19-05-2025
In the footsteps of Saigon's Quiet American, 70 years on
Northeast of central Saigon lies the Dakow canal. It was here, in its dirty waters, that the body of an American man was found drowned in the mud – stabbed in the chest, it would later be determined, by 'a rusty bayonet'.
Thus begins
Graham Greene 's The Quiet American, published 70 years ago this year. Set during the first Indochina war (1946-1954), the novel tells of a love triangle between a jaded British foreign correspondent and self-professed désengagé, Thomas Fowler; Vietnamese beauty Phuong; and a young American, Alden Pyle, whose quietness belies a dangerous idealism.
Often noted for its foresight into American involvement in the Vietnam war, the novel's real triumph lies in how vividly it brings its setting to life. Today, it makes for an interesting companion while exploring
Saigon – now officially known as
Ho Chi Minh City – where traces of remote Greeneland can still be found.
The Cao Dai Temple in Ho Chi Minh City. Photo: Oliver Raw
The far bank of the canal, described in the novel as Vietminh territory by night, is now part of the urban core, with restaurants lining the water and apartment buildings shooting upwards beyond. During my visit, I find no bodies floating under the bridge, just elderly residents doing their morning exercises and a man fishing in the muddy waters.
A woman empties a plastic bag filled with juvenile catfish into the canal. 'For peace,' she tells me, before hopping on her scooter and speeding away like someone fleeing the scene of a crime.
Those familiar with the novel will know I have begun, like Greene, where the story comes full circle. To follow events properly, however, we must visit the Rue Catinat, or Dong Khoi ('mass uprising') Street as it is known today, where much of the action of the novel takes place.
The Hotel Continental is the city's oldest hostelry and during the war was a watering hole for journalists. Greene doesn't offer much detail about its appearance but its Grecian-influenced design remains largely unchanged from early photographs, although the terrace, which once would have resounded to the clatter of dice games (a favourite pastime of French colonials) is now fully enclosed.
