaced the horses of the gendarmes. The staff of the Attorney General’s Office had been assigned the other wing of these decommissioned stables. It was simple and tasteful. It was here that I was initiated, in around 1882, in the subtleties of native criminal procedure and the mysteries of the modified Penal Code.

Among my new friends was a cheerful fellow, as sharp as a monkey and even more bohemian than clever. Among his eccentric hobbies, he kept some of the most bizarre animals, and he had in his menagerie a cute little honey bear which became the frequent guest of the Prosecution, despite the opposition of the Attorney General, who then had an office in the same building.

In fact, the Attorney General only honoured us with infrequent visits because he he trusted us, and this confidence was well placed. However, those rare visits, which this excellent man knew how to endow with a very intimate and familial charm, had a serious drawback for us, as they usually coincided with the time we had designated our “cocktail hour” at the nearby café de l’Europe. So we devised a means of guaranteeing the tranquility of these extra-judicial drinking sessions.

Every day, a little before cocktail hour, I was dispatched under any pretext, in my capacity as leading man of the team, to the office of the Attorney General, who always greeted me with his most benevolent smile, and inquired with bonhomie about our health and our work. My reply was of course that all was excellent; but then I would make a discreet allusion to the presence in the building of the honey bear. “What?” the irascible little man would cry, brandishing a huge paper cutter, “He’s brought that dirty beast into the building again?”

That was enough, and it only remained for me to retire with the consciousness of duty done. Upon my return to the Prosecution, the indictments were lightly abandoned, the dossiers quickly rolled up, and our merry band, marching in English style, rushed down to the café de l’Europe where those pernicious cocktails awaited us, covered in snowy ice.

Since I’ve already recounted several old memories, let me just mention one more which dates from the same period and relates to the same subject.

One fine morning, probably taking advantage of the absence of the bear, our mentor arrived in our midst. By the merest chance, he found most of us installed in our rightful places, and painstakingly plunged his nose into the voluminous files which were piled up around us. Only one of the desks remained unoccupied, and for good reason. Its owner, big Robert, had just begun doing exercises, suspended on one of the horizontal iron bars high above the room, and was, at the moment of the Attorney General’s entrance, engaged in some skilful acrobatic manoeuvres.

The arrival of our unexpected visitor caught him by surprise, so big Robert sat above us silently and unnoticed, with his legs dangling down, while we strove to account for his absence. The chief went away satisfied, big Robert nimbly left his uncomfortable perch, and we welcomed his descent with a loud ovation. Thus ended one of the happiest incidents in the life of the colonial Prosecution service.

And what may surprise you most, dear reader, is that our work was no worse for it.

Sadly, most of the actors in these innocent little scenes have long since descended into the grave, and now I live alone with my memories.

To read part 3 of this serialisation, click here

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

George Dürrwell spent nearly three decades working for the Cochinchina legal service. His 1911 memoirs, Ma chère Cochinchine, trente années d’impressions et de souvenirs, février 1881-1910 (My Dear Cochinchina, 30 years of impressions and memories, February 1881-1910) afford us a fascinating picture of life in early 20th century Saigon and Chợ Lớn. This is Part 1 of a three-part excerpt from the book.

Saigon has been described as the “Pearl of the Orient,”and all of those who have had the good fortune to live there or to visit the city – except, perhaps, for one or two Tonkinese chauvinists – are agreed that it deserves this graceful designation without any reservation. It is also the true capital of our French Indochina: a commercial capital with an admirable maritime location; a historic capital, to recall the happy expression once used by Governor General Beau, “to glorify our dear city and the unforgettable memories that its name alone evokes;” and finally a political capital, simply by birthright.

The first impression on arrival in Saigon is not, in fact, the most engaging. After following the meandering path of the river, and contemplating for several hours its melancholy shores bordered by endless flat and monotonous rice fields, the traveller reaches, after a passage of 24 days, the pier of the Messageries maritimes.

There, in both sight and smell, he feels the perfectly unpleasant sensation of approaching a slum. For in front of him, right next to the dusty and often muddy road which leads to the old bridge across the arroyo Chinois [Eiffel’s Pont des Messageries maritimes], he encounters a shapeless mass of decrepit and lamentably rickety huts which emerge from pools of stagnant water, forming an ugly and unsightly view unworthy of the great city of which Khanh-Hoi is the suburb.

In fact, there is now a second bridge, known as the Pont tournant (Swing Bridge), over which passengers may travel to reach Saigon without passing through this ghetto, but it swings very badly. Some even claim that it doesn’t work at all; but those are grumpy and biased people who deserve no credit.

I can say, indeed, that I saw it open at least once, at a practical time which permitted the free movement of the public. But as the saying goes, “One swallow doesn’t make a summer.” This unfortunate bridge has thus acquired, from the beginning of its existence, a true local celebrity; and the rivers of ink that have been spilled talking about it are certainly more tumultuous than the waves of dirty water which agitate the river over which it was thrown.

But let’s hasten to flee this smelly suburb, taking either one or the other bridge over the arroyo which still separates us from the city. For when we reach Saigon, everything changes.

One of the most brilliant writers of our colonial literature, Myriam Harry, devoted several graceful lines to Saigon in one of her evocative novels:

“Ah! what a pretty city Saigon is! We don’t know why we love it, perhaps for its space, perhaps for its somnolence, or perhaps because of its tide of greenery, which swallows up its square white houses with their resemblance to small Greek temples.”

All this is perfectly true; it is certain that Saigon displays an indefinable charm and exercises a strange fascination on all those who visit it, on all those whose hearts it captures, and its evergreen trees certainly play a large part in this. Nevertheless, there is a disturbing question here, because those very trees which line our city streets are currently under threat. The idea of cutting down trees was raised for the first time by a friendly doctor involved in public affairs, who lost something like an arm or a foot or a finger – I don’t know what exactly – and because of this he imagined that he needed to cut down everything around him. He chose the trees of rue Catinat for his first attempt at field surgery, and it is to him, dear reader, that you owe the excessive sunlight which now beats down onto that street near its junction with the rue Lagrandière.

All of our poor trees would have been cut down if this ruthless lumberjack had not fallen victim to the unforgiving climate of our Cochinchina. However, he left behind a legion of devout followers; and, following the example of the empire of Lilliput, where civil war almost broke out between its citizens, Saigon today is still divided between those who advocate an almost complete slaughter of our treelined avenues, and others who argue for simple and hygienic pruning. I agree without hesitation with the latter. In the name of the beauty of the Saigon which we all cherish equally, I say this: cleanse our sewers; make clean water available in abundance; fill that home of microbes, the Boresse Swamp; but please, leave our “Pearl” its green adornment!

There are, of course, vandals in all latitudes; and it’s nothing short of a miracle that the giant plane trees and ancient elms which line the incomparable allée des Alyscamps in Arles escaped, most recently, the axes of the tree killers.

Anyway, we will use the cool shade of the trees, which for the moment we are still allowed to enjoy, to wander together through the streets of the city – a city in which for me, every house brings to mind a memory, good or bad, sad or happy. Alas, sometimes those memories are very sad! For it was on the threshold of one of those houses, many years ago, that I left on a journey from which there would be no return. This was the journey I chose as my path through life, one which has left me alone with my infinite despair. Such memories bind one inextricably to the places which evoke them.

And as your “cicerone,” I will try as hard as possible to be the least “Joanne” guide possible [a reference to the Hachette travel guidebooks written by Adolphe Joanne].

First of all, let’s give honour where honour is due. Just as Marseille has its Canebière, so Saigon has its rue Catinat [Đồng Khởi], which it shows off justly and with great pride. It is, indeed, unique.

From the quai Francis Garnier [Tôn Đức Thắng], which by right of occupation would be more accurately be called the quai des Messageries fluviales (River couriers quay), up to the plateau that forms the place de la Cathédrale, lies a route of over a kilometre. Shaded by a double line of tamarind and mango trees, this road rises gently and in recent years the heavy traffic which fills it has made it too small for current needs.

The houses that line the rue Catinat, taken in isolation, have for the most part no special qualities: some are old buildings which date from the time of the conquest, while others are of more recent construction. Most simply have a beautiful appearance and nothing more.

Yet all of them, bathed by the rays of our Cochinchina sun, create an intimate and welcoming cheerfulness, like a group of large family homes which seduce irresistibly. This is true of some women’s faces: itemise their features individually and you will sometimes find them unsightly; but bring them together and they will often form a harmonious whole which charms more than accepted notions of beauty.

The lower part of the rue Catinat, which stretches as far as rue d’Espagne [Lê Thánh Tôn], is occupied by European and Asian traders, while the upper part is reserved for government offices. We will travel quickly from the one section to the other, stopping en route at the exquisite place du Théâtre, which I can describe unreservedly as a real gem.

