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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Only with effort did I pull myself away in order to explore other parts of Cholon. I wiggled my way through a market (the literal meaning of Cholon is "big market"), talked with a man resting in his hammock, and bought boiled corn on the cob from a street vendor.

Then, seeing the steeple of a Catholic church off in the distance, I headed that way.

Pushing open the creaking door, I slid into the empty sanctuary and took a seat in the back row. The silence was palpable, and I appreciated the respite from the hustle and bustle of the nearby market.

But what I will remember most about this church is the sentence I found inscribed on a plaque embedded in my pew. It said that this was the pew on which the President Ngo Dinh Diem and his brother, Ngo Dinh Nhu, had sat before they were taken on a tank and killed on the way to Saigon on Nov. 2, 1963.

I struggled to take in what I had just learned. Once, the president of South Vietnam sat on this very pew and watched his world turn upside down and prepare to crush him. And now, 44 years later, an American backpacker was in the same pew, finding it a convenient place to change a roll of film and spend some peaceful moments.

As I sat in the small church, time stood still for a moment – just long enough to show me that, really, it never stands still. Time moves slowly, but it does so with the force of an ocean's tide. It sweeps away past realities even as it brings in that which is new.

As I sat there, I felt its subtle force.

I've seen beaches at sunset, the sand uneven and disturbed by the thousands of feet that had trod there during the day. But in the morning, after the tide had come and gone, the sand was smooth and new, awaiting new steps to be taken.

To say that time is like an ocean's tide is not a perfect analogy, but it is what came to mind as I packed my camera and left the church. Outside there were no soldiers waiting to execute me, only an old woman sitting on a bench, asking that I take her photo. And so I did.

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