Embers of empire
Fifty years on, there is still a strong French accent to life in Vietnam. Michelle Jana Chan revels in its multicultural fusion of East and West.
The French used to say of their former colonies in Indo-China: "In Vietnam they plant the rice, in Cambodia they watch it grow and in Laos they listen to it grow." Things haven't changed much.
In Laos, meditation still seems to take precedence over farming. Cambodia, too, feels timeless: only politicians change with any regularity. By contrast, Vietnam is one of south-east Asia's "tiger economies", a hustling, bustling hub with no shortage of entrepreneurial spirit.
Imperial France invested more in industrious Vietnam than anywhere else, and left more behind. The colonial footprint is stamped most heavily into the culture - architecture and gastronomy - rather than the rule of law or business principles.
For the French, Empire was a mission civilatrice rather than an exercise in upping the trade balance. They tried to create a petite France in their remote colonies, enforcing the French language, a Catholic God and fresh croissants.
As Vietnam prospers and progresses, the French legacy is being hotly debated. To pull down or not to pull down is the toughest question for property developers and city planners. The gorgeous old colonial buildings of Hanoi and (to a lesser degree) Saigon often cost more to renovate than replace.
But demolition would be a travesty because Hanoi, in particular, is one of the most beautiful cities in Asia, with leafy boulevards of teak, lime, almond and banyan trees shading Provençal-style villas and lakeside pagodas.
Against the forces of fast economic growth, the government is trying to preserve Hanoi's historical charm. It recently established an arts-and-crafts street market, held on weekend evenings, in the centre of the Old Quarter (along Hang Dao and its continuation), banning cars from the area after dark.
My guide, Ngo Thi Bao Khanh, told me that new buildings are being constructed in the traditional French way. "Now it's what everyone wants: the romantic style, high ceilings, big windows, lots of light."
Hanoi is a wonderful city to explore by foot or cyclo - the modern-day rickshaw that uses pedal power (one company is called Sans Souci, French for "without a care"). The finest French architecture is along Duong Tran Phu and Dien Bien Phu streets, where most buildings serve as embassies or ambassadors' homes.
In the 1950s, when the French left Vietnam, the easy thing would have been to tear it all down and erase any memory of colonial subjugation. But perhaps some things are just too beautiful to destroy - the ochre-yellow residences with heavy green shutters and elegant cornices, the extravagant belle époque Opera House, the spires of Catholic churches.
Downtown, the more modest villas are in Hanoi's Old Quarter around Hoan Kiem Lake, where a mixture of French colonial, Vietnamese and Chinese architecture is sometimes brought together under one roof.
In this neighbourhood, roads are devoted to particular trades - there's Hang Bo, or "Large Basket Street"; there's also "Bread Street" and "Coffin Street".
I stopped for lunch at Green Tangerine, a French and fusion restaurant on Hang Be ("Boat Street"), a reminder of times past when a network of canals threaded through the city.
Behind the 1928 peppermint façade was a room crowded with French-speakers, a mixture of expats and elderly Vietnamese. A bargain menu du jour featured crab remoulade with Vietnamese roots, dill, sesame and mushrooms, as well as other French dishes laced with mashed lotus seeds, tamarind sauce and chilli.
The enormous French influence on Vietnam's cuisine is seen everywhere, from the slickest restaurants to the sweet-smelling bakeries and street markets.
In no other region of Asia can you see baguettes carried in bicycle panniers or in woven baskets balanced on sellers' heads. Every street corner has a crowded café serving sweet, strong and gritty black coffee (cà phê ), as well as biscuits, cakes and pastries.
One wet, misty morning, I puddle-jumped between the stalls at one of Hanoi's crowded daily markets on a shopping expedition with Didier Corlou, head chef at the colonial-era Hotel Metropole. The narrow alleys were chock-full with delivery men and fresh ingredients, filthy underfoot, noisy with motorbike engines and horns.
Customers dawdled past, catching up on gossip, haggling for ages over prices. As Didier put it: "C'est fantastique, non?" Didier told me he was the only foreign chef in Vietnam when he arrived from France 14 years ago. Ever since, he has been exploring the influence of colonialism in cuisine.
"There is so much the same in France and Vietnam. The croissants here are maybe not sweet, but they are here. Bread has no salt, but is still bread. They have dill, and you do not find it anywhere in Asia. Then they make this beef bourguignon on the street, but cooked in rice wine, not red wine."
Didier hardly took a breath. "This was fusion before I started doing it in restaurants."
We zigzagged between stalls, greeting traders and fingering food. Didier is a familiar sight, his trademark chef's jacket peeping white beneath his coat. We broke off leaves of herbs, crushed coriander between our fingers, snorted the strength of basil and sniffed soft cinnamon.
Didier plucked scallops out of big plastic bowls, squeezing them between finger and thumb, complaining they were too white. He wagged crisp spring onions (for Asia's most delicate spring rolls) under my nose, pointed out the Vietnamese crèpe packed with shredded pork and the great slabs of mortadelle, jambo n and aspic.
"Look at this artisan making pig's blood," Didier exclaimed, pointing to one of his vendor friends behind a table of deep-red sausages.
"This is more expensive than fillet, say 75,000 dong [about £2, for a kilo], and fillet is 50,000. People really love it, just like in France. Now look at these snails. In all of Asia, it's only in Hanoi they have snails - best stuffed with ginger. There are a lot of eels because of the cold water. The same as in France. We don't see this in Thailand or China."
By Michelle Jana Chan - The Telegraph - July 16, 2005.
|