Tombs and the Citadel
The night before, Alan told us all to be ready by 6:30AM to get on the chartered bus taking us to see my uncle's family's tombs. At 7AM, Di 6 was ready to leave us all behind because Grandma was the only person ready to go. Alex and I hurried to get dressed and ate the hotel breakfast, while Di 6 and the Hos went to get breakfast nearby. Around 7:30AM, we climbed into a chartered bus which would drive us all over central Vietnam for the next two days. At only USD20 per day + the price of gas, it was a swell way to travel with a big group (about 14 of us total). The bus had air conditioning, a TV on which the driver played reruns of a popular Vietnamese variety show, and the adults chatted in the front while Alex, Alan, Tony and I sat in the back row of seats, snacking and taking photos of the beautiful passing landscape.
Grandma and an auntie on the bus
The tombs were located in an ancient burial ground that resembled a desert. I don't know the name of the town, but the single road leading into the cemetery was narrow and flanked by endless acres of sand on either side. Each grave site was a large mount of sand above ground, atop which stood a stone structure inscribed with the deceased's name and an epitaph, and a flat area in the center for offerings such as the mums, fruit, and incense the Ho uncles brought along for their ancestors. I don't know what stone the sand formed from, but the rain rolled off it and did not wash the grains away, allowing the large mounds to curiously remain intact in spite of the undoubtedly large storms that hit during monsoon season.
Cousin Tony
Poetic Uncle, Silly Uncle, Ty's Mom, Di 6, Tony's Mom, Alan, Other Auntie, Duong 6
(We did learn everyone's names, but in Vietnamese tradition, we often just called people "uncle" and "auntie", so I'm not sure if I'd get the names straight on a pop quiz).
The hike out to the Ho tombs would have been too arduous for Grandma, so Alex followed the family to take photos, while Tony and I stayed with the driver and Grandma. Tony wandered off for photos and quiet time, while Grandma and I walked hand in hand, among the nearest tombs, exploring the cemetery. As we walked, we took advantage of the first moments of private time we had had during the trip. At home, she lives in Seattle and I in Philadelphia, yet I speak on the phone with her almost daily, for between 30 minutes and 2 hours. Now that we were both in Vietnam and constantly near each other, we had had no time to "really talk" for almost 4 days.
Joe had reported that she was so excited to go to Vietnam and visit the country of her youth. We knew it would be a complex emotional experience for her - not just to return to a land she fled as a refugee, but also because her last memories of Vietnam were as the wife of a high-ranking military officer living in privilege, and as a young and able-bodied, independent woman. Upon her return, she said she felt as though she were just like us - a tourist visiting a foreign country.
Saigon, she said, was nothing as she remembered. She hadn't expected it to remain the same and was not saddened by this feeling of being a foreigner in her "homeland". However, I could hear the resignation in her voice, and was not surprised, when she said she wouldn't be interested in moving back to Saigon, or even to visit it again. At age 87, she was relying on her children and grandchildren to drive her, walk with her, select restaurants, negotiate prices while shopping, and she no longer had a home but entered other peoples' merely as a guest from America.
As a guest, however, she was having a fun time, enjoyed Di 6's expertly planned itinerary, and enjoyed the comforts we could afford due to the much stronger US dollar - chartered buses, good meals, comfortable accommodations, and our fortune to travel in a large group of family and friends.
When everyone returned from the tombs, we drove to a rural "neighborhood", to a house owned by Duong 6's grandfather, now inhabited by a niece, Chi Nga, and her husband and their puppy. The farmland was divided by streams and a river deep enough for fishing dinghies. Ducks and ducklings ran everywhere, and the properties seemed to be divided only informally by wide patches of tall wild grasses.
Their home, like the others, was made of simple concrete construction and had limited plumbing. They had an immense garden with exotic fruits and trees, and a 10 x 10 pile of "straw", or dried grass from the rice paddies. They used this straw as fuel for the fire when cooking. We walked along the long winding road (about a half mile) to another Ho family home. On the way, we picked starfruit from neighbors' trees, saw unusual looking chickens wandering, and the first of many "barber shops" - a one room structure with a single chair and two pairs of shears standing upright in a large plastic cup.
At the second house, the uncles made more offerings at the family altars and we explored the vast garden's fruits and trees; Tony's parents jokingly schemed to smuggle some exotic plants with delicious fruits back to the states - the starfruit trees would fit right in with their grapefruit, lemon and orange trees in Houston. Vietnamese people seem to all have green thumbs.
(I imagine because they are not far removed from their food sources,) Vietnamese people also seem to know a lot about gardening and horticulture. My dad loved to plant flowers and revived every plant and tree that shriveled and wilted under my care; I have countless memories of Mom and Grandma wondering if some little sprout coming up in a patch of grass along a sidewalk was an edible plant. When we first went to Travis' parent's house, my mom and grandma immediately spotted a patch of watercress growing on the banks of their stream. Wanda has made some delicious watercress and strawberry salads with that bounty over the past years.
