In 2007, when Chris Wallace's life in Los Angeles had reached a dead end and he had nothing left to lose, a friend invited him to move to Vietnam to work as a consultant for a French-Vietnamese restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City. "It may sound strange, but living my youth in Vietnam is the thing I'm most proud of in my life," the American tourist shared. Below is his reminiscence of a short youth trip in this country on Travel + Leisure.
My memories of Vietnam have also been edited over time. And, like an adult returning to elementary school and finding everything seems smaller, the country is not quite as I remember. Everything is more vibrant and colorful.
Hanoi - Vietnam in Chris Wallace's memory is full of colorful flower floats
PHOTO: TU PHAM
On my return trip, I worked with travel agency Remote Lands, who booked me at the Capella Hanoi, which after a 24-hour flight felt like a magical oasis. The hotel has a 1930s Indochine-Art Deco theme, making my stay feel like an adventure. Each room is named after a character in the opera, mine being Sarah Bernhardt.
On the outskirts of Hanoi, new buildings are springing up like plastered mushrooms. But in the city’s leafy Old Quarter, things seem much the same. Colonial buildings the colour of melons are surrounded by banyan, fig and purple flamboyant trees, and are dotted with primary colours and the bright pastels of passersby’s clothes. All of this, along with cha ca (fish cakes) and cà phê sữa (coffee with milk), has helped me escape my jet lag. For years, I’ve craved these foods – the best in the world, I think – and I indulge without moderation.
I met my old boss, Minh, who grew up in Hanoi, for lunch under the whirring fans of the Sofitel Legend Metropole. Minh and I are the same age, so when he arrived, I was a little surprised to see that he seemed to have not aged a day since I met him 15 years ago.
When I asked him how he thought Vietnam had changed since we worked together, he immediately said that people were caught up in making and spending money.
Sapa scenery
PHOTO: SG
When I moved to Vietnam, the town of Sa Pa, near the Chinese border, seemed impossibly remote. But new highways have dramatically shortened travel times to this popular northwestern destination.
Perhaps it was the fresher air, but as soon as I arrived in Sa Pa I was filled with excitement. The Black Hmong and Red Dao people who live here wear beautifully embroidered fabrics in a style that would not be out of place. As I walked in the hills outside Sa Pa, these villagers and I laughed a lot, communicating through our guide while I tried not to think about the new hotels being built at a seemingly frenetic pace to meet the demands of local, regional and international tourists - in the mountains beyond.
After a few days, we headed south of Hanoi, near Ninh Binh, which had always been on my wish list and which (so far) had relatively few international visitors. In the grounds of the ancient capital of Hoa Lu, a handful of domestic tourists were taking selfies in traditional ao dai in front of 10th-century temples.
Bich Dong Pagoda, built in the 15th century, outside Ninh Binh city; a small altar in a cafe in downtown Hanoi
PHOTO: CHRIS WALLACE
After moving to Vietnam in 2007, I worked almost 7 days a week consulting on the restaurant, creating the wine list, helping design the bar and training the staff, until, after 6 months of doing that, I almost broke down. Shortly after the restaurant opened, I thanked Minh for the opportunity and handed in my resignation.
I wandered around the country, writing. At the end of a few months, I moved to the ancient town of Hoi An. Returning to Hoi An and its magical old town, some of which dates back to the 15th century, brought with it a great deal of nostalgia. When I arrived, the bright yellow bougainvillea was in full bloom, and the sweet summer light sparkled on the river and down the French colonial buildings. It remains one of the most enchanting sights I have ever seen.
Friends who still live in the city tell me how much has changed: the influx of backpackers; the new luxury resorts that surround the beaches behind barbed wire; the shrinking rice paddies. Yet walking through the old markets in the early morning, it feels as if no time has passed.
A quiet moment in the heart of Hoi An; the library of a private house in Hoi An
PHOTO: CHRIS WALLACE
I wonder if I am also overwriting my own memories, duplicating them, refreshing them, or making them messy. In 2007, I deliberately did not bring a camera to Vietnam. I thought that without relying on photographs, I would have to learn to write well enough to convey the experience to those back home—from whom I felt so distant at the time, in a world before smartphones. Yet, as lost and alone as it was, it may have been the last time I felt whole, integrated, present—before social media made my place in time and space provisional, my focus as fickle as an old TV.
After two weeks in Vietnam, I finally arrived at what I thought was my old home. Thanks to 15 years of development, Saigon is almost unrecognizable.
The sprawling metropolis I once knew had grown too big. Colonial mansions were dwarfed by giant shopping malls and apartment buildings. I was overwhelmed by the size of the city. And while in my youth that feeling would have driven me to explore and learn about the city as quickly as possible, now all I wanted to do was hide and lounge by the pool. I did, however, want to take some photos by the Opera House and around Ben Thanh Market.
Sunset in Ho Chi Minh City
PHOTO: BUI VAN HAI
But sitting in a cafe on Dong Khoi, a block from my old restaurant, I sink into a feeling of overload. I think of my daily commute back then, lost in the deafening maelstrom of Saigon’s streets, feeling like a speck of dust in the frenzied stream of motorbikes that spilled onto sidewalks and every other accessible surface, spinning endlessly in the dust. I try to recall mornings at another cafe (now replaced by a mini-mart) where I ordered spring rolls. I frequented the swanky, neon-lit Q Bar beneath the Opera House or wandered Ben Thanh in search of banh beo—tiny rice cakes smothered in crispy pork skin and dried shrimp. I recall the youthful excitement of my brain as I wrote in my diary back then, trying to steer myself toward the profound, the witty…
On this return trip, it took me a day or two to adjust to Saigon, but gradually, curiosity and excitement came flooding back, breaking through the fear, and I began to look back at this city, not exactly new. I was delighted to hear the music coming from the Katinat cafe chain and almost relieved to see that the shabby Apocalypse Now nightclub still existed...
The bustling streets of Saigon and the peaceful beaches of Vietnam
PHOTO: CHRIS WALLACE
Things change. We change. I’m not some old-fashioned guy who insists things were better 15 years ago, nor would I ever want to go back to the person I was at 29. You can never go home, nor can you retrace your steps to the greatest adventure of your youth. But that means there’s still so much to see, taste, and write about in this land of newness…
Thanhnien.vn
Source: https://thanhnien.vn/thanh-xuan-song-o-viet-nam-la-dieu-toi-tu-hao-nhat-trong-doi-18525031014571637.htm
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