Hoi An, Da Nang, Last Day in Saigon
The next day, Tony and his parents caught a flight back to Saigon. About eight of us boarded a bus for Hoi An. As soon as everyone got situated on the bus in front of the hotel, we were informed that we would have to disembark since this was not our bus. Even though the bus was expected to arrive immediately, Ty's mom insisted that we walk to her banh canh stall. "It's right down the street!" Alex, Alan and I speed walked down the street to the first floor of her home, where two girls were dishing out bowls of the thick rice noodle soup with fish balls. The bus pulled up behind us as soon as we arrived. Nonetheless, she insisted Alan try her specialty soup. He slurped up the bowl in less than 2 minutes, and we were on the bus!
About an hour into the trip, we stopped for coffee. From the parking lot looking into an adjoining river, Alex and I took some photos that look so exotic, like we were on some remote river bank, when really we were just at a pit stop somewhere near the South China Sea.
At the rest stop, I gave Di 6 some cash to contribute to the expenses, as she had been paying for everything. I thought it was a decent amount of money, but neither of us was good with converting the Vietnamese dong, so I couldn't be sure how much I was offering. She thanked me and asked if I wanted any snacks. I picked up a canister of toasted cashews, unsalted. She picked one up, too. The money I had given her wasn't even enough for the cashews! Whoops.
On the bus, Alan, Alex and I cracked a round of beers as we entered a 10-km tunnel cutting through a mountain. It didn't seem too early in the day for a cold one, since we had been awake and on a bus for hours already, and the sun was burning strongly. However, we had a good laugh when, in the darkness of the tunnel, the console clock winked that it was, unbelievably, 9:35AM. Cheers!
In Hoi An, we were eager to ditch the old folks so we could explore the river town at a quicker pace. We split off, bartered for a ton of souvenirs, sweated our bums off, and searched for a good tailor to make Alan some plaid shirts. We sat in a "cafe", the Vietnamese equivalent of a bar. Since women don't drink beer, they don't frequent cafes, either. On our trip, I was always the only female cafe patron, and always the only female drinking beer. What can I say - I'm an American girl.
Next we drove to Da Nang. Although Hoi An is famous for its beautiful beaches, the view of the shoreline was without exception obscured by shameless and endless construction of luxury hotels and resorts. The construction must have been right up to the shoreline, risking serious erosion. I had to wonder what kind of environmental protection efforts might have been involved, if any. There was not a single opening where one could see the ocean - you just had to believe that the advertisements plastered across the construction barriers accurately depicted what lay beyond the temporary walls.
In Da Nang, we met Anh Chau. It turns out he was the one with the iPad at the broad noodle restaurant the first night. He lives in Da Nang, where he is the owner and CEO of a printing company with four offices. His story is inspiring: in 2005 or 2006, when Alan first came to visit Vietnam, Anh Chau asked Alan to send him any old Adobe or other programming books from Alan's architecture studies. "To us, it's nothing, so I sent him the books when I got home." Using the knowledge he gained from those two books, Anh Chau built his printing empire in Da Nang; during our visit he humbly and repeatedly credited Alan for his success.
He welcomed us into his modern home, extravagant even by American standards, for a feast. He showed us a beautiful altar room where he made offerings to his ancestors. In the back of the room was a bookcase of religious texts - and the two Adobe drafting books that started it all. His wife stayed in the background, preparing the food and tending to the women, while Anh Chau's boisterous personality offered continuous Heinekens to the boys and men. Even though I was not offered a beer since I am a girl, Alex and Alan kept my glass full, too.
After a long dinner and conversation about the possibility of Anh Chau's eldest son attending university in the states, the adults and Alan hopped on the bus back to Hue, and an inebriated Anh Chau directed his driver to deliver me, Alex, and Grandma to a hotel with a view. At the front desk of the Bloom Hotel, he demanded that they give his "grandmother" the best room in the house, "They should fall asleep to the lights of the Da Nang bridge." We had an incredible panoramic view of the bridge from our corner room on the top floor, and were close enough to walk out onto the bridge in the perfect evening air.
