Family Dinner - Hanoi

We returned to Hanoi around five o'clock that evening. Duong had arranged for us all to have this Sunday dinner with her parents, at their home. Tim had met, and had become friends with, the extended family on an earlier trip to Vietnam. The plan was that we would eat at seven o'clock. We were all excited to freshen up and climb into a taxi to ride the few kilometers north to her parent's suburban home.

Duong's folks live in a very small home which is owned by her aunt. The aunt received the property from the grandparents when they died. The home is located on the side of the busy main northern highway. It is a tin roofed filler building, sandwiched between two larger cement commercial structures. The home is thus part of a long row of commercial enterprises stretching along the side of the highway. The property under, and behind, this simple home has value far exceeding that of the dwelling.

I learned that an inheritance, in Vietnam, can not be sold by the recipient. Resell is only possible if another member of the family first buys it from the direct heir. The fact that the aunt owns the home has brought considerable worry to Duong and her parents.

When we arrived, there were joyous greetings for Tim. Duong's folks were clearly looking forward to visiting with Tim again. The very first thing that was done, after initial handshakes and hugs, was to have all of the men sit at a very small table and sip tea so we could relax after the long drive from the city. The men included me, Tim, Dad, and the taxi driver. During this visit, Duong rode a bicycle to a few nearby vendors and purchased fresh greens and meat. The home has no refrigerator.

Now, it is custom that, since the drive back to the city was such a long way, the taxi driver joined the evening's visiting and the meal. This cultural tradition was so normal that I noticed the driver was actually the one who prepared the tea. Hot water was poured from a thermos into a tea cup. That cupful was then spilled into another, until all of the cups had been warmed to receive the tea.

I asked Dad if I could have a look at the raw tea in the can. He was very proud to open the tin and tilt it so I could see. Dad then reached into the tin, removed a pinch, and put it into his mouth. He gestured for me to do likewise. I pinched a couple of the small dried, twig-like, black pieces and put them on my tongue. It tasted a lot like concentrated tea on my tongue.

Following a few refills of tea, dad spooned brown powder into some small glasses. The taxi driver then added water and stirred the mix. It was time to switch from tea to pre-dinner coffee. The instant coffee was pre-mixed with sugar and powdered milk. When briskly stirred, the result was as good as any commercial mocha. We clinked glasses and enjoyed each other's non-understood small talk, grins and laughter.

Duong returned with a basketful from the markets. She, her mom, and a small boy, whom I never identified, began preparing the evening meal. After sometime at the table, I excused myself and wandered back to the kitchen. Preparation, before cooking, was done on a mat on the floor. A gas burner was the primary implement in the small, darkened space. Mom was working with vegetables on the floor, and Duong was busy stirring food steaming in pans on the burner.

I walked through the back doorway to the outside. A trail led through banana trees to a large, empty overgrown field. The size of the unimproved lot was much more than one family would require for a garden. On the right of the path, attached to the back side of the neighboring building, was a rocked-in source of running water. The small boy was hunched before a pan at the base of the protected water supply. He was busy washing a variety of vegetables.

Tim joined me, and we talked of the value of the undeveloped lot to Duong's parents. In a few minutes Mom came out back. Without saying anything, but with a huge grin, she led Tim to a spot under some overhead banana leaves. She gestured for me to take their picture together. It was fun to see her reaction when I showed her the digital display.

Duong's family is devout Buddhist. I had already been introduced to the shrine which formed the main attraction when one walked into the main room. Dad invited Tim and me to join him in watching a CD of his son's 'presentation into the fullness of his family's future' ceremony. The CD player and television were in the master bedroom, which is the room between the entry room and the kitchen; three rooms, in all. We watched the CD from the edge of the bed. Well, I think it should be called a bed. The frame of the bed was normal height above the floor. There were many wood slats on the frame. However, instead of running side-to-side on the frame, as bed slats normally do, these slats ran head-to-base. On top of the slats was a blanket. This formed the bed.

During the videoed program, the son made many outfit changes. Each change of dress was more colorfully stunning than the one before. The son danced a ritual step and partook of drink, fruit, and other food stuffs, periodically interrupting his active movements. The food and drink breaks symbolized the richness of his family's life. Occasionally, the camera panned the guests present in the temple. When the image showed a shot of one of Tim's education friends, or a family member, Dad would quickly tap Tim and hurriedly point and name the person. The ceremony was long indeed. Actually, it reminded me a bit of my Catholic wedding ceremony.

After a while, we were called to dinner. The ladies had spread a couple of large woven mats on the floor of the main room. All of the different meal plates and bowls had been placed at the center of the mats. After removing our shoes, we each chose a place at the edge of the mats to sit. I sat between Dad and the taxi driver. Because of Tim's metal hip joints, he asked that he be permitted to sit in a chair. He sat between Mom and the taxi driver, and his size loomed over both of them.

The meal the ladies had prepared was fantastic, both in taste and variety. I asked what one unusual looking dish was called. I learned that it had been served for so long in Vietnam's history that it just didn't have a common name. Duong had promised us the meal tonight would be nothing special. It would be a dinner featuring what would be served on a normal evening. I asked that the bowl of "stuff" be passed a little closer.

At the start of the meal we were all served beer to drink. It was the apparent task of the taxi driver to ensure that our glasses were continuously topped. Part way though dinner, Dad asked that the blessing beer be brought to the floor. I thought, wow, this is special. The blessing beer was the brand which was presented on the home's shrine. Beer was one of many forms of sustenance, flowers and tokens which represented the well being of the family. This brand was also served to the son during his ceremony.

The blessing beer was called Halida. Up to this time in the meal we had been drinking bottled beer. This special brew was served-up out of a pop-top can. At one point I noticed that Dad's glass was nearing empty. I picked up a can to top him up. The taxi driver shook his head for me not to do it. He was the one who poured the drinks. I nodded understanding and handed him the can. I think he realized, from my attempted gesture, that he had been slacking.

The main room's walls were decorated with calendars, photographs and neatly written scripts. I asked Dad what one of the scripts said. He gleefully stood and proudly read the poems he had composed. Duong provided as close a translation as she could. The main theme of the poems was about the values of close family, friends, and the worth of love and friendship above all worldly things. This retired fireworks and war time munitions designer had a very warm heart.

A portion of the video we had watched earlier was of a show which used his fireworks. The display had been world class. When the American war, as it was called in Vietnam, came, Dad was recruited to turn his talents toward designs of destruction. He was proud of his contribution to the North's war effort, but he did not relish those past years.

A while into the meal it was noticed by all, how much I had been hurting from sitting in the lotus position. They agreed that a chair should be brought for me, too. That was my blessed moment in this Buddhist home. We soon retired back to the welcoming table for more tea while the women removed the few dinner remains.

We had spent nearly three hours in the pleasant home. It was time to head back to the city. Everyone received warm hugs of goodbye. Mom and Dad were near tears to see their old and close new friend depart. Time passed too quickly as we reminisced the evening during the trip back.

Before we left, Dad made me promise to return soon. I told him I would, and that next time, I would come with my wife to share our visit with them and with Vietnam.