All of the most varied branches of our metropolitan commerce are widely represented on the lower end of rue Catinat: gold and jewelry shops, large, well-stocked bazaars, coquettish millinery shops, comfortable hair salons, bookstores stacked with the latest Parisian novels, pharmacies with gleaming and carefully labelled jars…. nothing is missing, you can buy everything here at moderate prices. But it is undoubtedly the grocery stores which take first place in this animated corner of the city; and this is an area of business in which the good Chinese pose a formidable competition to the French, I must tell you, moreover, that the honourable profession of the grocer is much more complicated here than it is in Europe, as it requires a more complete and varied practical knowledge.

An amiable comic ditty that my good friend S sometimes hums in private, between the pear and cheese, proclaims in its chorus that:

In the business
Of the grocer
It is necessary to sell candles.

However, our Saigon grocers are not content just to add the commerce of the candle to that of selling cans of conserves and other colonial products. They sell a bit of everything, from pith helmets to saddles, manufactured everywhere from Paris to Nuremberg. There’s truly something for everyone.

Grocery stores which have expanded their activities in this way are described generously as “magasins généraux d’alimentation” (general provisions stores); they are more chic and more expensive than the rest.

Chinese small industry and commerce has effectively taken over the lower end of the rue Catinat, and this deserves our attention.

Here, first of all, picturesquely located in dilapidated old compartments which in this central area form the last vestiges of the old town, one may find a confederation of Chinese tailors whose workshops open directly onto the pavement. Every morning, their brave workers come and sit down, shirtless, in front of the benches upon which their daily work piles up. They don’t leave until nightfall, and it’s wonderful to see their nimble hands stir in a tireless toil, measuring, trimming, cutting and recutting, running their needles through fabric. For them there is no unemployment, no weekly rest, and especially no irritating discussion of the “three-shift” system: only the ritual celebrations of Tết interrupt their ardent working lives for a statutory fortnight’s holiday. And as you may know, it is from such good Chinese manufacturers that come, signed A-Tac or A-Hon, the colonial suits that help us dress so elegantly.

The meticulous precision work required by industry of clockmaking and jewelry also naturally appeals to the patient and industrious Chinese artisans, who have also cornered the market in this area. Shops in which rather dated clocks rub shoulders with a whole assortment of native jewelry are also numerous in the rue Catinat.

Further along, furniture makers and basket weavers obligingly spread out their masterpieces of dubious elegance – but beware of termites!

Along the lower end of rue Catinat there have survived a few Chinoiserie and Japonerie merchants which the customs tariffs have not yet reduced to bankruptcy. Once they were many, but now they are a dying breed. I recall many years ago the shop of a very large, paunchy man who combined his official duties as an interpreter in the Immigration Department with a Chinese antiques business. There, by browsing carefully and paying well, one could acquire some very beautiful artefacts.

But amongst the hectic scenes of daily life that play out all along rue Catinat, the most interesting are those surrounding the small money changers and tobacconists shops which line the left sidewalk. Around a dozen of these little shops stand side by side, opening directly onto the street. On the threshold of each, set tirelessly in the legendary pose of the artisan at work, stands a son of our French India, boss of his narrow house, proudly exhibiting his wares to passers by, including packs of cigarettes or tobacco of Algerian origin, fine Manila cigars, Japanese matchboxes and wooden pipes. Some of these tobacco shops also have attached to them small haberdasheries selling articles which are specifically intended for military customers.

I have not yet spoken about Saigon’s cafés. So, in order not to give the lie to the reputation of French colonisers, I will say that Saigon certainly has no shortage of them. Many of these, establishments of the second order, are grouped at the bottom end of the old rue Nationale [Hai Bà Trưng] in the neighbourhood of the naval port, which provides them with a guaranteed clientele. But it’s near the theatre that one may find most of the more up-market cafes. These are vast, well-appointed facilities, with large terraces which spill out onto the sidewalk, cluttering them up with a casualness which is very colonial.

It’s here, at the “green hour,” that the Saigonnais come to rendezvous after the oppressive heat of the day has subsided, escaping from their desks and offices, eager to breathe the “good air” and enjoy the relative cool of the evening. Incidentally, I recall that in one of those vague early accounts of the Far East penned back in the 1870s by one of a special category of travel writer known today as the “pantouflards” (couch potatoes), it was written that Saigon was a city of idlers who spent their days and nights in taverns getting drunk on strong liquor such as absinthe. It’s time to do proper justice to this assessment by describing it as both inaccurate as malicious. They do not drink more in Saigon than they do in France, and consumption of absinthe is certainly more moderate here than it is in other French dependencies. In any case, the harsh climate we experience, ruthless to alcoholics and opium smokers, obviates against excesses of this nature. Let us therefore no longer make such rash judgments. We have a duty to recognise that in a city where one lives mainly an outdoor life, where it is necessary to escape the heat of the office or the solitary home, institutions of this nature have an undeniable practical utility.

In my case, I can only make a single complaint against the café, and that relates to the incessant noise created by their concert orchestras, which have transformed this exclusive location of Saigon into a true outpost of the Point-du-Jour. You like violins? You’ll find them everywhere on the rue Catinat, from 6pm until curfew, their bows darting back and forth enthusiastically. Where music is concerned, I admit that I’m only a vulgar layman. But for many months in my little hermitage on the rue Blancsubé [Phạm Ngọc Thạch] – a neighbourhood of music lovers – I had to suffer the piano playing of a very amiable boy who sat down at his piano in the late morning and didn’t get up from it until nightfall. He carried on playing endless scales on this horrible instrument, interrupted only by his appalling rendition of “Salut, demeure, chaste et pure” from Gounod’s Faust. His dragging interpretation of the high note which marks the penultimate syllable of this air left a throbbing and painful impression in my eardrums which still lingers today. It almost drove me mad, and had it done so, that would have been very unfortunate for my family.

So let’s waste no more time being grumpy about the cafés of the rue Catinat with their blaring music and continue to the place du Théâtre.

To read part 2 of this serialization, click here

To read part 3 of this serialization, click here

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

This article was published previously in Saigoneer http://saigoneer.com

In the future, 2014 may be remembered as a watershed year in which a popular urban conservation movement emerged to champion the cause of Hồ Chí Minh City’s fast-disappearing built heritage.

The year 2014 began, just as 2013 had ended, with the destruction of a further batch of Hồ Chí Minh City’s colonial-era heritage buildings to make way for new developments.

These included 213 Đồng Khởi, 200 Lý Chính Thắng, the last Naval Artillery building at 3A Tôn Đức Thắng, and the old Ogliastro warehouse at 132 Bến Vân Đồn in District 4.

Early in the year the public also learned, through various press articles, the fate of other surviving colonial-era heritage buildings located on so-called “gold land” sites, including 59-61 Lý Tự Trọng, the Catinat Building at 26 Lý Tự Trọng, Bót Catinat at 164 Đồng Khởi, and the Nguyễn Văn Của Imprimerie de l’Union building at 49-57 Nguyễn Du.

However, perhaps what 2014 will be remembered for most is not the continued destruction of old buildings, but rather the growing realisation of local people that old Saigon – once described as the “Pearl of the Orient” – was fast disappearing under the wrecking ball of modernisation. And it was this growing awareness which led, during the course of the year, to the emergence of a community-led urban heritage conservation movement.

Public opposition to the fast-paced redevelopment of historic buildings first became apparent in the press coverage which followed the announcement that a new 14-storey City Administration Centre would be built immediately behind the Hồ Chí Minh City People’s Committee building. To make way for the new building, the plan involved the demolition of the art deco office and apartment block at 213 Đồng Khởi (1929) – a building which as recently as 2011 had been earmarked for repair and preservation – along with its neighbour, the former Secrétariat général du gouvernement building (c 1888) at 59-61 Lý Tự Trọng.

Then in March 2014, just as the wreckers began their work on 213 Đồng Khởi, the Vietnamese press gave extensive column space to an alarming report presented to an urban heritage conservation seminar organised by the Hồ Chí Minh Institute of Development Studies (HIDS) and the Hồ Chí Minh City Urban Development Management Support Centre (PADDI). According to this report, of the 377 colonial villas in Districts 1 and 3 which had been catalogued in 1993, more than 56% had been demolished, degraded or significantly altered by 2013.

However, it was the revelation in September 2014 of a long-planned scheme to demolish the Saigon Tax Trade Centre and replace it with a 43-storey tower block which really got the embryonic conservation movement into gear.

