(December 29)  The morning after the wedding in Hai Phong, I bought a new battery for the Fonda and a boat ticket to take us both (the Fonda and me) to Cat Ba Island.  To pass the time before I needed to board the boat, I explored the streets of Hai Phong, Vietnam’s largest port.  I came across a small market where women were selling live chickens and ducks.  I parked my bike and walked over to investigate … and of course to take photos.  

As I approached, the ladies waved me away … or more accurately, they waved away my camera.  So I put it aside and started just to visit with them.  Although my Vietnamese has gotten pretty good since then, at the time, the only words I knew were hello and thank you.  I used those but then relied on my smile and willingness to make an absolute fool of myself which usually involves lots of miming.  These methods usually get people laughing and get my foot in the door … and didn’t fail me with these ladies.  

chicken vendor snoozing

I got the sense that they were asking me where I was from, so I ran to my bike and came back with my little American flag along with my Vietnamese one.  The next thing I knew, the women were crawling over themselves (and their chickens and ducks) to get their hands on the flags.  They took turns waiving them and then started requesting to have their photos made.  Now we were talking!  Once the camera was out, these once shy ladies started hamming it up.  They even began pointing out photo opps to me … like one of their peers who was taking a nap and was so far into dreamland, he didn’t hear the commotion they were creating.  They laughed hysterically as I took the snoozer’s photograph.

So it was with happy feelings that I boarded the boat for Cat Ba Island an hour later.  The boat almost overflowed with passengers who filled every seat and then some (all Vietnamese except for me and one other Westerner I spotted who seemed to be trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible in the corner).  It seemed that everyone had bags of fruit, vegetables or some kind of food that they stuffed in all the crevices on the bench seats that bodies weren’t filling and all over the floor. The Fonda was parked outside by the railing and every square inch around it was filled with bags of vegetables and lettuces which islanders were importing from the mainland.  Space was certainly not wasted on this boat.

a Hai Phong mattress vendor with a serious load

Although I enjoyed visiting (or at least sharing smiles) with the old woman seated next to me who kindly shared her fruit, the density of passengers coupled with the lack of air circulation pushed my curiosity about what we were cruising past over the edge and I squeezed past lettuce and vegetables to to out to join the Fonda for a breath of fresh air.  I was photographing some boats as we passed them when a Vietnamese man who appeared to be about my age approached me and started chatting me up in English.

He introduced himself as Chung Ngoc and began asking about my camera.  I don’t like “how much did you pay” questions, especially from people in developing countries about electronic and photographic equipment that usually represents a years’ worth of earnings to them so I dodged it as I always do with “I can’t remember” or “too much.”  Then he started asking me more traditional questions which I’ve since come to learn are asked by almost all Vietnamese:  Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?  

Not sure if he was just making conversation or making a move, I fibbed (as I often do on this topic to Asian men my age) and told him I was married.  He asked me a few more questions about my fictitious husband for which I made up answers.  The topic changed and I promptly forgot my lie.  Chung was a Cat Ba Island resident who had made a trip to the mainland on behalf of his handicapped brother.  Chung’s father had fought in the American War (as the “Vietnam War” is called in Vietnam) and had been exposed to Agent Orange.  As a result, his son, Chung’s brother, was born with a number of birth defects that rendered him unable to walk or talk normally.  

the Fonda on the ferry before being packed in with lettuce

Somehow, his brother had managed to meet a minority girl (a girl from an ethnic tribe) who lived in the mountains on the mainland, had developed a relationship with her via telephone and had fallen in love with her. Chung was returning from a trip to visit the girl’s family to propose a marriage between the girl and Chung’s brother.  He was returning with good news and was anxious to share it with me.  

He then told me that he was married and had a young son and invited to give me a tour of the island, including a visit to his village to meet his family.  Oh, a family!  He was safe!  So naturally, I accepted. 

It got cold outside the boat and my extra coat was packed away on my motorbike underneath all the vegetable so I excused myself from my visit with Chung and went back inside.  In my absence, the old lady who had been sitting next to me had curled up in both of our seats and gone to sleep.  I wandered into the next compartment and found an unoccupied space on a wooden bench.  The boat rocked me to sleep, but thirty minutes later, I was awakened by some women in their mid-thirties tugging on my hair (my braids are always a source of curiosity for the Vietnamese) and on my coat sleeves.  They seemed equally curious about one as the other.  All five of the women smiled widely except for one who actually looked a bit stern and seemed as though she was reserving judgment about me.  

the "stern looking lady" ... now all smiles

The stern looking lady made sharp gestures that she wanted to try on my coat.  I knew I would be cold without it but I was willing to be a sport for a little bit so I handed it to her.  Once she snuggled into its warmth, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get it back.  The ladies all tried to talk to me but at that point, I didn’t speak or understand any Vietnamese (just hello and thank you) so they settled for inspecting my hair.  Apparently something I did or said won the “stern lady” over and suddenly she was all smiles like the others.  She began pulling food from her pockets and sharing it with me.  And just as  the boat was pulling into the bay at Cat Ba Island, she grabbed a pen and my hand and wrote her phone number in my palm.  