On the way out, an adorable old woman came hobbling over from the house next door. She was stooped over nearly at a right angle, probably from scoliosis or osteoporosis. She smiled curiously at Alex with his big camera, and allowed us to take photos of her. She had a great smile full of black teeth, and was giving off so much positive energy. We noted while walking back to the bus that, although by our standards these people "had" very little, they seemed to have all they needed and seemed truly content in their lives. There was no need for anyone's pity out here.
Off we went to the hot springs at Thanh Tan - a local "spa" where our group of 12 or so comprised the majority of guests. It was pretty much deserted. Us "kids" swam while the adult women sat under a tree, eating fresh rambutan and sucking on sugar cane chunks. The men, of course, passed the time at the nearest beer hut. The hot springs were set up as a series of pools separated by waist-high walls, each pool increasingly warm, making our flesh rosier as we got closer to the source of the spring. Although it was very hot weather, the intense heat of the water was therapeutic and we thoroughly enjoyed it.
On the way back to the uncle's house, we stopped for one of Hue's famous dishes - bun bo hue - beef and pork knuckle soup with thick rice noodles in spicy lemongrass broth. Although the soup was good, it couldn't hold a candle to Di 6's or Mom's amazing versions of it.
And then (yes, this was suuuuch a long day), we went back to the uncle's house to argue about the next day's plans. Di 6 arranged for us to go to Hoi An and Da Nang the next day, a large group traveling in the same van that we had taken throughout Hue. The adults wanted to go to a casino and drive the van back (3 hours). Alex and I hoped to stay overnight in Da Nang, instead, and catch a plane to Saigon to meet some of Dad's relatives. We volunteered to take Grandma along with us, to give Di 6 time to spend with her family. Although it sounded like a good compromise to us, she insisted that we stay together, as a family. In the end, we persisted because I wanted to have more time with the cousins on my dad's side, whom I'd never met.
Alex and I walked back to the hotel from the uncle's, through the Hue Citadel. We followed Tony and his parents, who pointed out that the bright green plants growing in the moat below us were edible Vietnamese water spinach (rau muong), greens I had sauteed for Alex and I to eat just the week before.
The rain moved in just as we approached the main entrance. Tired from the long day, we meandered through the Citadel, taking photos of each other and meeting a nice Australian couple. After a short nap, I walked down to get a spontaneous hair cut at a hip-looking salon. In the U.S., I rarely direct the stylist, usually saying something like, "whatever you think would look nice." In this random salon in Hue, they never even asked - he just set to cutting my hair as he saw fit. And I loved it!
We wandered around looking for a late dinner. We settled on 12 Con Giap Restaurant, polishing off a couple of Festival Beers while waiting for take out lamb, rau muong, and special fried rice. Grandma was supposed to get her hair shampooed and curls re-set while I got my hair cut, but she was too tired after the long day. We made her a plate of the fried rice, and left it on the night stand. By 6AM the next morning, when we began to get ready for our trip to Hoi An and Da Nang, she was well-rested and the rice was all gone.
Grandma and an auntie on the bus
The tombs were located in an ancient burial ground that resembled a desert. I don't know the name of the town, but the single road leading into the cemetery was narrow and flanked by endless acres of sand on either side. Each grave site was a large mount of sand above ground, atop which stood a stone structure inscribed with the deceased's name and an epitaph, and a flat area in the center for offerings such as the mums, fruit, and incense the Ho uncles brought along for their ancestors. I don't know what stone the sand formed from, but the rain rolled off it and did not wash the grains away, allowing the large mounds to curiously remain intact in spite of the undoubtedly large storms that hit during monsoon season.
Cousin Tony
Poetic Uncle, Silly Uncle, Ty's Mom, Di 6, Tony's Mom, Alan, Other Auntie, Duong 6
(We did learn everyone's names, but in Vietnamese tradition, we often just called people "uncle" and "auntie", so I'm not sure if I'd get the names straight on a pop quiz).
The hike out to the Ho tombs would have been too arduous for Grandma, so Alex followed the family to take photos, while Tony and I stayed with the driver and Grandma. Tony wandered off for photos and quiet time, while Grandma and I walked hand in hand, among the nearest tombs, exploring the cemetery. As we walked, we took advantage of the first moments of private time we had had during the trip. At home, she lives in Seattle and I in Philadelphia, yet I speak on the phone with her almost daily, for between 30 minutes and 2 hours. Now that we were both in Vietnam and constantly near each other, we had had no time to "really talk" for almost 4 days.
Joe had reported that she was so excited to go to Vietnam and visit the country of her youth. We knew it would be a complex emotional experience for her - not just to return to a land she fled as a refugee, but also because her last memories of Vietnam were as the wife of a high-ranking military officer living in privilege, and as a young and able-bodied, independent woman. Upon her return, she said she felt as though she were just like us - a tourist visiting a foreign country.
Saigon, she said, was nothing as she remembered. She hadn't expected it to remain the same and was not saddened by this feeling of being a foreigner in her "homeland". However, I could hear the resignation in her voice, and was not surprised, when she said she wouldn't be interested in moving back to Saigon, or even to visit it again. At age 87, she was relying on her children and grandchildren to drive her, walk with her, select restaurants, negotiate prices while shopping, and she no longer had a home but entered other peoples' merely as a guest from America.
