Hanoi, Jan 7, 2012 - Good Morning, Vietnam!

It's still really hard to say just "Vietnam". Old school, I keep saying "North..." 


Waking up at the Dolce Vita hotel in the Old Quarter, I smell faint woodsmoke.  It's barely dawn, but I hear singing from the Tai Chi group starting up in the park nearby.  We are finally back in Southeast Asia, a small but mighty group of about 18 American School of Vientiane alumni, from all parts, and walks of life.  Tony C, from Shanghai, will meet us here.  Others will meet up with us in Vientiane, and Luang Prabang.  I'll share a few of their stories here as well - some real eye-openers.


I'm just getting to know these folks, but they are not strangers.  We have this common bond that makes it all very easy.  Different views on politics, religion or other hot-button issues don't seem to matter here - we all feel the world is a really large place, and our personal opinions tend to pale in the face of its enormity and infinite variety of beliefs and realities.  Maybe it's a TCK thing -   Third Culture Kids - on the road again!



We start today with Old Quarter exploration.  Ever wonder where all your STUFF comes from?  That "Made in Vietnam" tag in your t-shirt?  And it's cheap.  VERY cheap.  Jules, my dear friend and travel buddy, is on a mission to find beads for the salsa dancing outfits her competitive dance group needs.  Incredibly, they are here, in bulk, just down the street from our hotel.  A whole avenue dedicated to beads.  Then the cloth street, the leather street, and on and              
                                                             on!

Moving through these streets is our first taste of Southeast Asia traffic.   It’s like a busy reef, and if you stay with your fish school you won’t get picked off as you cross.  The motion is constant, like a current wash.  The motorbikes all move as one, never touching, always almost.  It's a steady, slow stream that moves forward, eddies, swirls, gets blocked as a stream might by fallen branches in the water - very organic in feel.  The constant sound of motorcycles gently beeping and humming along was like cicadas in the summer; you stop hearing it after awhile.

And I do mean "taste" of the city traffic.  The exhaust and the street food leave a film in my nose that never really goes away.  It's permanently linked in my mind with the grey non-sky, the mist, and the chilly damp that has us buying colorful cheap scarves.

Mmm!  Durian! (Illegal in the hotel - smells
not so good!

Kumquat trees on the move

   It's been a long first day.  Writing? Forget it.  Obviously, it had to wait.  Tomorrow, Jahn will take us touring, and our feet will catch a break.