About an hour into the trip, we stopped for coffee. From the parking lot looking into an adjoining river, Alex and I took some photos that look so exotic, like we were on some remote river bank, when really we were just at a pit stop somewhere near the South China Sea.
At the rest stop, I gave Di 6 some cash to contribute to the expenses, as she had been paying for everything. I thought it was a decent amount of money, but neither of us was good with converting the Vietnamese dong, so I couldn't be sure how much I was offering. She thanked me and asked if I wanted any snacks. I picked up a canister of toasted cashews, unsalted. She picked one up, too. The money I had given her wasn't even enough for the cashews! Whoops.
On the bus, Alan, Alex and I cracked a round of beers as we entered a 10-km tunnel cutting through a mountain. It didn't seem too early in the day for a cold one, since we had been awake and on a bus for hours already, and the sun was burning strongly. However, we had a good laugh when, in the darkness of the tunnel, the console clock winked that it was, unbelievably, 9:35AM. Cheers!
In Hoi An, we were eager to ditch the old folks so we could explore the river town at a quicker pace. We split off, bartered for a ton of souvenirs, sweated our bums off, and searched for a good tailor to make Alan some plaid shirts. We sat in a "cafe", the Vietnamese equivalent of a bar. Since women don't drink beer, they don't frequent cafes, either. On our trip, I was always the only female cafe patron, and always the only female drinking beer. What can I say - I'm an American girl.
Next we drove to Da Nang. Although Hoi An is famous for its beautiful beaches, the view of the shoreline was without exception obscured by shameless and endless construction of luxury hotels and resorts. The construction must have been right up to the shoreline, risking serious erosion. I had to wonder what kind of environmental protection efforts might have been involved, if any. There was not a single opening where one could see the ocean - you just had to believe that the advertisements plastered across the construction barriers accurately depicted what lay beyond the temporary walls.
In Da Nang, we met Anh Chau. It turns out he was the one with the iPad at the broad noodle restaurant the first night. He lives in Da Nang, where he is the owner and CEO of a printing company with four offices. His story is inspiring: in 2005 or 2006, when Alan first came to visit Vietnam, Anh Chau asked Alan to send him any old Adobe or other programming books from Alan's architecture studies. "To us, it's nothing, so I sent him the books when I got home." Using the knowledge he gained from those two books, Anh Chau built his printing empire in Da Nang; during our visit he humbly and repeatedly credited Alan for his success.
He welcomed us into his modern home, extravagant even by American standards, for a feast. He showed us a beautiful altar room where he made offerings to his ancestors. In the back of the room was a bookcase of religious texts - and the two Adobe drafting books that started it all. His wife stayed in the background, preparing the food and tending to the women, while Anh Chau's boisterous personality offered continuous Heinekens to the boys and men. Even though I was not offered a beer since I am a girl, Alex and Alan kept my glass full, too.
After a long dinner and conversation about the possibility of Anh Chau's eldest son attending university in the states, the adults and Alan hopped on the bus back to Hue, and an inebriated Anh Chau directed his driver to deliver me, Alex, and Grandma to a hotel with a view. At the front desk of the Bloom Hotel, he demanded that they give his "grandmother" the best room in the house, "They should fall asleep to the lights of the Da Nang bridge." We had an incredible panoramic view of the bridge from our corner room on the top floor, and were close enough to walk out onto the bridge in the perfect evening air.
At 5AM, constant rooster crowing and the growing din of moped traffic roused me. Grandma packed and I pulled a chair across the room, writing in my journal by the light of the bathroom, so as not to wake up Alex before his alarm went off. Anh Chau took us to a small noodle stall for breakfast, dropped us off at the Da Nang airport with plenty of time, and had an easy flight to Saigon. Grandma slept well on the flight back, since Alex generously lent her his noise-canceling Bose headphones.
