Vietnam
Monday, February 4th, 2008
Being a fastly developing country with a steady rise in tourism, I did not know Vietnam is a communist state until I saw the red sickle flapping in the wind beside the yellow star on red background flag. In Ho Chi Minh, a city in the south, business is thriving and the people are freely going about their business. But after a few days in the northern capital city of Hanoi, I began to notice the confining feeling of Vietnam’s communist rule.
At the revered massive mausoleum, the guards strictly enforce the one line policy of queuing to view Uncle Ho’s remains. If you stray a few inches from the line, the guard sternly approaches; if you stab your hands in your pockets, the guards quizzically demand that you withdrew them. Silence is the preferred language, and obedience, the ultimate virtue. On the streets, policemen rule, no one dares challenge their authority; while in the bus, the conductor lords over, and herds passengers to nooks he fancies. I happen to sit on a railing and got a slap on the butt. I felt like a 3rd grader scolded by a teacher. At midnight, the streets are empty. So, with silence and obedience being my guardian angels, I enjoyed my remaining days in Indochina.
In lake Hanoi which is located near the Old Quarter (a tourist haven for cheap souvenir items and artwork) I tasted the best street food I have ever eaten. It was a kind of soup with fresh vegetables thrown in and it was prepared by an old lady whose kitchen consists of two buckets balanced by a bamboo pole. One bucket contains the boiling pot with the portable burner, while the other has the plates, raw vegetables and meat. She was so glad we liked her food that she gave us a discount – 10,000 Dong for three orders. Each order costs 3,500 Dong, so we saved 500 Dong. Ah, that was really something.
We were leisurely walking towards the ubiquitous Red Bridge in hoan kiem when I was approached from behind by an old lady. She handed me a flash disc. I kept a similar disc in my little secret pocket located above the right front pocket of my Levi’s jeans. The secret pocket was torn and I remembered placing the disc there. Somehow it slipped unnoticed by me, but the old lady noticed it so she came over and gave it back. I was taken by this kindness and I thanked her profusely. She replied with a wide-betel-nut-reddish-grin….
