The 'timelessness' of old Saigon

He fell in love with this Vietnamese city and its people the moment he arrived – and not just for the many photo opportunities.

from the March 30, 2007 edition

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It was almost sunset, and the day had been wonderful. The Vietnamese government could have hung me upside down outside the War Remnants Museum, and I'd still have enjoyed myself. I would've watched the passing motorcycles and waved hello to the folks who would be staring at me. I would have pondered the life of a bat, the shape of Earth, and the points of the residents' conical hats.

Never had I been to a place where I had so quickly fallen in love with the people. While for many Americans the word Vietnam will always be synonymous with war, for me – at least after my visit here – the word would conjure up something else: a nation where the glances, laughter, and good wishes of a people had fused into a gentle caress that ran over my entire being, leaving me befuddled at how merely being with strangers could delight me so.

The morning had begun with a search for good photo opportunities on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, a city I still refer to as Saigon. I crouched low over a curb to capture the reflection of Notre Dame Cathedral in a puddle of the previous night's rain. I sheepishly entered a salon to beg – successfully – to be able to take photos of hairdos in progress. I took pictures of a family slurping noodles, a woman selling bread, and a poster of Brad Pitt hanging on the wall of a grocery store.

Finally, with my confidence at its peak, I meandered into a manicure and pedicure shop, requesting to photograph people's freshly painted fingers and toes.

In pursuit of more pictures – and feeling that there was nothing I could not photograph while my negotiating skills were in top order – I took an afternoon bus to Cholon, the district also known as Chinatown. It was a gritty side of the city I hadn't seen before, and there were no other tourists in sight.

With an excitement similar to what Columbus may have felt upon first seeing the Americas, I discovered the rice depot. It was an entire street devoted to packaging rice – and a reminder that Vietnam is a large rice exporter. Graceful women wearing colorful clothes and conical hats sat in piles of the product, their bare feet mingling with the symmetrical grains as they scooped up basketfuls to sift out impurities.

I fell head over heels for this street, filled as it was with rice, laughter, and photo-willing people.

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