Memories of Vietnam

I’ve been thinking a lot of Vietnam.  I think about it everyday, actually, but little things are bringing back memories that I haven’t recalled since leaving the country. 

The other day it was a smell.  There was a hotel we stayed at that had this incredible smell.  I don’t know what it was—kind of spicy and sweet, but not in an edible sort of way.  It could have been perfume or cologne—it didn’t seem to bend more towards one gender or the other.  Anyway, I LOVED the smell.  I would sniff my hair constantly (because the shampoos and soaps also smelled like it).  Ahhh, sweet Vietnam.

And tonight I remembered this:

We were in Saigon and after a day out we walked over to a little pizza restaurant behind the hotel.  The menu was huge!  Like, American pizza restaurants can in no way compete with this place.  Page after page of specialty pizzas.  We walked back to the hotel with our piping hot pizza and warm drinks and enjoyed it. 

I had forgotten all about it until tonight when I decided that I had to have pizza.  I remember the wait staff—as always, so accommodating.  The waitress wanted to chat while we waited for our pie.  She was from the Philippines and told us about coming to VN.  She told us she was a contracted worker and could work in a number of different countries (I have totally forgotten now, but they were all Asian countries with the exception of one, I think).  She talked about her boyfriend and how their next job would probably not be in the same country together and I realized something.  As an American, my life is relatively easy.  I don’t have to worry about going to another country for work (well, hopefully the economy will turn around so I won’t have to worry about it). 

So much of what we recorded of Vietnam was on the tapes and camcorder provided by NBC.  Since they haven’t yet copied the tapes and sent them back to me I have to rely solely on my memories.  When we were in Vietnam I found myself on a number of occasions trying to hold on to the moment.  I would will myself to remember that moment.  No amount of video tape or photos can really save that moment or the emotions and thought behind it.  It wasn’t the big moments—not the moment I finally had my son in my arms or the ceremony.  It was the quiet moments.  Just me and my son.  Driving down a road.  Watching traffic or the pregnant woman saunter slowly across the street.   Sitting on the empty beach in Da Nang one last time.  Even yesterday I felt a cool wet breeze and the Spud and I both raised our faces to catch it.  Just as we had in Vietnam.  

Ahhh, I miss Vietnam.