During the initial years of the 90s, I made a choice which could have been seen as savvy or foolish, possibly a mixture of both. Despite having a sturdy job as a journalist with the Irish Press during a sluggish economy, I found myself wearied and decided to abandon my role. I withdrew what I had saved in my pension, aware that it only meant receiving around 75% of my original input, and decided to engage in some spontaneous adventure.
It was the Guardian paper that enlightened me about Vietnam – which was still under the stringent rule that had driven off the Americans in the 70s – deciding to welcome foreign tourists, who earlier, were granted entry under limited circumstances. So, my partner and I went about securing our visas through a travel agency located in London, paid the obliged fee and embarked on our journey.
Our four-month journey across this southeast Asian nation commenced in Saigon, also called Ho Chi Minh City. Both of us were quite noticeable in the crowd – I, being over six feet tall and my partner, with her blue eyes, blonde hair and freckles. Our physical attributes, particularly our overlarge Caucasian noses, were a source of amusement to the Vietnamese kids, and occasionally adults. Despite living in less affluent conditions, they seemed to take pity on us, doubling over in laughter at our pronounced facial features.
We lodged at a hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, located close to a bustling marketplace wherein one could enjoy a bowl of noodle soup sitting at tables equivalent to ones seen in a primary school. I’d often sneak off early mornings to savour a bowl as my partner prolonged her slumber at the hotel.
The seating arrangement was rather amusing – short-legged stools near the small, low sitting tables that made my knees align with my chest when seated. The marketplace women found this sight even more humorous than my distinctively large nose.
My inability to skilfully use chopsticks whilst trying to eat noodle soup – with the noodles invariably ending up back in the broth and splattering my protruding nose – turned me into an amusing spectacle for those around me.
One dawn, a lady from the amused crowd approached me. She was an attractive, mature woman, though lacking some teeth. She revealed her capability to converse in French and inquired if I could do the same.
Upon my confirmation, she started asking about life in Europe. With every question of hers, I translated my response for the benefit of her companions, instilling a sudden seriousness amongst them. The lady disclosed that she had a sister residing in Germany, where she was employed in a manufacturing plant.
According to the letters her sister sent back home, Europeans led a rather monotonous life. They woke up early, travelled to work by train, stayed at the job all day, then returned home, weary, to lonely apartments. There, they ate something, slept, woke up the next day and repeated the same routine.
She asked me if all this was true.
My affirmative response was translated by her for her companions, whose expressions of disbelief required no interpretation. Their once animated faces now displayed only seriousness.
The woman inquired further: “So, if, say, you wish to visit the shops during the day, it’s forbidden? You must stay at work?” To this, I agreed again.
A wave of pity seemed to wash over them, as each woman silently reflected on the bleakness of such a life.
I chimed in then, pointing out their own long hours, from early dawn to dusk, peddling their wares at their stalls. “But that’s different”, she replied. “We bring our kids with us.” A sense of joy flooded her face as she acknowledged her better fortune. “And, we do get plenty of time to indulge in play and song.” she added.