This wasn’t the first time a non-English speaking Asian woman had given me her phone number.  And I continue to be amused and confused each time.  We are obviously not able to communicate verbally so I’m not sure what they expect me to do with the number.  The best I can figure is that they’ve enjoyed our connection and want to walk away feeling like that connection isn’t lost.  At any rate, I was touched.

When we arrived at the island, Chung waited while my motorbike was unloaded from the boat.  In Hai Phong, I was able to drive my bike right onto the boat.  Not so on Cat Ba.  Immediately after stepping off the boat, everyone had to climb about 15-20 feet up some very steep steps.  There was no way I could drive my motorbike up there so I had to hire five porters to carry my bike up the steps for me.  It was a pretty precarious maneuver and I was a bit anxious for a few minutes, but they made it safely with my little Fonda so, after dropping off my bags at a hotel, off Chung and I went, zipping around the island to his village, Khe Sau.  

view of Cat Ba Island harbor from my hotel room

After showing me around the village, he invited me into his home to meet his family.  He and his wife and three year old child lived in one room (in one bed) in his parents’ house while he saved money to build his own house down the street some day.  His brother was unable to walk up and down the four steps that lead to the family house so he lived alone in a building toward the front of the house from which he ran a dry goods store.  I was present when Chung delivered the good news to him about his engagement.  It was quite sweet to see how happy he was.  

Chung invited me to join his family for dinner which made me quite excited.  It was my first such invitation in Vietnam and my opportunity to see what a Vietnamese home looked like inside. 

a shrimp boat in the harbor at Cat Ba Island

The living room floor, and in fact the entire house, was made of concrete.  As is common in Vietnam, the double front doors which separated the living room from the outdoors were wide open.  It was about 45 to 50 degrees outside … and, because the doors were open, inside as well.  It’s the custom throughout Asia to take off one’s shoes before entering the home.  I can’t tell you how grateful I was that cold night in a room with concrete floors to have on my socks (which are permitted indoors).  Seeing Chung and his family walk around barefoot made my feet feel cold anyway.  I also kept my coat on and I noticed that Chung and all of his family did as well.  

Against the wall was an old leather sofa and opposite it, a wood and glass coffee table and some chairs.  The set up was somewhat formal and also reminiscent, on a much more humble scale, of the living room feeling set up in the Vietnam consulate’s office in Battambang, Cambodia where I received my Vietnam visa.  Against the wall and to the right of the sofa was a formal glass case which housed some seemingly precious, yet dusty and forgotten objects including several lovely tea sets.  In the far corner of the room was a giant entertainment center made of honey colored wood (or pressed particle board) with gold trim that looked like it had come from Sears.  Housed inside - the precious and “always on” TV.  Next to the entertainment center was the bed used by Chung’s parents.  

Chung and his brother who's just received the news that he's officially engaged

I offered to help Chung’s wife cook, but she would have none of it.  So I sat with Chung on his couch in the living room (which also served as his parents’ bedroom and, when the straw mat was placed on the floor, the dining room as well) and shared a beer while we waited for dinner to be served.  

“So why isn’t your husband traveling with you?” Chung asked me.  Husband? What husband? I thought.  Then I remembered the little white lie I’d told earlier in the day.  Embarrassed to admit to my new friend that I had lied to him and not sure he’d understand why if I did admit it, I carried on with the fib.  I know this is going to sound crazy, but I didn’t want Chung to think I was in an unhappy marriage so I told him that my husband was going to be meeting me in one week in Hue.  If you’re going to tell a lie, you might as well make it a good one, eh?  I tried to change the subject, but Chung was relentless with his questions about my husband.  How long had we been married? (Three years) What does he do for a living?  (He’s a professor) Did we have children? (I kept it simple on this one … no).  Why not? Married for three years already.  Did we want children? (Sure … someday).  

Finally dinner was ready.  Saved by the bell.  

dinner with Chung's family

I was a little nervous about meeting Chung’s father.  Afterall, the man had not only fought in the American/Vietnam war, but was still living with its effects on a daily basis in his deformed second son who couldn’t even climb the house steps to eat dinner with the family.  He was the first such person I had met and I figured surely he must be bitter and would not be excited to have an American visiting his home.  To the contrary, when the straw mat was spread on the floor and everyone sat down to eat, he toasted with me and welcomed me to his country as well as to his house.  I was amazed and appreciative.  We didn’t discuss the war.  I was rather afraid to bring it up, but I enjoyed my first glimpse at how Vietnam has forgiven, if not necessarily forgotten.

Goof around with me and the lady chicken vendors in Hai Phong, bite your nails while the Fonda is unloaded off the ferry and join me for dinner at Chung’s house all via video by clicking here.

If you’d like to see more photos of Hai Phong and Cat Ba Island, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.