The Train Ride

We are taking an overnight train from Hanoi to Hue, but the journey really begins with the bus ride to the train station. Someone decided to take a ‘shortcut’ route since it was rush hour. Well, it turned out to be rush hour on the shortcut road too, and it took almost an hour and a half to travel less than ten kilometers. But we finally arrived, grabbed a quick dinner at the station (a hot dog sandwich for me), and hopped on the train. The train is quite nice, or at least our section is (second class). There are four beds to a cabin, about five feet ten inches long, with sheets, pillows, and (rock hard) mattresses. We even have a small table, two electrical outlets, air conditioning, and nightlights. And the bathroom may be a squat toilet over the tracks, but at least we have a toilet and a sink.

We manage to stay awake for a few hours, but eyelids are drooping pretty low, and despite my hard mattress, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I wake to a lightening of the sky outside my window. Rolling over and propping myself up on my elbows, I look outside. The scene is perfect. Mist rises over green farms of trees and rows of vegetables. Marshy rice paddies, now empty of their harvest, reflect lines of mango trees on their smooth surfaces. The red sun rises slowly, dispelling the mist. And I see even the sun in double, reflected off the water. This early in the morning, the people are already awake, pacing their fields and leading water buffalo behind. A buffalo calf kicks up its heels playfully, enjoying the morning.

The train rolls gently to a stop, and my cabin mate jumps up suddenly, remembering that no one will tell us when we have reached our stop and hoping that this is not it. As soon as she opens the door, a Vietnamese lady looks in and asks briskly, “Tea, coffee?” With a little aid from those universal hand signals, she reassures us that Hue is down the road, and persistently asks again whether we would like tea or coffee. Now we assure her that we are fine, and she moves on immediately before answering our second question of “So when will we reach Hue?” But with a little probing elsewhere, we find out that we have several hours more, and drop the heads to the pillows once again.

Beach Pictures!

Ocean View from a Pagoda


Linh (sister) and Me



Ong and Ba (on Dad's side)

The Family (Mom's Mother, Me, Dad's Mother, Brother, Mom)

A Little Slice of Heaven

Beach!

On Thursday afternoon, my mother informed me that I needed to talk to my teachers because we were going to the beach for the weekend and I had to leave school at lunchtime for us to be able to make it there on time. Despite initial complications, I eventually got permission. At 1pm on Friday, Mom, Bro, Sis, Grandma 1, Grandma 2, Grandpa, and I (along with a driver) piled into the family SUV to go road tripping. Four hours, 200 kilometers, many snacks, a bathroom stop on the side of the road for the grandparents, beautiful mountains, and lots and lots of bumps later, we arrived in Sam Son.

I could immediately tell when we were there, because funnily enough a beach town in Vietnam has the same feel as a beach town in America. We drove down wide streets passing hotels, food stands selling seafood, and vendors selling sea shell wind chimes and bracelets. The first hotel we stopped at required me to have my passport, which at the time the school had (to make hotel reservations for another trip), so we had to find a different hotel. But we quickly found another hotel that didn’t require my passport, and all was well.

Since it was a little late for swimming, we unpacked and then headed to dinner. Here I saw another quirk of Vietnamese society. In America, some restaurants and even cafés do not allow you to bring your own food or drinks and will even kick you out if you do take your own food. But when we went to this seafood restaurant in Sam Son and sat down at the table, the grandmothers pulled out fruit and Cokes and other snacks to last as appetizers until the main meal arrived. Other SYA’ers have had similar experiences. Just another quirk. But the main meal was delicious: steamed clams, spinach with garlic, French fries, and chicken—an eclectic but tasty mix.

On Saturday, we woke up early, shimmied on swimsuits, snatched towels, and sprinted down to the beach to swim. The water was surprisingly warm, like bathwater, and the waves were small and several seemed to break simultaneously. The sibs and Grandpa and I frolicked in the water for an hour or two while Mom waded and the grandmothers chatted with the locals. The ocean is so calming and relaxing—I really love the beach. But Vietnam is unique because beach people and mountain people can go together to the same town, and both will be totally satisfied. In Vietnam, the mountains meet the beach.

Before lunch, we all hopped back into the car and drove partway up a small mountain nearby to visit the pagoda at the top. We burned some paper money and incense, took some photos, drank some fresh coconut milk, and returned to the hotel for a lunch similar to dinner but with the addition of fresh crabs! The pagoda on the second day was even nicer. I felt like I was experiencing a slice of heaven as I sat on the side of a mountain, sipping coconut milk out of the coconut, overlooking the sapphire blue ocean dotted with fishing boats, living the life! Then we returned to the hotel for the never-neglected afternoon nap, a very sensible practice which Americans have yet to appreciate.

Swimming in the afternoon, several of my fellow beach-goers begged for photo ops with me. Naturally, I willingly obliged. Here I must explain one of the biggest differences between Vietnam and America and one of the hardest things to get used to. Walking down the streets of Hanoi, especially certain parts, and especially the beach town of Sam Son, everyone stares. Virtually all the time, I am the only Westerner in sight, and I may be the only Westerner to pass by that spot all day or even all week or longer. In some ways, Vietnam is very homogenous. I don’t mean that critically but purely as a fact. Walking down the street, everyone I see is Asian, specifically Vietnamese. With my blonde hair, blue eyes, and light skin, I stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone stares. Some people point. Others shout, “Hello!” Occasionally I hear, “You are beautiful!” I’ve had taxi drivers pat my arm and ask for my phone number. Boys and girls lean in, their fingers held in the ubiquitous peace sign, posing for a photo with me. In fact, I’m really still not accustomed to all the attention. In DC, I can walk down the street wearing a makeshift toga and people don’t stare as much as they do when I wear normal clothing here. I know that if any of them were to walk about in DC, no one would give them a second glance because DC is really so diverse in so many ways.

After dinner, my sister and I jumped onto a two-person tandem bike and rode up and down the street along the beach, racing with my mom and brother on their own tandem bike. We beat them solidly. :)

I really had a wonderful time at the beach, resting, relaxing, and bonding with the family. I can’t wait to go again!

The Oreo and Me in Hanoi

A slightly adapted version of a fun English class assignment:

I never truly appreciated Oreos until I got to Hanoi. At home, they were sometimes present in the cabinet, sometimes absent. But all I wanted was an afternoon snack: fruit, cookies, or ice cream could satisfy my ravenous hunger. Oreos were just another cookie.

Then one day, as I am strolling the aisles of Big C (the super grocery store—similar to Target) passing by noodles, badminton rackets, and whitening soap, the package jumps out at me—a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. Oreos in the middle of Hanoi? Indeed, there sits the box of Oreos, dragging on my heartstrings. An instant of doubt, but the temptation is too strong. I quickly pull them off the shelf and triumphantly make my way to the cash register.

Thus began my addiction. I now find myself craving Oreos at every turn: “You have Oreos???” and my heart skips a beat. I savor, gently twisting the two halves of chocolate to reveal the soft, creamy white inside which I slowly lick free from its dark chocolate encapsulation. Then I pop a cookie outside into my mouth and crunch down, chewing thoroughly before swallowing the chocolate goodness. And I repeat.

The delectable cream and chocolate combination takes me home for just a moment, to my kitchen in DC. And right then, I am perfectly filled with bliss, my mind inundated with black and white cookies.

They are not ‘just fat bombs’. They are Oreos.

Moon cakes on the other hand, now those are fat bombs…