Hoan Kiem Couple

Prompted by this recent post and this one. (Plus this one from some time ago)

For some reason I am becoming increasingly nostalgic about my previous adventures (and it’s not just me).

Sitting in our snug Heaton flat we’ve been recalling the madness of Vietnam and, later, Nicaragua. 

But I am aware that, sadly, the memory is fading. Despite the blogs and the Flickr account there are some non-documented events that are all but gone.

The journey to the airport, for example, is getting hazy but there are still parts that remain vivid.

I don’t remember getting picked up but I do recall sitting in the back of a cab with the feeling that “this was it” spreading over me.

Despite being well used to the route, I tried to drink as much of it in as possible. The conical hatted ladies, which had long since just become part of my wallpaper, were once more noted. So too was the general traffic chaos and the long thin houses – particularly the posher ones by Truc Bac.

Then when we pulled away from the city I relaxed. I recalled that when I had first entered the country as a tourist, four years earlier, everywhere was rice fields. During my time there industry was making an increased impact on the environment.

The driver turned on the music. It was Vina Pop. That sickly, high energy, New Century style ick. It had been the soundtrack to so many minibus rides when I had cursed it.

Today though I asked him to turn it up. Then up again. We were laughing at the noise. He lit a cigarette and offered me one. Despite the fact that I had officially quit I accepted a Vinataba – ‘Nam’s cheap and rough smoke of choice.

I sat back. The Vina Boys belting on the radio, knocking Vinataba ash out the window and I smiled as the driver chuckled.

I texted everyone I knew back in Hanoi and described the scene, ending with “What a f*cking country”.

Before long I was at the airport. I recall ridiculously slow progress through Hanoi’s always stern customs but between us we cracked a few smiles as they puzzled over some visa details.

Then I was gone.

I know I am not the only one who has left to be haunted by my Vietnam memories and finding it hard to let go. I find myself once more scanning all the expat blogs and checking out Flickr pics (like these fabulous shots). I also keep wondering what happened to all those KOTO kids.

This weekend will see the KOTO Bike Ride – the first time in four years when it isn’t me organising it.

So. Anyone else want to share their Leaving Vietnam stories. How about you, you, you, you, you, you and you?  Any thoughts on what it is that makes Vietnam just so hard to shake off?