“I never understand Americans. I like Americans. I do. Mr. Jason, he’s a good friend of mine. But sometimes I don’t understand him. On Tet New Year, he comes to my house for a meal, but he shows up wearing short pants and shirt with no sleeve. Very strange. That’s clothes for sleeping not for visiting. How come you don’t wear short pants? All Americans wear short pants. Maybe you are too fat,” he answered his own question.
I had to keep reminding myself how grateful I was for Tan.
“Let’s go. Nothing more to see here. We will go to Ba Dinh Square. Only one kilometer from here.”
As I turned to walk back to the taxi, two sprawling trees ablaze with the color red stood staring back at me.
“What kind of tree is this?” I asked.
“Oh, this is the Phuong tree. Phuong tree one of the most beautiful trees in Vietnam. Many girls have name Phuong too. In English, we call it ‘flame tree’.”
“It does look like it is on fire. Very beautiful.”
“Just like Vietnamese women. On fire, and beautiful,” he started laughing uncontrollably. “What you think of Vietnamese women? You have a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“You should meet a Vietnamese girl. You want a Vietnamese girl?”
“No. I’m leaving Vietnam tomorrow.”
“Why you don’t want Vietnamese girl? Lots of Vietnamese girls like American men.”
“Even American men who have no money?”
Tan started laughing uncontrollably again.
“That’s right. You have no money. No chance to get Vietnamese girl. Vietnamese mothers okay with daughter marrying American man if he has money. But no money, no chance, especially someone big and fat like you,” he smiles and breaks off a small branch of the Phuong tree. “Here. This is a symbol of a Vietnamese girl you could have had if you had money.”
I took the flaming red flower of the Phuong tree and put it into my shirt pocket as the only Vietnamese souvenir I could afford. Then we hopped into the car and began once again driving down the narrow streets dodging animals, bicycles, three wheeled trishaws, swarms of motorbikes and other cars which continually beeped their horns for no discernible reason.
Ba Dinh Square revealed itself in an obvious way. I felt like the square’s expanse could have contained all of Lyndora. The massive open air square was divvied up into small sections of grass separated by cement sidewalks. Next to the vast lawn was a very broad avenue which authorities had permanently blocked to all motorized traffic. On the other side of the avenue stood the tallest structure in the square –– the granite columned mausoleum of Vietnam’s beloved ‘Uncle Ho’ – Ho Chi Minh. Ho, who had died of natural causes in 1969 during the Vietnam War, was permanently preserved – lying in state in a Sleeping Beauty-like glass case placed in a dimly lit chamber guarded by stoic soldiers. His skin looked pale and wax-like. The whole experience of standing in line and walking in a single file, silent parade past the body of the one who led them to freedom from the French, kind of creeped me out. It felt good to emerge from the darkness back into the sunshine. As we reached the other end of the square, we stopped to overlook the immense French built, mustard colored presidential palace.
“Ba Dinh Square is the most famous square in Vietnam. It was right over by the mausoleum on September 2, 1945 that Uncle Ho stood up and declared our independence from the French. And you know, he borrowed the first line of the American Declaration of Independence to also be the first line of Vietnam’s Declaration of Independence.”
“Really? Is that true?”
“Yes. ‘All men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.’”
“Really? That’s true? I never heard that before.”
“Yes. That’s true. Ho Chi Minh liked Americans. You know that day on September 2, 1945, there are American soldiers here too, in the crowd,
I had to keep reminding myself how grateful I was for Tan.
“Let’s go. Nothing more to see here. We will go to Ba Dinh Square. Only one kilometer from here.”
As I turned to walk back to the taxi, two sprawling trees ablaze with the color red stood staring back at me.
“What kind of tree is this?” I asked.
“Oh, this is the Phuong tree. Phuong tree one of the most beautiful trees in Vietnam. Many girls have name Phuong too. In English, we call it ‘flame tree’.”
“It does look like it is on fire. Very beautiful.”
“Just like Vietnamese women. On fire, and beautiful,” he started laughing uncontrollably. “What you think of Vietnamese women? You have a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“You should meet a Vietnamese girl. You want a Vietnamese girl?”
“No. I’m leaving Vietnam tomorrow.”
“Why you don’t want Vietnamese girl? Lots of Vietnamese girls like American men.”
“Even American men who have no money?”
Tan started laughing uncontrollably again.
“That’s right. You have no money. No chance to get Vietnamese girl. Vietnamese mothers okay with daughter marrying American man if he has money. But no money, no chance, especially someone big and fat like you,” he smiles and breaks off a small branch of the Phuong tree. “Here. This is a symbol of a Vietnamese girl you could have had if you had money.”
I took the flaming red flower of the Phuong tree and put it into my shirt pocket as the only Vietnamese souvenir I could afford. Then we hopped into the car and began once again driving down the narrow streets dodging animals, bicycles, three wheeled trishaws, swarms of motorbikes and other cars which continually beeped their horns for no discernible reason.
Ba Dinh Square revealed itself in an obvious way. I felt like the square’s expanse could have contained all of Lyndora. The massive open air square was divvied up into small sections of grass separated by cement sidewalks. Next to the vast lawn was a very broad avenue which authorities had permanently blocked to all motorized traffic. On the other side of the avenue stood the tallest structure in the square –– the granite columned mausoleum of Vietnam’s beloved ‘Uncle Ho’ – Ho Chi Minh. Ho, who had died of natural causes in 1969 during the Vietnam War, was permanently preserved – lying in state in a Sleeping Beauty-like glass case placed in a dimly lit chamber guarded by stoic soldiers. His skin looked pale and wax-like. The whole experience of standing in line and walking in a single file, silent parade past the body of the one who led them to freedom from the French, kind of creeped me out. It felt good to emerge from the darkness back into the sunshine. As we reached the other end of the square, we stopped to overlook the immense French built, mustard colored presidential palace.
“Ba Dinh Square is the most famous square in Vietnam. It was right over by the mausoleum on September 2, 1945 that Uncle Ho stood up and declared our independence from the French. And you know, he borrowed the first line of the American Declaration of Independence to also be the first line of Vietnam’s Declaration of Independence.”
“Really? Is that true?”
“Yes. ‘All men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.’”
“Really? That’s true? I never heard that before.”
“Yes. That’s true. Ho Chi Minh liked Americans. You know that day on September 2, 1945, there are American soldiers here too, in the crowd,
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