Though heavily modified since its glory days as the up-market Grands Magasins Charner (1924) and no longer the city’s most successful department store, the Saigon Tax Trade Centre building enjoyed iconic status and was greatly loved by many local people. Little more than a week after the announcement, a group comprising architects, academics and other concerned citizens had been formed under the leadership of Mr Phùng Anh Tuấn, the Honorary Consul of Finland in Hồ Chí Minh City, to raise concerns about the redevelopment plan and propose alternative solutions. An online petition was subsequently drawn up, requesting the Hồ Chí Minh City People’s Committee to preserve elements of the old building as part of the new development. Shortly before Christmas, responding positively to the recommendations of this group, the People’s Committee announced its agreement to a proposal by the Director of Planning and Architecture that the main lobby of the Tax Trade Centre with its priceless mosaic staircase, along with design features of the building’s exterior façade, should be preserved and incorporated into the new building.

In December 2014, building upon the momentum of its successful Saigon Tax Trade Centre campaign, the “Tax Team” relaunched itself as the “Saigon Heritage Observatory.” On its Facebook group page, the group declares its stated aims to be: (i) working with a range of partners to encourage and assist in the protection and restoration of historic buildings and streetscapes; (ii) promoting the important role played by the historic environment in economic and social development; (iii) providing a platform for the dissemination of information on best practice in urban conservation management; and (iv) monitoring and raising public awareness about the condition of buildings and streetscapes in danger of damage or destruction.

In 2015, the Saigon Heritage Observatory group plans to launch a unique open data heritage mapping project which will permit members of the public owning GPS-equipped cameras and smartphones to participate in the protection of the city’s heritage by uploading images of old buildings onto a website. These images will automatically be inserted in their correct locations on a Google map of the city, and website moderators will then add relevant details of each building, including date of construction, architect, historical data, architectural/artistic value, current condition and status.

It is envisaged that the project will become the basis for the development of a comprehensive inventory of colonial-era heritage buildings, something which does not currently exist in Hồ Chí Minh City. In future, the open data heritage mapping project can be used by the Vietnamese authorities and the general public, both as a tool for extending legal protection to selected heritage buildings, and as a means of improving people’s awareness of their cultural significance. It is believed that this will be the first instance of “crowdsourcing” techniques being harnessed in order to protect a city’s endangered built heritage.

Considerable challenges face the conservation lobby here in Hồ Chí Minh City. In the absence of any type of protection, the great majority of the city’s colonial buildings can still be modified or demolished at any time with impunity. While those located on the so-called “gold land” prime sites remain at the greatest risk of destruction, many others may yet be lost before statutory protection measures can be drawn up to save them.

However, the new group believes strongly in the power of community advocacy and remains upbeat about its efforts to protect and preserve what remains of Hồ Chí Minh City’s rich architectural legacy for future generations to enjoy.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

This article was published previously in Saigoneer http://saigoneer.com

Featured in 2014 as a Saigoneer “Building of the Week,” the 100-year-old Vietnam Railways Building at 136 Hàm Nghi is yet another of Hồ Chí Minh City’s historic buildings threatened with destruction. Let’s take another look at its long history.

When construction of the southernmost section of the Transindochinois (North-South) railway line got under way in 1904, it was envisaged that the existing terminus of the Saigon-Mỹ Tho line at the riverside end of rue de Canton (modern Hàm Nghi boulevard) would serve both lines. However, when the first northbound trains began operating, the colonial authorities realised that a larger station was required.

In 1910, a scheme was drawn up to reroute both railway lines as they entered the city centre, building a larger Sài Gòn Railway Station in reclaimed swamp land to the west and demolishing an old locomotive depot to free up land for the construction of a new central market and spacious city square.

The project was beset by delays, but the Halles centrales (now Bến Thành Market) finally opened in March 1914, and the second railway station in September 1915.

As part of this scheme, the government railway company Chemins de fer de l’Indochine (CFI) built itself an imposing new southern region railway headquarters on the square, right opposite the station entrance. It was inaugurated in 1914, a full year before the opening of the new railway station. Each level of the ornate three-storey building incorporated a spacious outer corridor which shielded the offices from the heat of the external walls.

In May 1952, when CFI officially became the Việt Nam Department of Railways (Sở Hỏa xa Việt Nam, HXVN), the railway building became its southern branch headquarters. Just three years later, HXVN became the southern rail operating company, responsible to the South Vietnamese Ministry of Public Works and Transport.

During the 1960s, the railway headquarters acquired a certain notoriety after the sidewalk outside the building was turned into a place of execution.

Since 1975, the building has functioned as the Hồ Chí Minh City branch office of Vietnam Railways. However, a 2013 article in the online Báo Giao Thông (Transport Newspaper) – since removed from access – indicated that as part of a co-operation agreement with Kinh Đô Land, the site was earmarked for redevelopment as offices and serviced apartments.

UPDATE: In August 2019, it was announced that the Hồ Chí Minh City People’s Committe had requested Vietnam Railways to transfer the building to the city government, with a view to its restoration and conservation, but that Vietnam Railways had refused, arguing that it need the building for its own operations.

At the time of writing, therefore, the threat to the future of this historic building remains as serious as ever.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing Heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019).

Tim Doling is also the author of The Railways and Tramways of Việt Nam (White Lotus Press, Bangkok, 2012) and gives talks on Việt Nam railway history to visiting groups.

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn, and Rail Thing – Railways and Tramways of Việt Nam for more information about Việt Nam’s railway history and all the latest news from Vietnam Railways.

This article was published previously in Saigoneer http://saigoneer.com

Located close to the Saigon Post Office, the unassuming two-storey white shophouse building at 49-57 Nguyễn Du was once the headquarters of one of the most successful colonial-era printing companies.

In the early days of the colony, the Cochinchina administration set up its own government printing works to handle the publication of all official French government publications, including the Annuaire de Cochinchine Française and the Annuaire de l’Indo-Chine française.

Established in 1867 on the site of today’s Intercontinental Hotel and run by a high-ranking government administrator, this institution was initially named the Imprimerie impériale, but later went by the alternative names of Imprimerie nationale or Imprimerie coloniale.

However, following the replacement of the early Admiral-Governors by a civil administration in 1879, the printing market was opened up to competition from private companies, leaving the poorly-funded Imprimerie nationale unable to compete effectively. It eventually closed in 1904.

According to a report in the Moniteur de la papeterie française et de l’industrie du papier of 15 January 1904, “The Printing Office of Cochinchina has been abolished. The equipment was old, worn, and required replacement; the Governor recognised that the private printing companies were sufficient, so he decided to close the Imprimerie nationale in order to save public money, while arranging for the fair dismissal of staff.”

In subsequent years, both public and private books and documents were printed by a variety of independent printing companies, including the Imprimerie Saigonnaise, the Imprimerie Commerciale Ménard et Rey and its later offshoot the Imprimerie Rey, Curiol et Cie, the Imprimerie nouvelle A Portail and the Imprimerie Moderne.

However, by the 1920s, one of the best-known and most successful of Saigon’s printing enterprises was Nguyễn Văn Của’s Imprimerie de l’Union, based initially at 13 and later at 57 rue Lucien Mossard (modern Nguyễn Du street). It printed the newspapers L’Écho annamite: Organe de défense des intérêts franco-annamites, L’Eveil économique de l’Indochine and later L’Ere nouvelle: Organe bi-hebdomadaire du Parti travailliste annamite, along with journals such as Pháp Viện Báo: Revue judiciaire franco-annamite and a wide range of Cochinchina, Saigon municipal and provincial government publications. The company also took over the printing of Lục Tỉnh Tân Văn (“Six Provinces News,” founded 1907), one of the earliest newspapers to use the Vietnamese quốc ngữ script.

Regarded as one of the leading Vietnamese intellectuals of his day, proprietor Nguyễn Văn Của acquired French citizenship, was elected as a Colonial Councillor and could frequently be found mixing amongst the high society of Cochinchina. He also became the owner of a 288-hectare plantation in Long Thành, Biên Hòa, and an active member of the Association des planteurs de caoutchouc de l’Indochine (Indochina Rubber Planters’ Association).

In 1925, Của was elected president of the committee tasked with raising funds for the statue of Pétrus Trương Vĩnh Ký and succeeded in raising 90,000 Francs to pay for the construction and installation of the monument. Significantly, when it was formally installed in 1928 behind the Cathedral, it was Của himself who delivered the eulogy.

Nguyễn Văn Của was also an active member of the Société des Études Indochinoises, and in 1927 the Société made him the president of the subscription committee they had set up to raise funds for the purchase of naval pharmacist Dr Victor-Thomas Holbé’s Asiatic art collection.

Của’s fundraising skills and extensive network of contacts ensured that Holbé’s priceless art works became the core collection of the new Musée Blanchard de la Brosse (opened in 1929), now the Hồ Chí Minh City History Museum.

