The Subplot Reaches a Climax: Meeting My Father and Brother

Minh comes for me on time and I don’t recognize her from pictures. She was in her twenties in the photos and now she's 66 years old. She speaks a bit of English! She says that she wants to take me out for breakfast – pho (noodle soup) of course. She then says that she will take me to see a couple of buildings that my grandparents used to own before the communists branded them capitalist swine and took away their holdings. She will drive us around Hanoi by motorbike….whaa? Hanoi traffic…there are hardly any street signals here, just like Siem Riep, except that Hanoi is WAY more trafficked. I’m scared to cross the street let alone ride bike or moto here.

Bad Asian Drivers: Something I’ve realized here…this reputation in Canada of Asians being bad drivers isn't really true. They're just used to coming from places where there aren't any real rules for driving (except stay alive), and you make quick decisions and veer quickly and react fast. They have to take more risks and be more aggressive in order to navigate streets that don't have signals or signs. I think this mentality is brought over to Canada, and it makes Asian drivers seem reckless, when I'm sure they just think that drivers in Canada are uptight and not bold enough. I don't know...that's my impression so far of Asian driving (from Bangkok, to Laos, to Siem Riep to Hanoi). That being said, there are a lot of traffic accidents because of the nature of road use here. The good thing is that the congestion is so bad that no car, bike, or motorbike can go over 12 km/hour in the Old Quarter. About a year ago, there was a law passed that made helmet wearing mandatory, and compliance seems to be about 97% so far as I can tell. The police enforce this quite rigorously. However children under 6 years old don’t have to wear helmets because they just don’t make helmets that small yet. I’m sure that will change shortly.

After a yummy chicken pho breakfast, I hop onto the back of Minh’s moto and put on a helmet with chin guard.

Minh says she’s a good driver when I show some hesitation. Man…so many motos and road users going every which way. Navigating the intersections make me tense up. I feel like we’re in a video game like ”Crazy Taxi”. All you fixed gear bike junkies out there would love the challenge of riding Hanoi. There are no street lights, and the traffic never comes to a stop so any pedestrians have to just wade into the fray. They seem to have no problem doing so.

I we drive around, I notice that most of the Vietnamese are actually quite light-skinned. I am surprised because I am much darker than my mom or her Chinese side of the family, so I assumed my dark skin came from the Vietnamese side…but they turn out to be lighter than the Asians I saw in Thailand, Laos or Cambodia. Right now I am several shades darker than anyone else around me. I am a pair of floating teeth.

You’ll also find lots of people (the vast majority women) in Hanoi with their faces covered with masks as they ride their moto or walk around. It’s not because of H1N1, it’s because of the road dust and pollution combined with tan prevention to stay as white as possible. It's a bit weird to see normal people wearing what looks like biohazard gear on their faces, especially when some of the masks have printed teddy bears on them. On top of that many women also wear long sleeved gloves to prevent their arms from getting darker. Minh has both face mask and long gloves on.

Old Hanoi meets New Hanoi.

Random funniness. I think this child is confused about whether to take off his pants or put on his rain poncho.

This place used to be my grandparent’s family home. Ironic.

These buildings in the photo (along with a few others) were owned by my grandparents before the communists took everything away.

These are some friends of my mom who were tenants of my grandparents decades ago. I really like old people. They give me this sweet herbal tea to drink that I really like. It’s naturally sweetened by a type of flower in the tea.

We head off to Minh’s place and on the way she stops at this store and buys something. It turns out to be that exact same type of tea. Fantastic. Tea party at my house when I get back!

At Minh’s place we call my mother to let her know that “the Tang has Landed”.

On her bookshelf. A bit'o girl power, translated into Vietnamese.

My mom and Minh know each other because my mom used to play the piano for the ballet school that Minh attended. Minh used to be a ballerina in her hayday. She looks beautiful in this old photo.

Minh’s daughter, is a violin teacher for the conservatory in Singapore. She’s forty years old with two boys. Can you believe she’s forty? Asian genes I guess.

This is a picture of (from left to right) my uncle, Minh, Minh’s daugher, my mom and me when I was about two years old in Vietnam. I swear I look older.

Minh offers for me to stay at her place for the rest of my stay in Hanoi. I accept and we taxi back to the hotel to get my stuff. She aggressively won’t let me pay for the taxi (nor my breakfast this morning for that matter). I have a feeling that this trend will continue unless I can find a way to trump her aggression. I feel a small worrisome knot loosen in my stomach; I’ve transitioned from being at the mercy of hustlers in the tourist trade to being in the good hands of trustworthy family friends. Phew.

