Vietnam day 1

 No wheelchair would be provided for mom this time. As we exited the plain, mom and I walked hand in hand up the ramp; at the gate we were greeted by a man in communist military garb. My husband’s great-great uncle was a high-ranked general in the communist army (he’s now retired and a cool 80-something years of age, however his son continues to operate in a similar rank). Needless to say, we got the hook-up with a lower-rank soldier having been instructed to escort our family through the airport until we were in the taxi. No standing in lines, no answering interrogative inquiries. I casually wheeled mom around in a wheelchair we’d found as everything went smoothly, and we finally found ourselves in a SUV taxi with A/C.

One and a half hours of the taxi ride was navigating out of the city. Weaving through thousands of motorbikes and mopeds, as well as a handful of delivery trucks. Traffic patterns are baffling in the city of Saigon. There doesn’t seem to be any particular rhythm, yet rarely does anyone get into an accident. The low speeds probably help with reaction times.

We arrive first to one of the aunt’s hardware store. We are greeted with smiles, hugs, and fresh coconut beverages. Southeast Asian Nirvana, if you ask me. One by one we are driven a quarter mile behind the store on the back of Uncle 10’s motorbike. 

It’s not uncommon in Vietnamese culture that children are named based on their place in line in the family. So there is an Uncle 4, Uncle 5, Aunt 8, etc. Usually the last child is named Ut (meaning “last”), however in dad’s family their ended up being three “lasts”. Dad happens to be the first surviving child. He is revered as the prized child according to Vietnamese custom. This makes his firstborn son, my husband, another prized child, which makes our unborn son the latest soon-to-be prized child. The prized children receive special attention, treatment, inheritance, nobility etc. 

Uncle 10 is the funny one. Upon meeting us he asks if the baby “squats or stands to pee” to allude to gender. The family home is the tallest in the neighborhood. A few decades ago, my husband’s immediate family took advantage of Vietnam’s poor economy and severe inflation to build the family a home with American money. It’s an elegant three-story concrete home with tile floors throughout. Uncle 10 cares for the surrounding garden composed of bonsais, flowers, and fruit trees. Quite remarkable.

Upon arrival we find grandpop napping in the hammock on the front porch; he gets up to welcome us. We make our greetings brief to him and grandmom as we are under quarantine from the family for the next three days. We trek up the spiral staircase to our quarters on the second floor. The rest of the day reserved for sleeping and eating coconut jelly.