Của’s eldest son Nguyễn Văn Xuân also became a naturalised French citizen, attending the prestigious Collège Chasseloup Laubat Laubat (now the Lê Quý Đôn Secondary School) and later embarking on a successful career in the French army, rising to the rank of lieutenant-colonel.

When he died in May 1941, Nguyễn Văn Của was given a grand funeral which was attended by many of the colony’s great and good. A few days later, in a long article in the Écho annamite newspaper, the President of the Chamber of Agriculture J Mariani gave a long eulogy describing Của as “a fine example of a self-made man” and “a model partisan of the Franco-Annamite union.”

The Nguyen Van Cua Imprimerie de l’Union building is a two-storey building which originally incorporated commercial spaces at ground floor level and family accommodation above. It has survived intact until the present day, with the words “Nguyen Van Cua” and “Imprimerie de l’Union” still visible on its upper façade,  but it is now in very poor condition. Sadly, it stands on the so-called “Gold Land” block enclosed by Đồng Khởi, Lý Tự Trọng, Nguyễn Du and Hai Bà Trưng streets, which, according to newspaper reports, will soon be redeveloped to accommodate “services, culture, luxury hotels, finance offices and exhibition areas.”

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

This article was published previously in Saigoneer http://saigoneer.com

One of many French settlers of Corsican descent who made names for themselves in colonial Saigon, André Pancrazi is remembered as the proprietor of two old Saigon icons – the Café de la Musique and the Grand Hôtel des Nations.

Since André Pancrazi does not appear in the colonial records as a hotelier and restaurateur until 1900, little is known about his earlier business activities.

However, it seems that he was one of several Pancrazi siblings who settled in Saigon in the late 19th century, including Antoine (who became his business partner), François (a clerk in the Saigon Immigration Service) and Bonaventure (a colonial administrator in Long Xuyên).

The “Hôtel and Café de la Musique” at 4 place Francis Garnier [modern Lam Sơn square] – with which Pancrazi’s name is forever associated – was originally opened in the mid 1880s by a businesswoman named Madame Hermann. During her 1888 visit to Saigon, wealthy French widow Louise Bourbonnaud was advised by one of her fellow travellers to stay at this establishment, but she chose instead to take a room at the more famous Hôtel de l’Univers.

By the late 1890s, one Lucien Chêne briefly appears as the café’s proprietor, but in 1900 the business was acquired by André Pancrazi.

By this time, the Café de la Musique was one of the city’s most popular café-restaurants, but its hotel facilities were very limited, so in 1900-1901 Pancrazi commissioned the construction of the 65-room Grand Hôtel des Nations at 70 boulevard Charner, at the other end of the same city block. After the new hotel opened, the old hotel rooms above the Café de la Musique became the hotel annex.

Sadly, no descriptions of the hotel’s facilities have survived. However, it seems that the “fine dining” offered at the “Grande Terrasse” restaurant of the Hôtel des Nations was appreciated by Saigon’s gourmands. In his Excursion en Annam of 1905, G. Le Roy Liberge commented that the hotels in Saigon were so uninviting that he preferred to rent a room – and to take all his meals at the “Restaurant Pancrazi.”

In 1913, André Pancrazi was awarded the Chevalier de la Legion d’honneur for his services to the city, and from that date onwards he also appears in the colonial records as a Municipal Councillor.

André Pancrazi remained a figure of importance in colonial Saigon’s hospitality industry for nearly two decades, but in 1919 he sold both the Café de la Musique and the Grand Hôtel des Nations, and soon afterwards he left Saigon. The records remain silent about the reasons for his departure.

By 1922, the Café de la Musique building had been taken over by the Pharmacie principale L. Solirène, which advertised itself as “the former Maison Holbé et Renoux, the oldest and most important pharmacy in the Far East, founded in 1865.”

After Pancrazi’s departure, the Grand Hôtel des Nations continued in operation under the management of a M. de Fourcauld, but such was Pancrazi’s reputation that throughout the 1920s its advertising continued to describe the hotel as the “Ancienne Maison Pancrazi.” Indeed, Henri Danguy, in his Nouveau Visage de la Cochinchine of 1929, commented that one never called this establishment the “Grand Hôtel des Nations” – it would always be the “Hôtel Pancrazi.”

The Grand Hôtel des Nations survived on its original site until the early 1950s, when the building was demolished to make way for the six-storey Liên Seng complex. A new Grand Hôtel des Nations subsequently reopened in that building and survived until the early 1970s.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

In early 1912, A Maufroid visited Cochinchina as part of a six-month tour of the Far East. This is an English translation of the chapter entitled “Saigon” from his 1913 book De Java au Japon par l’Indochine, la Chine et la Corée (From Java to Japan via Indochina, China and Korea).

Yesterday afternoon, the Polynésian passed close to high mountains that we first took to be part of the coast of Cochinchina. In fact, they were the islands of Poulo Condor, huge rocks rising from the sea which France turned into a place of exile for the indigenous criminals of Indochina.

By this morning we were in calm waters. The boat moved slowly up the Saigon River. The countryside was very flat and very green. Along the banks, we saw mangrove bushes at the foot of unknown shrubs, and beyond them the rice fields. The greenery, the plain, the light mist over the water which caught the first light from the rising sun, all was reminiscent of Holland.

At 9am, the Polynésian docked at a wooden pier, where around 20 colons dressed in white were waiting for friends from France.

A river of moderate breadth, a smattering of officials meeting colleagues or greeting superiors, the very small amount of activity in a port containing just five or six ships – all of this seemed quite modest when you compare it with the great English ports of Colombo and Singapore. On the horizon there were no factory chimneys, and close to the wharf one could see only clusters of low houses, customs halls and courier offices. It gave the impression of a small, sleepy provincial town.

Two pousse-pousse – that’s the name given to the rickshaw in this French territory – carried me and my luggage to the Hôtel Continental, the most recently established hostelry here in Saigon.

In fact, this name “pousse-pousse” (which can be abbreviated simply to “pousse,” meaning push) is only really justified in Pondicherry, where the driver really does push a small carriage ahead of him. Here, as in Ceylon, Singapore and elsewhere throughout the Far East, the vehicle is pulled, not pushed.

Unlike the Dutch, our Indochina compatriots do not regard this mode of locomotion as being incompatible with human dignity. The pousse-pousse abounds in Saigon, and its exaggerated number has had the effect of reducing the price of journeys to one of incredible modesty. For just 10 cents (5 French sous – the piastre of 100 cents is worth about 2.50 Francs) you can buy yourself an average-length journey.

People rarely walk in the streets. The soldiers themselves spend their time going from barracks to café and from café to barracks and they enjoy prices which are lower than those which civilians have to pay.

Besides, at certain hours of the day it’s so hot that walking is almost impossible for the European, while the “man-horse” – the pousse-pousse driver – runs like a deer, his back cooked by the sun and his skin dripping with sweat.

Saigon boasts of being the most beautiful city in the Far East. This may be true, if by “beautiful” we mean a city which is built to measure and intersected by broad avenues which cross each other at right angles. But for tourists seeking original buildings, or even just the coolness of shadows in the sweltering 32° heat, perhaps the old eastern cities with their bizarre and irregular houses have more to offer.

Some of the city’s monuments are very elegant: the Palace of the Lieutenant Governor of Cochinchina on rue Lagrandière; the Post Office; Cathedral square, beautifully landscaped to combat the excessive temperature of the country; and especially the Palace of the Governor General, located at the end of boulevard Norodom, the wide verandahs of which are very well suited to the climate.

One may say the same of a statue which seems almost to menace the Governor General’s official residence with his vehement gestures: a bronze Gambetta, who struggles under a thick coat, like a North Pole explorer. The natives, who sweat all year topless, gaze with amazement at his incomprehensible clothing.

The Saïgonnais would have been unhappy if, over the past few years, they had not built a wondrous theatre. This building stands in the heart of Saigon, a square surrounded by cafés, where rue Catinat, that great artery of the city, joins boulevard Bonnard.

It cost nearly four million Francs to build, and each year the Municipal Council awards its Director a further subvention of 125,000 Francs, to which is added a tidy sum for artists’ travel.

Along with the cafés which surround it, the Saigon Theatre is the great preoccupation of the Saïgonnais. However, if you take account of the fact that, of its 50,000 inhabitants, Saigon has about 4,000-5000 Europeans capable of savouring comic operas and vaudeville, you will no doubt understand that the evening entertainments laid on here for the colons place a rather heavy burden on the local budget.

