Captivated by Saigon's sophisticated swagger Such official prudence only partly explains the lack of road rage on the chaotic streets. Another reason is the proximity in which people have learned to live. A third is Buddhism. It's a cocktail of compliance, pragmatism and tolerance that allows the city to strut its stuff without stumbling, to be arrogant without causing offence, to be simultaneously up-front and laid-back; a paradox that defines its charm. I noticed that the only symbol of American culture in Saigon is a single KFC outlet. French culture though, is deeply ingrained; in the widespread consumption of baguettes and coffee (ca phe in Vietnamese), in the French colonial architecture and the elegance of the women. Minh speaks French fluently. When he was young, it confirmed his status as a person of higher education. He qualified as a doctor. Now aged sixty-five, Minh drives a cyclo, a three-wheeled, pedal-powered rickshaw with a bucket-seat at the front, from which passengers are given a point-blank view of Saigon's traffic. In the war he joined the South Vietnamese Army as a medic and when it ended, he was on the wrong side. He was stripped of his citizenship and spent ten years in a re-education camp. He is still barred from practising medicine and cannot own property; in fact, his presence in Saigon is technically illegal. Yet he has found reasons to be cheerful and as an informal tour guide is impressively knowledgeable and clearly proud of the city that all but rejects him. Every morning, he takes up position outside Ben Thanh, Saigon's central indoor market, waiting for emerging tourists. From there, he hopes to convey his passengers to the districts of Cholon and Dong Khoi, principally because they lie at opposite ends of the city and Minh knows the further he takes them, the more money he makes. But with his knowledge of Saigon's history, he can dramatise the colonial divisions that created the two extremes. Dong Khoi, with wide boulevards, leafy parks and embassies, where The Quiet American's Continental hotel overlooks the opera house, is the fashionable former French quarter of the city. And Cholon, with a network of narrow streets, full of traders, temples and pagodas, is Chinatown. There are few ethnic Chinese there today; most of them fled during anti-capitalism campaigns in the years after the war, many of them as 'boat people'. Now, capitalism in Saigon brazenly wears its top hat and politics has been sidelined. People are more interested in the freedom to make money than they are in freedom of expression. The proliferation of Asian budget airlines brings visitors in increasing numbers and Pham Ngu Lao's busy streets are packed with family-run mini hotels - one room wide, two rooms deep, with a stairwell in the centre. At street level, the restaurants are in rows. The cityscape is studded with construction cranes; site hoardings proclaim joint ventures with partners from Japan, Taiwan and Singapore. The government is widening roads and building bridges - both literally and metaphorically - paying for a popularity untested by the ballot-box. All of Vietnam is turning outwards, embracing the free-market policies of its northern neighbour China, and Saigon is the spearhead. Its people are willing participants in a social experiment by a conservative and probably nervous Communist government. They have the spirit to blaze a trail - without rage. I wish them well.