Back in Saigon, we met with Chi Dung's sister, Chi Thuy. They are my dad's nieces - his brother's daughters. When my dad died in 2008, I found immigration documents in his files, which he had filed to sponsor Chi Dung to the US many years ago. We grew up in Houston with Chi Dung's kids - David and Lisa - and were often babysat by our other cousins, her brothers, Anh Phuong and Anh Dung, also now living in Houston. Chi Thuy's house was just over a small bridge from the city center, about 5 minutes from the hotel by taxi. The front of the house was a tailor shop. I only knew this because she told me so; there was nothing resembling a business as far as I could tell. Yet, while we were there, three customers stopped in to inquire about bespoke clothing.
Her husband, Anh Chi, is a chemistry teacher, and their 22-year-old son studies Mechanical Engineering at a nearby university. We ate tamarind soup with delicious fresh white fish (which Alex loved) and the best darned homemade egg rolls I have ever eaten. Their family altar featured the very same photograph of my paternal grandmother that my dad, Joe, and I used to pray in front of every night before bed. The altar also included an 8 x 10 photo of Dad. This was the first time I had ever seen an altar with his photo on it, that was not in my house, Joe's house, or my mom's house. It was surprising, but warmed my heart to think that these people looked upon his picture every day, just like us, and thought of him every day. Between those two photos was a man who looked just like my dad - my uncle, Nguyen Duc Cong.
The cousins showed me a photo album with old pictures of Dad - and gave me one of him with his brother when they were in their late teens, and one of him standing in front of his Catholic High School. As we went through the torn, browned pages of the album, it was surreal to see photos of me and Joe which Dad had sent to them from America - our baptisms, communions, birthdays - photos of the same set that we have in albums in Joe's house in Seattle. They knew about us this entire time, but we had never met - how strange! They remembered talking to me on the phone when I was younger, and recalled seeing pictures of me in my teens (when I was, apparently heavier, since they kept commenting on how "skinny" I am now, ha ha).
I spoke on the phone with the only living sibling remaining - my dad's sister, who is a nun in a convent in Hanoi or somewhere up north. She asked if I would have time to visit; I regretted that I did not. She was happy to hear my voice and complimented my Vietnamese. She was touched and I could hear her voice cracking; it made me wish I could get to know these people and love them the way I love my mom's siblings and cousins on my mom's side.
There is so much depth in these relationships still to be developed. In these moments, my dad's passing impressed upon me the fleeting nature of life and cautioned me that these relationships needed to be nurtured sooner rather than later. However, the wonder of how easily we got along at our first meeting gave me a sense of comfort... some feeling that, even if I never saw these people again, we had shared warm moments that would bond us forever, and that we all gained a sense of peace from these few hours to share in each others' company. All this, despite the fact that we learned nothing of each others' pasts, and might know nothing of each others' futures.
Afterward, we walked right around the corner to the Catholic school where the photo of my dad was taken (over 35 years ago!). The courtyard looked just like it did in the photo, and we waited in the afternoon heat for someone to unlock the gate to the columbarium, where the ashes of my paternal grandmother and my uncle rest in urns with their photos on them. Years ago, I recall my dad raising a lot of money to have her cremated and her remains permanently placed here; the cemetery where she was originally buried exhumed all the buried bodies for some reason, and it cost something like USD500 to get her re-situated to the Lam Son Catholic school at Bùi Hữu Nghĩa, phường 2, Ho Chi Minh City, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.
By late afternoon, Di 6 and all those who stayed in Hue the night before had gotten into Saigon. Di 6, Grandma, and I went for mani/pedis. Alan and Alex - both with shaved heads - visited the barber for a trim. I met them for a beer across from the hotel while Grandma got her curls re-set at a nearby salon, and we met Joe's friend Penny for dinner at a banh xeo (crepe) restaurant. The crepes were the biggest I'd ever seen, and were very tasty. My favorite are still made at home by Di 2, however.
After the cousins and adults turned in, Alan, Alex and I followed Penny to a Saigon hotspot - Caravelle. High above the city (sort of), we sipped our drinks and listened to the 4th place winner of Vietnam Idol sing American classics. The bar, Saigon Saigon, was packed. We called it a night after one round of drinks, and got ready for Singapore. Goodnight, Vietnam!