Saigon has the appearance of a quiet prefectural town in France which revolves around the lives of its garrison and officials. During the daytime, its spacious boulevards, roasted by the sun, become veritable desert steppes. Each functionary scribbles away all day in an office – unless he chooses to sleep while waiting for the cocktail hour. Then, at about five o’clock, everyone wakes up; the pavement cafés of the rue Catinat fill up with customers; and Theatre square is perfumed with the scent of absinthe. This is truly the magic hour! By this time, the temperature has become more bearable. Friends gather to talk politics while watching the promenaders pass by.

And how they pass by! An endless stream of people travelling by pousse-pousse, carriage, automobile; in fact, one might say especially by automobile. The motor car, in hot countries, has become a very explainable success. Its speed generates a violent current of fresh air, compared with which the faint breath of the electric fan or the archaic punkah is simply a caress without energy. Here, those who own motor cars may take a tour to the Inspection de Gia-Dinh, along a beautiful road where the powdery dust turns their white suits pink.

After dinner, even more people arrive at the cafés where the orchestras play. Then, during intervals in the performance at the Saigon Theatre, members of the audience come outside and spread themselves all over the square, sitting down at café tables to enjoy iced drinks with grandly dressed ladies.

As soon as a customer is sufficiently refreshed and gets up from his chair in the Café de la Terrasse, the Café de la Musique or the Continental Terrace, up to 20 pousse-pousse drivers immediately gather round him expectantly.

As for these pousse-pousse drivers harnessed to their tiny carts, one wonders, seeing their heavy buns of black hair, their effeminate faces, their amphoral hips, whether they are men or women. But these are certainly men … of a somewhat frightening mentality.

When you call a pousse-pousse to go home, the driver will run for just ten seconds before turning to ask “Congaï, Mossié, congaï?” And you answer: No! To the hotel! And make it quick!

And so, the driver once more begins to run. But then, after another 30 metres, he slows and again puts his insidious question. A second refusal, this time even more categorical.

Finally, a little further on, he will amend his offer by asking: “Boy, Mossié, boy?”

I did not attend any performance by the visiting theatre troupe in Saigon. Yet the posters were enticing. The astute director had warned families of character about the particularly frivolous nature of the show.

If this theatre didn’t help me to pass my evenings in Saigon, its presence was not, however, completely without use. As I strolled around the square during one intermission, admiring the grandly-dressed audience members who came outside to breathe the cool air, I was recognised by a lady with whom I had travelled on a steamship two years earlier. Madame P introduced me to her husband, who was kind enough to invite me to dinner the next day and then placed his automobile at my disposal for several refreshing promenades.

It was thus that I went one morning by motor car to Cholon. While Saigon is the bourgeois city, the town of administrators, theatre and cafés, Cholon is the city of business.

Cholon is exclusively Chinese, and has three times the population of Saigon. It is here that the trade in rice, tea, ceramics and various other commodities is concentrated entirely in the hands of the “Heavenly Ones.”

The city is located five kilometres from Saigon on the arroyo Chinois [Bến Nghé creek]. This river is crowded with junks which are packed tightly against each other alongside rows of rice husking factories.

What I said about Singapore is equally true for Cholon: it is a Chinese colony ruled by Europeans. In the streets, one sees exactly the same spectacle as in Singapore; vertical banners with their golden characters on a black background, and paper lanterns carrying the owners’ names on their flanks.

In the shops – for indeed, most of the houses are shops – the Chinese go about their business wearing only shiny black pants; now that their hair has been cut short [the compulsory pigtail was abolished in China in 1911 following the overthrow of the Qing dynasty], we may see the spot on their necks from where their pigtails were recently excised.

A Chinese employee of Mr P who accompanied me showed me around a few pagodas, which were all very much alike. Their walls were decorated with human and animal figures and flowers made from glazed ceramics, while their angled roof ridges featured dragons with gaping mouths and sharp tongues darting from under slender moustaches. Inside, carved and gilded wooden panels celebrated the names of generous donors. In front of the Buddha statues burned incense sticks, placed in pots filled with ash. The fragrant jostick spirals hanging from the ceilings added their sandalwood fragrance to the scent of the incense sticks.

The Chinese in Cholon include some notorious millionaires. In order to flaunt his wealth, one of them, named Taï-Maïen, had the idea of building a villa which was almost an exact copy of the Palace of the Lieutenant Governor of Cochinchina.

Behind the shopping streets, located on swampy land alongside the canals, are scattered huts made from bamboo and leaves inhabited by Chinese people of low status. One day, by dint of cunning and economy, some of these people may come to compete in luxury with Mr Taï-Maïen. And if they do, in order to humiliate their compatriot, they will be forced to go one step further by building a copy of the great Palace of the Governor General!

We returned via the Plain of Tombs. A very sad place located in grey countryside covered in tufts of straw, with blackened, sunken gravestones everywhere.

On this side of the city, much of the land is covered in rice fields. Further east, in the direction of Thu-Dau-Mot, many rich Saïgonnais have recently set up rubber plantations, the fruits of which we will be able to appreciate in several years time.

Between the Plain of Tombs and the Inspection de Gia-Dinh, I stopped for a moment before the tomb of the Bishop of Adran, Monsignor Pigneau de Béhaine. In the 18th century, the Bishop of Adran was the adviser and friend of Gia Long, Emperor of Annam. In 1787, through his mediation, the Asian sovereign concluded an advantageous treaty for France.

In his old age, Monsignor Pigneau de Béhaine retired to this place, occupying himself by cultivating a small garden. On his death in 1799, he was buried here, and Gia Long raised in his memory an Annamite-style mausoleum, on which one is surprised to see decoration which juxtaposes the Christian cross with Chinese characters and imaginary monsters!

Seeing the tomb of Monsignor Pigneau de Béhaine reminded me of my own country. In fact, I know several families from his birthplace, the village of Thiérache, to where, I think, I must one day carry some stories about the great prelate who served France so well in far-away Asia.

While I was in Singapore, I visited an entire neighborhood of Hindu workers, which was not surprising to see in an English colony. In the streets of Saigon we encounter Indian people of a different aspect; these are the Chettyars, who go about naked to the waist, their energetic faces lit by cruel eyes.

The Chettyars are Saigon’s most formidable usurers. They are widely hated in the colony, where they exploit the vices of gamblers and bon viveurs. Anyone who borrows money has reason to use their services. In a country where the normal interest rate in prime mortgage investments is around 8-10%, the Chettyars serve those who do not measure their spending in accordance with their budgetary resources. With such customers, I’m told that some Chettyars demand up to 45% interest on their loans!

“They are a plague!” say many colons. But I say that the plague is not the Chettyars, it is rather the mentality of the borrowers who come to them to pay off gambling debts that no one is obliged to contract, or to pay for disproportionate amounts of luxury which too many French are getting used here as a result of their inexcusable snobbery.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

In recent years, while the fate of Hà Nội’s built heritage has been more closely monitored by specialists from the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, a very large number of Hồ Chí Minh City’s historic buildings have been systematically demolished with apparent impunity, in the name of economic development.

As the city waits to see which elements of the original “Grands Magasins Charner” design will be incorporated into the façade of the 43-storey replacement for the doomed Saigon Tax Trade Centre, here are the city’s “Top Five” historic buildings which are currently under the greatest threat of redevelopment:

1. District 1 People’s Committee Building, 45-47 Lê Duẩn

Several weeks ago it was announced that the headquarters of the District 1 People’s Committee at 45-47 Lê Duẩn, housed in the former “Cercle des Officiers” (Officers’ Mess), would be rebuilt. Opened in 1876 and thus one of the city’s oldest colonial structures, it is typical of the colonial civic architecture of its period, with spacious exterior verandahs and shuttered windows. UPDATE: After an initial response to public concern which stressed that the building was not a historic, architectural, cultural or artistic vestige and therefore the redevelopment plan did not violate any regulations, the District 1 People’s Committee has now pledged that the old building will be preserved and the new building constructed behind it.

2. Phương Nam Mansion, 110-112 Võ Văn Tần

The largest and most imposing French building in District 3, the Phương Nam Mansion is believed to have been constructed between 1910 and 1920 for a rich Vietnamese businessman. Its unique design features a spacious surrounding upper verandah with decorative balconies and a high-ceiling interior with intricately carved coving work. The building is currently on the market for US$35 million, and at that price, it’s obvious that only demolition and reconstruction as a tower block will offer prospective buyers a big enough return on their investment.

3. Catinat Building, 26 Lý Tự Trọng

This 1927 apartment building stands on the so-called “Gold Land” block enclosed by Đồng Khởi, Lý Tự Trọng, Nguyễn Du and Hai Bà Trưng streets, which, according to newspaper reports, will soon be redeveloped to accommodate “services, culture, luxury hotels, finance offices and exhibition areas.” One of the best-loved icons in the heart of the city, the Catinat Building is known for its classic art deco interior design. For more information see Date with the Wrecker’s Ball (3): The Catinat Building.

