I awoke again before the sun was up, not an unusual habit for me, even back home. I did my typical morning bathroom routine and felt very refreshed after the long expedition of yesterday. I made a simple breakfast, sat down on the patio with my coffee, and made some calls home. It was my last full day in Hanoi, and apart from being a tour guide for a street food romp this evening, nothing was really planned. After Diem was up and moving, we went to what was becoming our favorite little coffee shop. We, ultimately, would sit in its second-floor windows every day and sip on a fantastic cup of Vietnam’s famous morning beverage. 
It was robust, nutty, creamy, and delicious. Every place in the developing world I’ve been to seemed to have one thing in common: no coffee makers. In most places, especially in the Latin-speaking worlds of the Americas, instant coffee was what you drank. Though I never saw a coffee pot here, Vietnam was no instant coffee nation. I’m sure in some age-old attempt to get a good cup. The French had helped the Vietnamese figure out how to get a superior cup with fewer means. Essentially, a tiny “brewer” with a “filter” in the bottom of it was filled with grinds and sat on top of a saucer with tiny holes in it. All are either made from metal or ceramic.
This whole apparatus was sat on the coffee cup with its condensed milk already inside the cup. Boiling water is poured into the grind-filled top as it sits on top of your coffee cup. Essentially, each cup is brewed at your table right in front of you. Served with an empty glass of ice, once the cup is finished, you flip the top under the bottom to keep from making a mess on the table. You stir it all together and pour it over your ice. It’s rich, it’s sweet, it’s beautiful, it’s delicious, it’s refreshing, it’s Vietnamese coffee. 
I watched some sort of bouncing long-tailed mammal dart around the manicured central part of the parkway. It seemed it would be forever trapped in its motorbike-walled habitat. I watched the countless vehicles of all shapes and sizes flutter by, and the song of the horns filled the air. We sat in those seats in the upper window for three hours, and I didn’t even realize it. We eventually made it back to the apartment, and I took a nap while Diem went to run her errands. New Year’s was quickly approaching, and she had to go visit the salon and nail shop.
One has to look suitable for the holidays, and here is no exception. She returned about an hour before we had to meet our guide with food in tow. I tried to explain that we were about to have 5 meals and a cup of egg coffee beginning in an hour. She seemed indifferent to it, and I sat and did what I was told. The dish was delicious, a sort of reverse Banh Mi, a delicious bowl of thick chunky beef stew and a big crispy baguette to sop it up with.
Truth be told, I was starving and was pretty sure with the lightness of the food here and the fact that it was a walking tour, I’d probably have no issue with adding this dish to the start. Diem’s insight and ability to anticipate and sense my needs were becoming a little uncanny, but hey, I’ll probably never be treated like this again, so I better embrace it.
After slurping down my snack, we jumped in a cab and headed for the old quarter. Our guide was a young university graduate who went by the name Cherry. It was interesting how the Vietnamese often took on English names. I was familiar with this back home, but even here, it was common practice.
I’m sure it stems from the exhaustion one was bound to acquire trying to get Americans to pronounce their tones and vowel structure. I was struggling with it horribly myself, and if you went off a spelling, whhhooo, you were really messed up. Words that looked like kong sounded like hum, looked like gee, and said like zee. There are so many accents that completely change the sound and tone that a 23-letter alphabet quickly turns into an alphabet of over a hundred.
Instead of doing the classical classroom-style approach, I simply went by sound and pronunciation. Diem would help me practice words indefinitely until my pronunciation was correct. Mispronounce a word or phrase, and you could quickly go from trying to find a bathroom to saying some very mean things about one’s mother. It was a challenging language, but I really wanted to try and communicate in it as much as I could. It shows a lot of respect and appreciation towards your hosts and hostesses when as an American, you try to get with them on their level. Talk to them on their terms. No one expected me to write the Great Vietnamese novel. I did, however, get a deep sense that my efforts were appreciated.
As the tour began, we met up with our fellow tour group. A father the same age as me and his two sons, James and Luke. They were from the twin cities, and I was happy to have the company. As it turned out, the father had moved to Minnesota after graduating high school in Sandy Springs. It can, at times, be a very small world. The oldest brother, James, graduated from college back in the States and then, like many students, had trouble figuring out what was next. He saved some money doing various jobs back home and then got on a plane many years ago and never looked back. He’d been in Japan, China, Africa, Southeast Asia.
He mostly traded room and board and some occasional necessities like clothing in exchange for volunteer work at schools in small towns and villages teaching English. His brother and father decided to track him down. Every Westerner I met here had an interesting story to tell. The father spoke of getting his draft card years ago and doing everything he could not to come here. America’s involvement ended before he made it, and now, by what must be destiny, he was walking the bustling back alleys and streets.
People didn’t just pick this place to vacation. It picked them. Providence and faith turned the wheels that brought them here. I was no exception. Vietnam came to America and found me. Every event in my past, if played out differently, would have altered this current reality. She reached for me and brought me to her fabled ancient shores. She did so because she knew it would change me forever. And so it was me, Diem, Cherry, and a father and his two sons, wandering the old quarter of Hanoi. We talked, we laughed, we were amazed. I made some new friends, and Diem did too. The four Americans bonded along the path, and so did Diem and Cherry. No one felt isolated. It was a perfect evening, and the egg coffee was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. After the tour, Diem and I would walk the banks of Sword Lake one last time and take in the beautifully lit waters. Tomorrow, it would be time to fly back to Da Nang. My unforgettable tour of the north was coming to a close.