Back in Saigon, we met with Chi Dung's sister, Chi Thuy. They are my dad's nieces - his brother's daughters. When my dad died in 2008, I found immigration documents in his files, which he had filed to sponsor Chi Dung to the US many years ago. We grew up in Houston with Chi Dung's kids - David and Lisa - and were often babysat by our other cousins, her brothers, Anh Phuong and Anh Dung, also now living in Houston. Chi Thuy's house was just over a small bridge from the city center, about 5 minutes from the hotel by taxi. The front of the house was a tailor shop. I only knew this because she told me so; there was nothing resembling a business as far as I could tell. Yet, while we were there, three customers stopped in to inquire about bespoke clothing.
Her husband, Anh Chi, is a chemistry teacher, and their 22-year-old son studies Mechanical Engineering at a nearby university. We ate tamarind soup with delicious fresh white fish (which Alex loved) and the best darned homemade egg rolls I have ever eaten. Their family altar featured the very same photograph of my paternal grandmother that my dad, Joe, and I used to pray in front of every night before bed. The altar also included an 8 x 10 photo of Dad. This was the first time I had ever seen an altar with his photo on it, that was not in my house, Joe's house, or my mom's house. It was surprising, but warmed my heart to think that these people looked upon his picture every day, just like us, and thought of him every day. Between those two photos was a man who looked just like my dad - my uncle, Nguyen Duc Cong.
The cousins showed me a photo album with old pictures of Dad - and gave me one of him with his brother when they were in their late teens, and one of him standing in front of his Catholic High School. As we went through the torn, browned pages of the album, it was surreal to see photos of me and Joe which Dad had sent to them from America - our baptisms, communions, birthdays - photos of the same set that we have in albums in Joe's house in Seattle. They knew about us this entire time, but we had never met - how strange! They remembered talking to me on the phone when I was younger, and recalled seeing pictures of me in my teens (when I was, apparently heavier, since they kept commenting on how "skinny" I am now, ha ha).
I spoke on the phone with the only living sibling remaining - my dad's sister, who is a nun in a convent in Hanoi or somewhere up north. She asked if I would have time to visit; I regretted that I did not. She was happy to hear my voice and complimented my Vietnamese. She was touched and I could hear her voice cracking; it made me wish I could get to know these people and love them the way I love my mom's siblings and cousins on my mom's side.
There is so much depth in these relationships still to be developed. In these moments, my dad's passing impressed upon me the fleeting nature of life and cautioned me that these relationships needed to be nurtured sooner rather than later. However, the wonder of how easily we got along at our first meeting gave me a sense of comfort... some feeling that, even if I never saw these people again, we had shared warm moments that would bond us forever, and that we all gained a sense of peace from these few hours to share in each others' company. All this, despite the fact that we learned nothing of each others' pasts, and might know nothing of each others' futures.
Afterward, we walked right around the corner to the Catholic school where the photo of my dad was taken (over 35 years ago!). The courtyard looked just like it did in the photo, and we waited in the afternoon heat for someone to unlock the gate to the columbarium, where the ashes of my paternal grandmother and my uncle rest in urns with their photos on them. Years ago, I recall my dad raising a lot of money to have her cremated and her remains permanently placed here; the cemetery where she was originally buried exhumed all the buried bodies for some reason, and it cost something like USD500 to get her re-situated to the Lam Son Catholic school at Bùi Hữu Nghĩa, phường 2, Ho Chi Minh City, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.
By late afternoon, Di 6 and all those who stayed in Hue the night before had gotten into Saigon. Di 6, Grandma, and I went for mani/pedis. Alan and Alex - both with shaved heads - visited the barber for a trim. I met them for a beer across from the hotel while Grandma got her curls re-set at a nearby salon, and we met Joe's friend Penny for dinner at a banh xeo (crepe) restaurant. The crepes were the biggest I'd ever seen, and were very tasty. My favorite are still made at home by Di 2, however.
After the cousins and adults turned in, Alan, Alex and I followed Penny to a Saigon hotspot - Caravelle. High above the city (sort of), we sipped our drinks and listened to the 4th place winner of Vietnam Idol sing American classics. The bar, Saigon Saigon, was packed. We called it a night after one round of drinks, and got ready for Singapore. Goodnight, Vietnam!
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