4. 273 Điện Biên Phủ

The Hồ Chí Minh City Department of Science and Technology recently announced its intention to build a new Centre for Science and Technology Research and Transfer. The new centre will replace the current building, the French mansion at 273 Điện Biên Phủ, which was built in the 1920s and was once the residence and office of the Swiss Consul General to Cochinchina.

5. 59-61 Lý Tự Trọng

A few years back, the former Secrétariat général du gouvernement de la Cochinchine building (c 1888), currently the Department of Information and Communications at 59-61 Lý Tự Trọng, was earmarked for demolition as part of the scheme to build a new 14-storey Government Centre immediately behind the People’s Committee building. However, following the public outcry which attended the early demolition of its neighbour 213 Đồng Khởi and the controversial plan to replace the Saigon Tax Trade Centre with a 43-storey tower block, the authorities have just launched a new design competition which encourages participating architects to incorporate the façade of 59-61 Lý Tự Trọng into the design of the new building. For more information see Date with the Wrecker’s Ball (2): 59-61 Ly Tu Trong.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

This article was published previously in Saigoneer http://saigoneer.com

One of the most elegant old colonial buildings in the centre of the city, 93-95 Đồng Khởi – originally 93-95 rue Catinat – is believed to have been constructed in the period 1900-1910.

Down to the mid 1920s, it seems to have functioned exclusively as an office building, accommodating a wide variety of commercial tenants.

These included the fashion shops Courtinat and Tournier et Cie, the Société Industrielle d’Exportation en Extrême-Orient (SINDEX) which sold chain saws, machine tools, jacks, pumps, dynamos and electric motors, and the Société Phonique d’Extrême-Orient, which sold gramophones and gramophone records.

In around 1927 or 1928, a M. Barthélemi transformed the entire ground floor of the building into the “Bar Catinat,” one of the most popular watering holes of its day, which became famous in the 1930s for its soirées de boxe (boxing nights).

During this period, the upper floors of the building continued to be used as office space. However, in the early 1940s, a M. Bonelli, the Corsican co-director of one of its tenants, the Plantation Pierlovisi, took ownership of the whole building, turning offices into hotel rooms and transforming the Bar Catinat into the “Grand Hôtel et Bar Catinat.”

After the departure of the French, the Grand Hôtel et Bar Catinat” reopened under Vietnamese ownership as the “Hôtel l’Impérial” at 93-95 Tự Do street. However, just a few years later the hotel closed and the name changed yet again to “Café and Bar l’Impérial.”

As the American presence in Saigon increased in the 1960s, the Café and Bar l’Impérial became a popular meeting spot for GIs, and was thus targeted on several occasions.

One account of a grenade attack on the building in 1963 describes it as “a little French open-air corner bar… classic French, tile floor, zinc top bar, uncomfortable stools, bistro menu, maybe a dozen tiny tables open to the street on two sides, ancient Vietnamese waiters in khakis, white shirts and flip-flops, no girls…”

Since 1975, 93-95 Đồng Khởi has been used for a variety of purposes, but in the early 1990s it became home to its current occupant, the Vietnam House restaurant.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

Join the Facebook group pages Saigon-Chợ Lớn Then & Now to see historic photographs juxtaposed with new ones taken in the same locations, and Đài Quan sát Di sản Sài Gòn – Saigon Heritage Observatory for up-to-date information on conservation issues in Saigon and Chợ Lớn.

In March 1882, Arthur Delteil, retired Chief Pharmacist of the Navy, left Marseille on the Messageries maritimes vessel Oxus and travelled to Saigon, where he stayed for a year. This is the third of three translated excerpts from his book Un an de séjour en Cochinchine: guide du voyageur à Saïgon, published in 1887.

To read part 1 of this serialisation click here.

To read part 2 of this serialisation click here.

From the end of the arroyo Chinois which opens into the Saigon River, we will first cross boulevard de Canton [Hàm Nghi] where may be found the homes of several wealthy Chinese merchants, low wooden houses with no more than two storeys, designed in the particular style of this nation.

Then we cross a bridge over the Grand Canal, which leads some 200 to 300 metres into the city. On the right and left sides of this canal are the quai Charner and the quai Rigault de Genouilly, and it is on the latter that the city market was built. It occupies considerable space and is divided into four large covered compartments: one is for fish, another for fruits and vegetables, the third for poultry and meat, and the fourth for small industries and local restaurants. The market is frequented by a large crowd of Chinese and Annamese of both sexes, who buy food and often consume it on the spot at their convenience.

In the fish hall, one may see large water tanks filled with live fish; those caught in the arroyos are mud coloured and have a viscous appearance which makes them rather uninviting. Only the Annamite population consumes them; in the language of the country, they are called ca-ro, ca-lac, ca-bong, ca-chiai, ca-gay, ca-hop, ca-tre, ca-tien and luong (eel).

Marine fish, caught in deep waters off Cap Saint-Jacques, have a more appetizing appearance. We may buy many fine species of saltwater fish here, including tuna, mullet, bream, shad, sardine and anchovy. The market also sells delicious clams, winkles, oysters, crabs, prawns and lobsters, which are not inferior in any way to those of Europe. Fish are also caught each year in the great lakes of Cambodia for drying, and these occupy an important place in the market, because they are the basis of Annamite food. These are also used to make nuoc-mam, which I will describe later.

The fruit and vegetable market contains a great variety of products, including bananas, mangoes, mangosteens, cucumbers, cabbages, asparagus and lettuce.

In the meat section, pork dominates; it is of good quality and comes from rather small animals with curved spines and bellies which drag on the ground in a rather unsightly way. The beef costs 7-8 sous per pound and its quality is not bad; eggs cost a few sous per dozen. Game and poultry are very abundant: ducks, green pigeons, plump capons, wild roosters, peacocks, guinea fowl, snipe, quail, hares, wild boars … we are indeed spoiled for choice!

The most curious part of the market is the section devoted to food, and in particular the Chinese food stalls. There you will find a huge variety of the special dishes which are consumed by local people, including every different kind of rice and noodle dish, pastries, roasted duck and suckling pigs adorned with large red peppers. The consumers throng around the stalls and choose from among 10 or 12 dishes which have been spread before their eyes. These are served on small plates and consumed with the aid of small chopsticks which are manipulated with remarkable dexterity. One particular dish which I saw looked very appetizing; this was a small omelette, inside which the cook placed two or three shrimps, tender bean sprouts and two or three other substances I could not recognise.

I was particularly interested to see an old woman making pancakes; instead of using a skillet, she took hold of a piece of stiff dough with two small wooden chopsticks and then held it above her stove. At every moment it seemed that the dough, sometimes swollen and sometimes stretched beyond measure, would fall into the fire; but not at all, she handled those small chopsticks with such skill that the pancake was cooked perfectly, with a delicious golden yellow appearance.

In the evening, the market is surrounded by open tables topped with Chinese lanterns which spill out onto the sidewalks. It is here that jolly feasts take place where Annamite people, essentially following their mouths, have a field day. This is a very funny show and I attended frequently. One never sees arguments, all we hear is laughter.

Leaving the market through the front door, we note the Malabar moneychangers squatting on their heels behind stacks of piastres, rupees and sapeks. The latter is the metal Annamite coin; it is made from zinc with a hole in the centre so that bunches of coins can be strung together. It takes 600 sapeks to make a ligature, which is equivalent to 0.80 Francs.

We continue our journey along the quayside, passing on our left the beautiful three-storey building constructed by a rich Chinese named Wang-Taï, and currently occupied by the Administration of Indirect Contributions.

Then we pass a row of riverside cafés, which are arranged just like their European counterparts. Here we may see young ladies of dubious virtue – many of whom came to Saigon with visiting French theatre groups and decided to stay on – serving beers and vermouths to their customers.

Nearby are the facilities of the Messageries fluviales, which has a fleet of steam ships of all sizes, perfectly fitted for hot countries. These ships transport passengers and goods to Tonkin, Cambodia and all intermediate stations. Still following the river, one reaches the Port Directorate, opposite which is moored an old demasted vessel known as the Tilsit, which is used as a pontoon and barracks for sailors; then come the Naval Stores, the Artillery and the Arsenal with its floating dock, where steamships are repaired and small boats built. The Arsenal, which occupies an area of 22 hectares, has not, for the moment, the importance it might have. In future it will become necessary to construct dry docks and provide this installation with all other necessary equipment to repair and maintain a powerful fleet. The recent events in Tonkin probably oblige the Government of the mother country to realise this project which has been studied for so long.

