Ilrok and I sat in silence, with a looming sense of anxiety clawing away at us. My phone rang and I couldn’t hide my excitement. I forced words through my grin - and into the receiver. Our friends had arrived! It had been almost four months since we had seen anyone from our home and now they were here. We ran downstairs to find a travel-weary couple and gave Jason and Angela a vigorous welcome. I have been close friends with Jason for over a decade, so you can imagine the delight. We had only known Angela for a few months prior; however, she was anything but a stranger. I was excited for them. They – like many others, were about to discover Hanoi in the same way that we had. Their baggage was hauled up the three flights of stairs to our studio apartment and we allowed them to settle in. The cushion from our couch, along with our neighbours' would make for a bed. After catching up, we strolled up the road to Madake - one of the expat bars - we rejected the urge to go into tour guide mode, and instead chatted away as we always had.
The four of us ventured in and around the city for a few days, it gave our friends the chance to take it all in. People need to acclimatise to the beat of the city – walking down an arbitrary side road is a feat in itself. The eroded path is patched and laid down in such a way that it prompts vehicles to swerve from side to side (not unlike the digital green fleck of a heart-rate monitor) to avoid serious injury. A mysterious force compels Honda Wave drivers to terminal velocity, while transporting four family members and luggage on the back. Like a professional athlete you side-step through the traffic to the shop that you have spotted on the other side of the street. The area that you are in dictates how the locals will treat you - the further away you are from the tourist area, the less tolerant they are of you, the exception being beyond that of the borders of Hanoi. Countryside folk do not hold the same vindictive nature toward westerners. Foreigners are blamed for all of the problems that the Vietnamese face and it is understandable considering their war-ridden past. We take great delight in telling locals that we are from “Nam Fi” which of course signifies that we are not of American descent and are in fact South African. This triggers their brain cells to swell, vigorously trying to stretch their minds around the mystery that we are not black. Standard procedure, preceding this event is the customary rubbing of the skin on our arms and informing us that we are white and therefore, cannot be from South Africa. The Vietnamese population, for the most part, is the only child of a fundamentally religious family. The majority know only what they have been taught, which is ironically similar to their American counterparts. Life really takes its role as educator when you are somewhat of an outcast. It teaches you to not care what people think. In an ideal world, I would be the relentless ambassador of the western world – marrying our cultures and betraying preconceptions on either side of the spectrum. But I am instead a simple onlooker of their existence, being the talk of the neighbourhood whenever I make trivial and very human mistakes (such as leaving a terrace light on in daylight). It takes me back to the countryside folk and a dilemma that was cleared up by a friend of mine. I will get you there soon enough.
