One Night in the Country

I'd reached the six-month mark of my time in Vietnam and in that time, I'd been to a few major cities throughout the country, but never to the small towns that surround them. You know the towns I mean; the farming areas that are the backdrop of all Vietnamese movies: workers in a rice field wearing conical hats, water buffaloes lazily chewing on grass and American fighter planes covering the scene with shells and chemicals. I'd always wanted to see that part of the country (minus the Agent Orange), so when my colleague offered an invitation to visit her hometown, I eagerly accepted.

My colleague, Hoang Anh comes from a small town in Bac Giang province, just north of Hanoi, about a two hour bus ride. My girlfriend and I went with her and her high school friend to spend the weekend with her parents. We were dropped off at a bus stop in her hometown, right in front of the local market in the town centre. As soon as we got off the bus, we had the attention of the entire town. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Hoang Anh told us that we had been the first foreigners to visit the town for four years, when some tourists rode through on motor bikes. We knew we'd be the gossip of the town for days to follow.

The town was quiet, empty and clean, just as I'd imagined. It was such a welcomed break from the noisy, crowded and polluted streets of Hanoi. The people of the town were self-sufficient. Although it wasn't a farming town, almost all the people had yards that were part garden, part chicken coop and part pig pen. They cooked all of their meals with their own vegetables and raised their own animals to eat. We arrived at Hoang Anh's house to find a huge meal laid out for us, made of fresh ingredients straight from the garden (the chicken blood and feathers on the ground gave it away).

Her parents were extraordinarily generous. Although they spoke no English, and me no Vietnamese, the made us feel extremely welcome, and Hoang Anh was an excellent translator. They fed us like kings and were very hospitable - such is the Vietnamese custom for any invited guest. They shared information about their lives in the country, and told us some stories about their children growing up. This was exactly the kind of country hospitality that I remember in Canada. So many similarities, yet still, distinctly Vietnam.

I could not say enough about the kindness of Hoang Anh's family. They welcomed us into their home even though we had never met before. Before we left Hanoi, we decided to bring along some chocolates and a bottle of wine to say thank you to our gracious hosts. We gave them the presents over dinner but, as it turns out, they didn't have a corkscrew and neither did anyone in the entire town. Not to be rude about their gift, they were determined to open the wine. They had suggested breaking the neck of the bottle and then picking out pieces of glass but then committed to opening the bottle, not by taking the cork out, but by pushing the cork in. We all had a laugh as they tried the wine, drinking it as a shot like they do with the Vietnamese wine. The mother made a sour face and really didn't agree with the wine. We made the same face at their Vietnamese wine that they poured every time we emptied our cup.

They had fed us at every opportunity and presented us with a feast each time. We ate and drank merrily as if we were part of the family. The mother and the girls put hours into preparing and cooking each meal and then did all of the washing up afterwards. Meanwhile, the father and I sat in the living room over some green tea and enjoyed the silence and clean air of the country side. We were soon joined by my girlfriend who was shooed out of the kitchen for not being Vietnamese and therefore, being in the way. The three of us sat and quietly watched the rain fall, a joy that we don't get much from living in Hanoi. It was the true Vietnam; the pure, down to earth image with good hearted people with clear and honest intentions.

When night came, there was little to do. The darkness was almost overwhelming. The big open sky was swallowed up by darkness and all signs of life had disappeared under the night sky. I hadn't seen anything like it since leaving Canada. When it was time for bed, we went into our room that had no mattress, instead there was a thin bamboo mat on a bed frame surrounded by a mosquito net and a worn out fan that failed at keeping the heat down: simple, easy and wonderful.

We woke up early in the morning to an extravagant breakfast spread bigger than dinner. We were told to eat everything because Hoang Anh and her mother were up since 5am preparing the meal. The bus came to pick us up at their front door. The parents came out to the bus with us and bid us farewell. It was a sad thought to return to Hanoi after being in a place that reminded me so much of home. We were invited back at anytime and with the reception we received, we can't pass up that offer. If you'd like, I'll extend the invitation.