On the almost deserted river, there was not a single ship in sight: occasionally a fishing boat, a sampan nestled under the shade of a tree, or a boat whose rower was taking a nap in the tent while waiting for the tide.

After the turmoil of the sea voyage, the roar of the ocean, the solitude under this bright sky, this silence and the stillness of everything brought a strange feeling.

Travelers consider Saigon to be just an uninspiring stop on the Far East route, somewhat like 36 hours in a combustion chamber.

Surely no one, even the most contrary-minded, can praise the climate of this region and introduce Saigon as an ideal winter stop.

In fact, the city is quite spacious. It is certainly one of the most beautiful cities in intertropical Asia, and perhaps the most charming. There are other cities larger and more bustling, but none as charming and splendid as Saigon. In this respect, although newly founded, Saigon is in no way inferior to its older rivals in the British East Indies or the Dutch East Indies [now Indonesia].

In short, Saigon is the work that makes France the proudest. Without meaning to disparage our other colonial cities, I would like to add that, in my opinion, no city in our overseas colonies can compare [with Saigon], except of course Algeria and Tunisia!

That was my impression of Saigon when I first came here in 1885, as well as this time I returned, seeing the city renovated, with new avenues opened, more spacious than ever, and full of optimism despite the current troubles, the falling value of the Indochinese currency and the difficulties in trade.

Even the ugly surroundings and the slow, dull sea journey were adequate preparations for the unexpected joy of arrival.

For more than three hours, we had been following the windings of the river, between the half-submerged and half-emerged islands formed by the maze of canals. The river widened like a large lake and then narrowed into winding creeks.

At times the bends were so close together, so sharp, that the stern almost struck a tree branch and the bow grazed the opposite bank. At one of these bends the rudder chain broke and the speed caused the boat to run aground in the woods. However, there was no danger, the boat only went through the bushes like a knife through butter. After an hour's rest, the chain was reconnected, the boat backed up, and we continued on our way.

More than ever, we could not believe that we were near a city, nature was extremely wild, there was nothing to show the presence of man. The sun was gradually setting.

There is no sunset in this land, only half an hour from now it will be nightfall. At this time we have reached the confluence of the Saigon River and the Dong Nai River. We have just left the majestic river originating from the Central Mountains, on the starboard side of the ship the scene suddenly changes.

The curtain of bushes covering both banks is torn apart, cultivated fields, undulating rice paddies, a lush green stretching to the horizon, from here fertile land replaces the mangrove forest. In the evening light, the countryside looks so peaceful. The scattered bushes - marking the location of a village or a lonely thatched hut - become dark patches with no distinguishable outlines against the foliage. At dusk, this little corner of Asia reminds us of distant Europe, of a late afternoon in June on the wheat fields about to ripen.

On the left appeared many large buildings, warehouses, port warehouses, the tall chimneys of rice mills, and further away the old forest, against which green background the masts, the signs and the bell towers of the new cathedral [Notre Dame Cathedral] rose to the sky. After the last bend was the harbor: warships were anchored in the middle of the river, their white hulls shining in the moonlight, like great seabirds resting. The black silhouettes of three or four steam merchant ships, then a fleet of Chinese junks, barges, junks, barges, bustling in and out of the Cho Lon canal. Finally, small Annamese sampans, with hurricane lamps hanging from the bows and firepits at the sterns, passed back and forth like a loom, flickering like fireflies. (to be continued)

(Excerpt from Around Asia: Southern, Central, Northern , translated by Hoang Thi Hang and Bui Thi He, AlphaBooks - National Archives Center I and Dan Tri Publishing House published in July 2024)