GOLDEN TORTOISE, THE

Village in the City

104 The Golden Tortoise Ha Noi grew as a collection of neighborhoods clustered around its citadel . Each neighborhood, called a phuong, was a transplanted village where families, friends, trades people and their crafts, customs and practices from the countryside were replicated. We wander alone or in pairs around the city’s many natural lakes and through its crowded market streets. We are welcomed into the embrace of this Viet-French labyrinth of neighborhoods and shops. I wander the streets of this busy metropolis as I have the red dust villages and river delta communes . R Village in the City One street off the avenue and I am in a village. Suddenly bikes, mopeds, the buzzing beehive city are gone. I stroll past poor and narrow rooms transforming into shops that open onto a crumbling sidewalk. One woman sweeps with a stiff brush and long sleek hair. A stooping family cuts and bags melon slices while their baby sucks and dribbles its green juices. Old men squat around the bamboo water pipe they share. The village pond—four water tubs in which suppers swim in thick schools. The village garden—sprouting greens and roses piled, tied, and delivered on bicycles. I step over the split head of a pig while a family slices its carcass into bits to sell before it is claimed by flies or maggots. Ahead I see thick traffic flowing, a mechanical river marking the village border. Though I do not see hazy mountains or emerald rice, I want to stay in this remnant of countryside. I stop and stoop on the cracked sidewalk beside a circle of men sipping dark morning coffee. The pig’s last squeal echoes between low buildings. Gray clouds open to shower these streets anew. The men do not seem to notice my round eyes. Young and old smile, nod, and open their circle. Together we are drenched in warm rain, aroma and steam. 105 Edward Tick R During the war, in their final days in-country, GIs were called “short.” You had survived this long and might make it home; both relief and confusion reigned. But short on this tour means a final day for reflection and thanksgiving , for saying goodbye to friends and sites, seeing what has not yet been seen, completing our yearnings. Nam is an exuberant young man I befriended during my first journey and have visited ever since. He is a refugee from the impoverished countryside hunger to learn of the world and help his family and other destitute youth. During his first return journey, Bob posed for photos with a Vietnamese family that adopted him on the steps of the Ho Chi Minh Museum. On this second return, Bob has defused the psychic mines that were set during his combat tour. He exudes a great desire to help this country and other vets rebuild. I spend my last day with these two dear friends Viet Nam has gifted me. First Bob and I arrange for Nam’s further schooling. Then we complete our journey around the Lake of the Sword Restoration and its Jade Pagoda containing the skeleton of the ancient turtle. R Last Day in Ha Noi 1: Dragon Lights This is the lake that birthed dragon and city. Street lights and billboards, burning tips of incense, the moon pouring white tears in and out of its old cracked pitcher tap dance on its black stage by night or enflame sparkles on its dirty green by day. Silver bait fish squirm on bamboo fishing poles and the silver blackens on dead fish tossed to tree roots. Their eyes are food for ants. Red coals glow in the tiny braziers of corn and nut vendors. Lottery ticket and t-shirt sellers squawk and caw and gossip. ...