south of hanoi, east of the sun

hanoi, vietnam

of the seven friends i made during five days at hoa's place, one was headed my direction. it was not easy leaving a place that swallowed us like a giant velvet beanbag chair, but such is life. we all have to leave at some point. it was not too long into our 15-hour train ride that the transition became comfortable. it seemed appropriate to strike out once again. we could sit on our comfortable bunks, close the cabin door, talk about everything in general and pause to watch the verdant coastline of central vietnam whirl by outside our window. the train oscillated soothingly below. clickety-clickety-clack. clickety-clickety-clack.

the train stopped briefly in dong ha and the two empty berths in our cabin were now occupied. or so we thought. these two gentlemen offered us the first sips from their bottle of scotch and invited us to their new room for a party. this is not the situation where one responds with "no."

a few doors down and we found the lower bunks filled with four vietnamese engineers, another sleeping on one of the bunks above. don't mind him. the original bottle of scotch sat atop the small table, a few boxes containing at least three more rested on the carriage floor. thirteen hours to hanoi. clickety-clickety-clack. clickety-clickety-clack.

we were taught the phrase for cheers (phonetically: yo) and drunk (again: sizeo). we shared what we knew about the others' countries initially; the two of us spoke about what we have seen of vietnam, while they shared their favorite hollywood films and international football stars. the conversation could have attenuated to silence at some point, but it never did. the scotch is only partially responsible.

the boss was the most generous. i assume that he was the one to purchase each of the bottles as well as the food that he did not touch. from my blurring vantage point, he also seemed to be in possession of the group's strongest wooden leg. he took to us in that intangible, indescribable way that locals take to foreigners. he took a keen interest in finding us a hotel and providing a car to show us around hanoi. the details could wait for later.

it would surprise me if the one nearest to the door knew more than twenty words in english. we got to know him nonetheless. he sat and nodded or smiled while the others translated and sat silently while we were told that he was the group's resident singer. early into bottle number two, he shared his gift. we all like superlatives, especially when providing description, but when i tell you that this man's voice was heaven-sent it is no exaggeration. i know more vietnamese pronouns than i know about opera, but i do know that his tenor or bass or whatever it is should be shedding tears in rome. first song, figaro. second song, i have no idea. we all just sat there stunned as he let his vocals shake the carriage. i encouraged him to sing con te partiro. neither of us knew the words, but he figured out what i wanted to hear and hit the melody perfectly. probably because we were finishing bottle number two, i encouraged him to continue. i was as dumbfounded with each note as i was when he began.

closest to the window, on the opposite bench, was a thirty year-old with the greatest grasp of english. his translations stirred the drink, one could say. if alcohol was the catalyst, then so be it, but we took it there. we talked about the war as the next generation is allowed. he told me that vietnam wants peace and wants to be america's friend. i told him that america has an incredible level of respect for the vietnamese people and that we want the same. when words could no longer suffice, we shook hands. our left hands were useless just sitting there, so we let them cover the handshake for another layer. if i could have the hands of vishnu, i would have added each one as we looked into each other's eyes and nodded and swore that our people and our countries wanted and deserved peace. if politicians would take these train rides, the world would be a much better place.

talk eventually turned to the two foreigners. why weren't we married? we make such a good couple, don't we? we had to explain that, for one, we were not from the same country and that in western culture, it is possible for boys and girls to just be friends. they didn't get it. we tried to explain, but some things they would just never be able to understand.

then we went back to our cabin and had sex.

this could be too much information, but this forum has served as host to so many superficial observations that it would be a shame if the most transcendent of human experiences could not receive mention. and it's not like it has changed my life. it didn't really change the next morning. we would blame it on the scotch if we felt like blaming something. that just doesn't seem appropriate.

well, perhaps we could blame the rude awakening at four in the morning on the scotch. it certainly would have been easier to deal with the abrupt arrival at hanoi's train station and the cabbies breaking through the cabin door to try and secure our fare had sobriety been in the cards the night before. but it wasn't. that doesn't mean it's not all clear.

because, if you'll pardon a foray into a personal experience that's publicly taboo, i could tell you about a special moment. when i was, you know, done with that, i incidentally looked outside a train window. streetlights were flying by like auntie em in a twister and the homes and rice paddies of some anonymous vietnamese town were blurring by through the curtain of a damp pre-dawn mist. and the only sound came from the bottom of the train's carriage.

clickety-clickety clack. clickety-clickety clack.