Travelling up the boulevard de la Citadelle, we pass the Sainte-Enfance, which receives orphans and children abandoned by their parents; the Collège d’Adran, run by the Christian Brothers; the St Joseph’s Seminary, led by priests of the Paris Foreign Mission Society; the Carmelite Convent, occupied by unfortunate nuns who it seems came to this deadly climate looking to intensify their already harsh discipline; and finally the Zoological Gardens, facing the arroyo de l’Avalanche [Thị Nghè creek].

This wonderful garden, where all the useful plants of Lower Cochinchina and neighbouring countries are gathered along with the main wildlife specimens living in the colony, was established and organised by M. Pierre, a native of La Réunion endowed with an undeniable zeal and dedication to science.

All to which art and good taste can give birth with limited resources has been created in this garden, which on weekdays is the popular rendezvous of the Saïgonnais. It its elegant birdhouses we may see most of the bird species indigenous to Cochinchina, including cranes, marabous, peacocks, vultures, pheasants and swamp hens. Nearby is the monkey palace, which contains a young chimpanzee with a frightening resemblance to a human; and further along, cages containing tigers, jaguars, bears and snakes. In the parks, deer roam freely. Pelicans and other waterfowl swim on miniature lakes. On the south bank of the arroyo de l’Avalanche, a large area has been set aside for visitors to enjoy this beautiful river, covered with Chinese bridges and traversed by junks and sampans.

Leaving the Zoological Gardens, we pass on our right the Naval Stores and arrive, via the rue Tabert, at the Citadel. It has the shape of a square, each angle of which terminates in a pentagon. Its parapets are surrounded by a broad ditch without water. It is, in fact, a rather formidable fortress.

It was built in 1790 by French officers during the reign of Emperor Gia Long [this is incorrect; the Citadel occupied by the French was built in 1837 during the reign of Minh Mạng to replace the larger 1790 citadel]. Within the walled enclosure we built a magnificent Marine Infantry Barracks of iron and brick, where our soldiers may find the comfortable and hygienic conditions which are so necessary for Europeans in these hot and humid regions. They are housed in superior buildings and very well nourished. We must offer the military genius responsible for these barracks the fair praise he deserves for having designed buildings which are so well adapted to the needs of the climate.

Continuing along the rue Tabert, we arrive at the Military Hospital, also worthy of the admiration of foreigners. It strikes the eye with its beautiful proportions and the perfect intelligence that governs the distribution of all the parts that make up the whole. More praise to the officers of Marine Engineering Corps!

One is particularly inspired by its beneficial system of separate pavilions, which were built, like the Marine Infantry Barracks, of iron and brick. The Military Hospital extends over a wide area and includes all the facilities that we are accustomed to seeing in larger French establishments of the same kind. Absolutely nothing has been neglected, so that our soldiers and our sailors may enjoy the best possible conditions to speed their return to health.

I made a long visit to the sisters of the Hospital, with whom I was destined to stay for some time. In the parlour that serves as their living room, I met Mother Superior Benjamin, who did not seem to feel the fatigue of her 20 years of Cochinchina, along with five or six other sisters who welcomed me with affability and motherly kindness. I was moved to tears; I felt that I had found a family. When illness descends upon you, as happens so often in our unhealthy colonies, especially in Cochinchina, you are always assured of meeting with these excellent creatures, who not only provide constant and delicate care, but also to offer the consolation which only women know how to give.

Let me mention above all Sister Germaine, the nun responsible for the officers ward, all for the good, I think! It was providential that she entered the Military Hospital, for never has the Christian religion produced a more accomplished woman. Her face of angelic sweetness and her inexhaustible goodness have made her extremely popular in Cochinchina. Her name is pronounced with respect and tenderness by many officers who have received her care, and not one of her former patients will pass through Saigon without visiting this holy woman and giving her a little present.

I also visited Father Thinselin, the hospital chaplain, who combined the size of a battleship and the beard of a sapper with a face of a childish sweetness. This colossus was a true friend of his patients and all those who attended the hospital.

On leaving the hospital, we travelled along boulevard Norodom, a wide and busy thoroughfare which is home to the Hôtel du Général, the Cercle des Officiers, the Cathedral, and right at the other end, the Palace of the Governor.

The Cercle des Officiers is a large two-storey building which owes its existence to the munificence of a Governor, who had it built in order to create a meeting place for officers of all arms. The ground floor is devoted to the marine infantry officers’ mess. On the upper floor there is a library, a reading room, a billiard room and a bar. The subscription is one piastre per month.

Close to the Cercle is a rather ugly bandstand, in which a military band plays twice a week. On those days, all the elegant people of Saigon love to promenade along this boulevard. They travel in carriages, they walk, they engage in conversation, they laugh. One could believe oneself to be in any of those cities of France where military music always draws crowds of people.

The Cathedral, which faces the rue Catinat, is far from being a pretty monument. Built entirely of brick, its great mass sitting on granite bedrock, it recalls one of those heavy pastries that are commonly referred to as pâtés. This pretentious and ugly building cost the colony several million.

Externally, it has the shape of a long rectangle bounded by two square towers and a portal. Inside, the nave is wide and very hot, since fresh air does not penetrate; it is almost like entering a diving bell. Instead of a light, elegant church with a double gallery to permit air to circulate freely, they constructed a large building without taste and without style, far too big for the small number of faithful who attend mass. It seems that they wanted to capture the imagination of the Annamites with the imposing spectacle of a grandiose church building dedicated to the Christian God; I do not know if they succeeded. But in my opinion, the design of this church is lacking.

The Palace of the Government, on the contrary, is a monument worthy of the capital of our future colonial empire in the Far East. It strikes the eye with its purity and the simplicity of its lines, as well as the beautiful proportions of its architectural mass. It quite reminds one of the Palais de Florence with its white colonnades. Located at the end of a beautiful park, the dark green colour of which highlights the whiteness of the marble facade, the palace may be seen from afar.

The two most noteworthy parts are the vestibule and the events hall, which are in no way inferior in their richness and ornamentation to any of those that we admire in our most famous Parisian palaces.

The vestibule, which is accessed by a grand marble staircase, is circular in shape, decorated with a profusion of tropical flowers and plants.

The events hall, which can hold up to 800 people, has a grand appearance. Its rich ceiling, consisting of boxes with gilded mouldings, is supported by columns of the finest style; on each side are galleries which allow air to circulate throughout, and at the end a rotunda balcony which overlooks the park. When the room is lit and decorated for a reception or a great ball, we can see nothing more beautiful and more imposing.

Behind the palace is the Jardin de ville (City Park), a huge park of virgin forest which becomes very busy on Sundays at the time of “la Musique” [a Sunday afternoon military band concert].

On days such as this, the Jardin de ville becomes the “Bois de Boulogne of Saigon.” Between 5pm and 6pm, the carriages are so numerous that they have to file in two rows, at walking pace. This is the rendezvous of all of Saigon’s belle société, a veritable assault of fashion and elegance. Among the crowd are the pretty Congaïs, wearing rich silk clothing. We can get a good idea of the elite crowd which attends “la Musique,” a weekly promenade which has now become a regular event in the lives of the population.

Leaving the gardens of the Palace of the Government, we continue up to the rue Chasseloup-Laubat where the College of the same name is situated. This institution receives young Annamites from good families who are taught the French language and elements of our science and our arts. They are intended primarily for careers as government interpreters. There is also, on the rue d’Espagne, a secular school for the children of Europeans, and on the rue Nationale, a school run by the priest of Saigon where indigenous and mixed-race children are taught.

Now let’s conclude our journey of exploration through the city by travelling down the rue Catinat, the busiest and most hectic street in Saigon.

It is in this street that we find most of the public institutions: the Treasury, the Post and Telegraph Office, and the Department of the Interior, along with the residence of its Director; these latter two monuments are veritable palaces. Further down, we find the Hôtel Favre, which I have already mentioned, the Hôtel de Ville (Town Hall), which has no special character, the Theatre, and then several cafés, Chinese and European stores and clubs. The street is filled with horse-drawn carriages of all descriptions, Annamite rickshaws, and both Chinese and Annamite pedestrians who circulate all day long in crowds, producing scenes of great animation.

The rue Nationale, which follows rue Tabert and boulevard Norodom, is also full of noise and movement. Other areas of the city have little which is worth mentioning.

Private houses are nearly all built on the Bourbon model, either of brick or wood. They are rarely more than two storeys in height and are usually composed of a main building with a courtyard and garden, decorated with a verandah in front and behind. Usually buried in the midst of a clump of greenery, they have a graceful and stylish appearance, with large and airy interior rooms. Down towards the lower part of the city, there are many houses built of brick in the European style, which serve both as shops and as housing to the traders.

The city’s drainage system leaves nothing to be desired; it is so comprehensive and well-designed that the torrents of water which inevitably follow the storms of the rainy season seem to vanish in just a few hours.