As a guest, however, she was having a fun time, enjoyed Di 6's expertly planned itinerary, and enjoyed the comforts we could afford due to the much stronger US dollar - chartered buses, good meals, comfortable accommodations, and our fortune to travel in a large group of family and friends.
When everyone returned from the tombs, we drove to a rural "neighborhood", to a house owned by Duong 6's grandfather, now inhabited by a niece, Chi Nga, and her husband and their puppy. The farmland was divided by streams and a river deep enough for fishing dinghies. Ducks and ducklings ran everywhere, and the properties seemed to be divided only informally by wide patches of tall wild grasses.
Their home, like the others, was made of simple concrete construction and had limited plumbing. They had an immense garden with exotic fruits and trees, and a 10 x 10 pile of "straw", or dried grass from the rice paddies. They used this straw as fuel for the fire when cooking. We walked along the long winding road (about a half mile) to another Ho family home. On the way, we picked starfruit from neighbors' trees, saw unusual looking chickens wandering, and the first of many "barber shops" - a one room structure with a single chair and two pairs of shears standing upright in a large plastic cup.
At the second house, the uncles made more offerings at the family altars and we explored the vast garden's fruits and trees; Tony's parents jokingly schemed to smuggle some exotic plants with delicious fruits back to the states - the starfruit trees would fit right in with their grapefruit, lemon and orange trees in Houston. Vietnamese people seem to all have green thumbs.
(I imagine because they are not far removed from their food sources,) Vietnamese people also seem to know a lot about gardening and horticulture. My dad loved to plant flowers and revived every plant and tree that shriveled and wilted under my care; I have countless memories of Mom and Grandma wondering if some little sprout coming up in a patch of grass along a sidewalk was an edible plant. When we first went to Travis' parent's house, my mom and grandma immediately spotted a patch of watercress growing on the banks of their stream. Wanda has made some delicious watercress and strawberry salads with that bounty over the past years.
On the way out, an adorable old woman came hobbling over from the house next door. She was stooped over nearly at a right angle, probably from scoliosis or osteoporosis. She smiled curiously at Alex with his big camera, and allowed us to take photos of her. She had a great smile full of black teeth, and was giving off so much positive energy. We noted while walking back to the bus that, although by our standards these people "had" very little, they seemed to have all they needed and seemed truly content in their lives. There was no need for anyone's pity out here.
Off we went to the hot springs at Thanh Tan - a local "spa" where our group of 12 or so comprised the majority of guests. It was pretty much deserted. Us "kids" swam while the adult women sat under a tree, eating fresh rambutan and sucking on sugar cane chunks. The men, of course, passed the time at the nearest beer hut. The hot springs were set up as a series of pools separated by waist-high walls, each pool increasingly warm, making our flesh rosier as we got closer to the source of the spring. Although it was very hot weather, the intense heat of the water was therapeutic and we thoroughly enjoyed it.
On the way back to the uncle's house, we stopped for one of Hue's famous dishes - bun bo hue - beef and pork knuckle soup with thick rice noodles in spicy lemongrass broth. Although the soup was good, it couldn't hold a candle to Di 6's or Mom's amazing versions of it.
And then (yes, this was suuuuch a long day), we went back to the uncle's house to argue about the next day's plans. Di 6 arranged for us to go to Hoi An and Da Nang the next day, a large group traveling in the same van that we had taken throughout Hue. The adults wanted to go to a casino and drive the van back (3 hours). Alex and I hoped to stay overnight in Da Nang, instead, and catch a plane to Saigon to meet some of Dad's relatives. We volunteered to take Grandma along with us, to give Di 6 time to spend with her family. Although it sounded like a good compromise to us, she insisted that we stay together, as a family. In the end, we persisted because I wanted to have more time with the cousins on my dad's side, whom I'd never met.
Alex and I walked back to the hotel from the uncle's, through the Hue Citadel. We followed Tony and his parents, who pointed out that the bright green plants growing in the moat below us were edible Vietnamese water spinach (rau muong), greens I had sauteed for Alex and I to eat just the week before.
The rain moved in just as we approached the main entrance. Tired from the long day, we meandered through the Citadel, taking photos of each other and meeting a nice Australian couple. After a short nap, I walked down to get a spontaneous hair cut at a hip-looking salon. In the U.S., I rarely direct the stylist, usually saying something like, "whatever you think would look nice." In this random salon in Hue, they never even asked - he just set to cutting my hair as he saw fit. And I loved it!
We wandered around looking for a late dinner. We settled on 12 Con Giap Restaurant, polishing off a couple of Festival Beers while waiting for take out lamb, rau muong, and special fried rice. Grandma was supposed to get her hair shampooed and curls re-set while I got my hair cut, but she was too tired after the long day. We made her a plate of the fried rice, and left it on the night stand. By 6AM the next morning, when we began to get ready for our trip to Hoi An and Da Nang, she was well-rested and the rice was all gone.
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