The street food alone, I could tell, was enough to warrant a visit to Vietnam. Each peddler seemed to specialize in their particular fare. Later I would discover just how in love with the food I would become. From the obvious but wonderful Phở bò with chili sauce to the Cơm tấm or broken rice to the Xôi or sticky rice. The popular Bánh mì or baguette and the gỏi bò which is a papaya salad you would die for. Vietnam is a type of food heaven.
I jutted down a popular alleyway where I happened upon a drive-in ice cream parlor. People sat perched on their motorbikes or scattered around talking and eating. I was enthralled by it all.
I passed a long stall full of eaters and came upon some sort of fresh food market. Loud voices carried through and around me as I sort of turned about and absorbed my surroundings. I hadn’t any clue how incredible the culture of Vietnam was, and I was mesmerized.
I left the alleyway I was in and followed a main street past incredibly narrow shops chock full to the brim, even spilling onto the sidewalks, with merchandise to purchase. Many of the shops were so compact, I couldn’t even stand upright in them. It was a claustrophobic’s nightmare but also entertaining.
Amid the shops sat small sections of tables and stools between street vendor setups that sat so low to the ground I thought they were there for children until I saw full-grown adults perched on the stools, chopsticks in hand, laughing and eating.
I paid a dollar and a half for a bowl of Phở that came with a fried spring roll that practically melted in my mouth. I stood beside the street vendor, holding my bowl and chopsticks, smiling like an imbecile unsure of where I was supposed to go or do once I’d received my food. She laughed at me and signaled toward a girl who looked like her daughter. The girl marched over to me, forcefully sat me in a shallow stool made for a four-year-old very near the curb and barked Vietnamese at me but smiled, so I assumed it wasn’t a death threat. Motorbikes zipped past me. It was scary and not relaxing in the least, but I wasn’t about to argue with the girl because I could tell everything I was experiencing was Vietnam.
The girl left then returned with a bottle of chili sauce and a small bowl of cut limes. She took my chopsticks from me and I watched as she ran the limes up the length of each chopstick, handed them back to me, then ran off again.
If you had told me a week before that I’d be sitting on the side of the road in Vietnam with a bowl of Phở on a stool made for a baby, I’d have had you committed. I wasn’t well versed with a pair of chopsticks but knew that practice made perfect, so I laughed at myself and dug in. I noticed that the locals didn’t let their mouths touch the sticks, which truly boggled my mind. I attempted it but was not that successful. I was a fumbling idiot at first but by the end of the meal, I had them down pretty well.
Refreshed by the food and the people-watching, I headed back to the minibus right about the time everyone else was arriving. Once I stepped back on that bus, though, the tension began to build. Two hours until I see Finley.
The drive to Hạ Long City was nothing short of surreal. The vegetation was so different from what I was accustomed to and it drew my eye. It was probably one of the greenest parts of the earth I had ever seen with tall, plush trees and grasses tucked against buildings and roads. It was as if life found every nook and cranny and shoved themselves inside.
The buildings were scattered in clusters and stacked high with homes and shops. The land was incredibly well farmed. I don’t believe any of it went to waste. I could tell there were no bureaucratic restrictions on what could be grown and by whom. I believe the same applied to the street vendors in Hanoi.
Close to Hạ Long City, I could just make out the outline of Hạ Long Bay and my gut clenched a little. I was close to Finley. When we entered the city there was a massive cable-stayed bridge connecting the two mainlands called Bãi Cháy Bridge according to the driver. To me it resembled a giant geometric spiderweb of daunting metal cables that reached high into the sky. I half expected a matching spider to come crawling along the bridge’s metal spindles.
When we came to a stop outside a small street sign, I jumped out as quickly as I could, desperate to get my luggage and start my search. The driver started unloading bags and setting them in a line on the sidewalk. I was still searching for one of my bags when he drove away, leaving us all a little bewildered. When he did this, though, he cleared our view of the bay and it took my breath away.
Jagged, gargantuan lime islands jutted up and out creating a cascading look across the surface of the clear, blue ocean. On the tops of each were thick layers of lush green vegetation and they seemed to follow a pattern of winding rows, as if a giant dragon was diving in and out of the water, only its back cresting the water. It was utterly breathtaking. I had no earthly clue just how important it was for me to see this part of the world, and I was so glad I’d followed my dad’s advice. Giant wood Asian cruise ships called junks peppered the water with their massive webbed sails made of bronze-colored canvas.The sights were a once-in-a-lifetime view, and I was altogether overwhelmed I’d had the opportunity to witness them.
I drank it all in one more time, shook my head, then found my second bag. I had no idea where to start. I turned around and noticed a little tea shop on the corner. Deciding that was as good a place to start as any, I marched in, and up to the counter.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but do you speak English?” I asked.
The man shook his head but held up a finger to stay me. He escaped to the back, having retrieved a young woman about my age.