Minh has a woman work for her named Phum. Minh tells me that Phum helps her with the cooking and cleaning and lives right next door.

In Laos, I made a freshwater pearl necklace to give to my mom, and with the left-over pearls I made another one. This gift for Minh seems appropriate and I think she likes it.

She then drops the news that she’s contacted my father and half-brother and they’ll be over in a few hours. I feel a bit nervous, and kind of just want to get it over with so that the tension can go away.

They show up and my father bursts into tears when he sees me. He hugs me and I can feel his tears soak through my shirt and onto my shoulder. I feel a bit awkward that I can’t return his overwhelmed feelings. I smile at him instead and lead him to a chair. He doesn’t speak any English and I don’t speak any Vietnamese. Luckily, my half-bro speaks quite good English and I communicate to my father through him.

My father’s name is Van Tu and he hasn’t seen me since I was 2 years old. He said that I was always a smart child and he would tell me lots of stories and that my Vietnamese was good then. I remember none of this.

Van Tu is 70 years old, and is now retired. He was a college teacher of history and literature. He is a lifelong chain smoker and his teeth show it. He still has all his own hair. He is shorter than I am by an inch or so. He has skin like mine (without the tan). He does not look like me.

My half-brother’s name is Quoc Cuong (meaning strong country) and everyone calls him Cuong (strong). Cuong is 26 years old and is quite tall for a Vietnamese man – 5’9”, and he’s quite light skinned. He doesn’t look like me either. He got married last year and has a newborn girl, named Tam Anh (pure spirit) who was born the day I left for my summer vacation. I guess I didn’t escape my fate of being an aunty Anh-Thi after all. Cuong has a Masters degree in civil engineering and has studied in the Netherlands on a scholarship as well as lived in Germany. He left the civil engineering path in favour of the insurance company path because of the lack of good paying jobs in civ eng in Vietnam. He is now working for AIG, a big American firm.

They both say I look a lot like Van Tu’s sister when she was young. It’s cheesy curious of me, but of course I can’t wait to see the photos of her.

Cuong and I talk for a couple of hours. He’s a bit surprised to find out that I don’t own a cell phone or t.v., combined with not driving any motorized vehicle. He smiles and says he understands my “style” and desire for this type of “freedom”. At times, he wishes he could throw away his cell phone. He’s gotten the travel bug and would like to visit Egypt….a dream he calls it. I am a bit astonished that we can talk so easily and have some common ground.

We talk about crazy Hanoi traffic, the Vietnamese psyche, lazy-gentle Lao people (his description), the European lifestyle, individuality and family responsibilities, traveling, teaching, married life, his newborn etc.

Tomorrow is Sunday and Cuong suggests that we spend it together as he takes me around the sights of Hanoi…of course by moto. His moto is different from the others, it’s a vintage 1970 something or other and is extra long compared to modern day motos. He loves the bike and says he can take four adults and one child on it.

I am a bit afraid of Hanoi traffic, especially after Cuong told me about the horrible reckless teen motobikers and of this Western traffic expert who came to Vietnam this year to consult on how to make Vietnam’s road use more safe, and got hit by a car and died. Cuong says “Don’t worry. I am very confident in my skill.” Okay…we’ll do it.

We say our goodbyes. I will see them all again tomorrow.

I am also looking forward to seeing my niece. What a weird idea…I have a niece.

Phum makes us a delicious dinner, and all three of us sit down to enjoy it. I have the best fried Vietnamese spring rolls I can ever remember eating. The food is very simple, but very savoury and reminds me of some of my mom’s cooking. There’s something about it that tastes distinctly different from Lao or Cambodian food. I then turn to Minh and ask her “Do you guys use MSG?” She shakes her head vigorously and says “Don’t like”. So that’s what’s missing – mega doses of MSG. I can actually taste the natural ingredients in the food – it’s less chemically accentuated.

For those of you who’ve been to a Chinese or Vietnamese dinner, you will know that as a guest you can’t get away with being comfortably full. You’ll be stuffed. The moment you let your guard down to pick up your beverage, someone will put a piece of food in your bowl. When you protest that you can’t fit any more in, they will scoff and insist that you can. Minh kept on saying “finit all” – finish all? And Phum kept on stealthily placing spring rolls into my bowl of sauce. I’m surprised not more Asians are obese.

There are lots of mosquitoes, at least 3 or 4 flying around me at any given time, and so I am sleeping be-bugnetted. Not that a few extra bug bites will be noticeable in and amongst the 40 or so I already have.