The supply of water in homes and on street corners, where good fountains and pumps are located, is provided by an elegant Chateau d’eau (water tower), built at the top of the rue Catinat extension. Abundant groundwater which has been percolated through the sands of the Plain of Tombs is brought together in a vast underground aquifer. From there, a powerful steam pumping apparatus conducts the water to the top of the water tower, whence it is distributed to different parts of the city.

Outside the boulevards, the public gardens, the squares and the parks that I mentioned, there are still, in the vicinity of the city, some charming promenades which are well frequented by city dwellers in the evenings after sunset: these are the Tour de l’Inspection and the Route de Cholon.

The Tour de l’Inspection involves a tour of the city. It leads you along a wide and well-maintained road, lined with trees, past beautiful houses, cultivated fields to the Inspection de Gia-Dinh, the residence of an Inspector of Native Affairs and an important centre of population.

There’s nothing as graceful as this small town, which quite reminds one of a clean and well-maintained European village. All the carriages stop here, then they resume their journey and pass through villages, rice fields and bridges over the arroyos.

In the summer months, from 5pm to 10pm, this route is crowded with horse-drawn carriages, which pass each other and weave their way through crowds of walkers who lazily and blissfully enjoy the fresh air.

A little further on, located in a very picturesque spot, is the tomb of the Bishop of Adran, M. Pigneaux de Behaine, who died in 1779. The Bishop, who played a major role in the last century during the reign of King Gia Long, was buried here under the care of his royal friend. After giving him a magnificent funeral, the king built this beautiful monument of Annamite art.

The road to Go-Vap, which passes through some of the best-cultivated and richest areas around the city, is another well-frequented promenade. It’s here that one can see those little Annamite houses on plots of one hectare surrounded by trees where they cultivate tobacco, corn and sugar cane. They bring to mind those fragmented farms in some parts of the French countryside which are equally well cared for by our farmers.

The two roads which lead to Cholon, 5 or 6 kilometres west of Saigon, are also a favourite promenade for carriages. The first, which is accessed from the upper part of the city, is the route Stratégique; it is wide, comfortable and the more attractive of the two. The countryside along this route is beautiful and well cultivated; Annamites of high class live in small and pretty domains, where their houses disappear amidst a tangle of mango, banana and areca nut trees.

A short distance from the city, there is a model farm known as the Ferme des Mares, where we are carrying out research into the cultivation of cane, indigo and coffee, which to date have not given very brilliant practical results.

The second road to Cholon runs along the entire length of the arroyo de Chinois; it passes through several Annamite villages which teem with a very dense population, and leads to the Hôpital indigène de Cho-Quan (Cho-Quan Indigenous People’s Hospital), which receives Annamites and Chinese of the poor class.

Those who have no carriage can reach Cholon in only 20 minutes by taking the steam tram that leaves from the bottom of the arroyo Chinois, or the newly-built railway which now goes all the way to Mytho.

After visiting the city of Saigon in all its details, I went to see Cholon, a city of 50,000 souls, exclusively inhabited by Chinese and Annamites. This is the most commercial city of Cochinchina, a great marketplace for rice, silks and teas. I arrived at 9am on a day of great celebration and went directly to the Inspection, where I received hospitality. Outside was a procession preceded by musicians beating tom-toms, clashing cymbals and playing horribly piercing flutes. It was abominable, discordant music, without rhythm and without musical theme. All one could hear was the piercing noise.

After the orchestra came a group of little girls aged 6 to 7 years, adorned with magnificent costumes, their faces heavily made up, mounted on richly decorated platforms raised aloft by pages in bizarre and colourful outfits.

Other small girls were grouped together on floats, sitting in front of tables laden with dishes or doing various small handicrafts. Behind them walked guards carrying fantastic weapons and wearing brilliant costumes; others held banners, parasols and huge fans. Then came the penitents, monks in saffron robes, followed by the literati, venerable old scholars in glasses. And finally the procession of the dragon. The parade lasted half an hour. To close the ceremony with dignity, firecrackers were exploded in profusion. The whole thing was very original, but it would have been necessary to stand next to an interpreter in order to grasp the real meaning of the procession, which for us seemed more like a mascarade than a religious festival.

The city of Cholon is very much a Chinese city; it is devoted exclusively to trade, and the streets near the arroyo Chinois, covered with many high bridges, are full of shops that sell all kinds of special food for Chinese and Annamite consumption.

Traders from the Celestial Empire, naked to the waist, with plump bellies and noses adorned with large spectacles, sit in front of their shops taking care of business. The accountants among them move their nimble fingers across their abacus, with which they perform the most complicated calculations.

Through a nearby doorway, I saw a Chinese schoolteacher surrounded by a gang of mischievous kids who were making a thousand efforts to appear attentive to their lesson. Further along the arroyo I passed several large rice husking factories, owned by French businessmen but run in collaboration with the Chinese.

I briefly entered the Central Market, which sold the most varied products ranging from fish and rice to clothes, shoes, books, mirrors and fabrics of all kinds.

My curiosity was aroused when I saw a Chinese pagoda surrounded by a dense crowd of people. I entered and found its main hall packed with a mob whose gaiety seemed decidedly out of keeping with the respect due to a place of worship. Cake and sweet sellers had set up stalls here, surrounded by eager customers. The ceiling in this hall was decorated with a multitude of gaudy lanterns of the worst possible taste; were these votive lanterns, or had they been installed just for the festival?

Leaving this noisy room, I entered the main sanctuary of the temple. At the entrance was the horse of the Buddha, which resembled a harmless quadruped, its attitude recalling nothing of its divine role in Chinese religion. At the rear of the sanctuary were shrines decorated with statues, candles and sacred urns. A priest looked at me good-naturedly and seemed not the least bit scandalised by my mocking smile which was inspired by the sight of the big-bellied Buddha, enthroned amidst the lesser gods that surrounded him.

An old woman kneeling on the steps of the shrine burned josticks before the images of her gods and made an offering to the priest, who responded by turning his prayer wheel at the feet of the divinity, thereby taking care of her wishes. Such a simple and uncomplicated system! However, the crowd seemed to delight more in the first enclosure than in the sanctuary, as the few devotees in the latter appeared to have a distracted air and soon rushed back to the noisy party to see what would happen next.

In the afternoon, a carriage drove me to the Cay-Mai ceramics factory, located next to a military barracks of the same name [the former Cây Mai Pagoda] occupied by a company of marines. To get there, we crossed an area of barren land scattered with Annamite mounds and tombs resembling headless sphinxes.

A cadaverous stench coming from a freshly dug grave suddenly filled me with nausea; the Annamites have, in fact, the bad habit of burying their dead in ground of very little depth, so that the putrid fumes of decay spread easily throughout the area, to the great detriment of public health.

The Cay-Mai ceramics factory consists of a long low shed covered with a roof of reeds and a brick oven. The Chinese workers here artistically manipulate the clay that is drawn from the soil and give it a variety of forms according to their own imagination or the needs of their customers. In general, the objects produced by this factory – mainly vases and household utensils – are of rather coarse quality. However, some of the Cay-Mai ceramic artists are endowed with a greater ability and create groups of figures or plates and vases decorated with crabs or fish that do not lack character. What a surprise it was to see how, with such rudimentary means, they were able to make relatively fine objects.

Above the main workshop area I saw a balcony containing the modest bunk beds used by the workers of the factory. Nothing can give a better idea of the minimal requirements of the Chinese worker. He works hard and never complains; he also saves hard and contents himself with the bare essentials of clothing, food and housing. Despite this, he always seems happy and contented.

How different he is to the workers of our major cities, who are in general so exacting and so unscrupulous! It seems that the Chinese, who we so often treat like an old and corrupt race of barbarians, have long since solved the social problems that we have pursued in vain for so many years. When we know better the manners and habits of this people, we will, no doubt, draw from them lessons in wisdom, moderation and social organisation.

I returned to Saigon by carriage along the road through Choquan. As I left Cholon, I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of many wonderful vegetable gardens, cultivated with talent and expertise by Chinese gardeners, where delicious vegetables such as lettuce, cabbage and asparagus are grown largely for the Saigon market.

However, since time immemorial, these people have used human manure to fertilise their crops, a
scarcely aromatic treatment which has the serious drawback of spreading intestinal worms, whose eggs are well spread over the vegetables we eat.

I stop for a moment to shake hands with the Navy doctor who heads the Choquan Hospital, and then head back to Saigon, delighted with my journey and all of the interesting things I have seen.

Tim Doling is the author of the guidebook Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn – Vanishing heritage of Hồ Chí Minh City (Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019)

A full index of all Tim’s blog articles since November 2013 is now available here.

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