This is scribblings from at least two days.  Just impressions and pictures without much pondering.

Cafe sitting. Finding a place a few doors down from our alley to sit for breakfast.  Lots of light streams in from a sky light three stories up.  

Sitting after breakfast.  Not at all my plan. To the extent that what I’ve thought of is a plan.  I wanted to be out moving during the early morning avoiding if we could the hottest heat of the day.  As it is, we wait for our friend in this pleasant cafe close to our house, but by the time she comes and we go walking, we will be in the hottest part of the day.

I haven’t settled into the length of a days without strict structure.  Not yet.  I am still wanting accomplishment.  Boxes to tick off.  

But sitting in the light is a good thing. 

On the plane coming here, I fired off emails to the day programs back home.  It is hard to let go of the process to find a place for Julia.

I wanted.  Ummm, yes, I wanted and planned.

Another attempt to move Julia away from screens and into our reality.  Yes, the irony that Ed and I are sitting here with our screen.  Doing work, we both say, but otherwise distracted from where we are.

This morning for a second time, I trade a little sketch book with Julia, each of us drawing something we see.  She is reluctantly willing.  And there is now an impression of this cafe.  Again, I am reminded how much I depended upon her continuing to make art like she did when she was growing up.  I probably overplayed my hand.  Or she just lost interest. 

We toured the Women’s Museum—one of my favorite places from 20 years ago.  I remember very little of what I saw then apart from some information about women’s participation in the American War.  I think there was very little translation and we just basked in the notion of an entire museum devoted to the accomplishments of women.  In so many cultures that I am used to women, as notable contributors to civilization, are an afterthought.  They were important because they birthed the next generation of soldiers, they cooked and cleaned and made a home for their partners to return to.

I’m not denying that the patriarchy was/is alive and doing very well in Vietnam.  It is.  However,  a whole museum lifting up the accomplishments and the life of women is still unique and rather exciting.

There is at least some translations on exhibits.  It is stirring to learn about the many women who fought in many ways for the freedom and unification of Vietnam.  There is mention of the contribution of many demonstrations around the world to end the war.

The Old Quarter of Ha Noi is an assault to the senses.  No denying that.  Julia has been wearing her face mask most days.  The alley that we walk down to get to our house has a series of smells, some unsavory, definitely pretty moldy in sections.  After this short time, I have gotten relative used to them.  Julia has not.  We are staying here until next Wednesday and I tell her that nothing is forever.

Walking down our alley a few times a day, I have gotten used to it.  At least, some.  It is still dark and dank. It is still a little scary.  However, it is also an entryway to the behind the street neighborhood. The style of housing is call Tube Houses.  Doors, some single width, some double, some pretty fancy punctuate the dark walls.  Sometimes we have been able to spy into an open door to see another home, another world.  Undeniably, it is quieter back there.  I can’t tell house far back our house is in terms of the length of the alley but it goes beyond us.  A few times, as we came in or out, we had to flatten against the wall to allow for a scooter to come in or out. I’ve read that the tube houses were built with courtyards in the middle—another place for multi-generation families living on the various floors of the house to gather.  I wonder if now, those courtyard have been built upon, leaving only slightly wider alleys for the storage of motor scooters and other things to large to bring into apartments.  

Wiring.  Should I say scary or risky? It is not up to any code, but large bundles of wires supplying electricity to apartments and tiny houses are strung along the ceiling of the alley.  Julia noticed them first, alarmed by them.  She wants them fixed.  I tell her it will not happen by the time we leave.  

Two nights ago, we ended out day at Train Street.  It is an actual street with tracks in the middle and tube houses on either side as close as possible to the tracks.  At night, just before the train comes through, people gather in the small first floor sitting areas and order beer and snacks to wait to watch the train.  I had read about this attraction, not really thinking it was exactly what it says it is.  But it is what it says and that train comes by, not slowly by any means.  The vendors of the beers and snacks make sure chairs, hands and feet are out of the way of the tracks.  Considering that the train proceeds through quickly—I imagine it does not slow down much from the rest of its run through the city—it is wise to follow the vendors’ advice. 

We travel via scooter with Tra My piloting Julia and I, and someone else, yesterday Tra My’s brother taking Ed. Frankly, I was and continue to be worried that I am too big for balance and for speed. However, over and over I suspend disbelief and get on. We have mostly been traveling through the small streets of the Old Quarter which although crowded with only the suggestion of lanes of traffic and traffic lights; however, last night, we turned onto the highway. And OMG! Jesus, I said under my breath, said with the utmost respect. Possibly a prayer as it was all I could form. Tra My navigated onto and off of the highway AND managed a u-turn across 4 lanes of traffic. I am not sure I will ever be the same. No, I know I will never be the same.

Then last night, we went to sing karaoke.  Julia had wanted to do this is Tokyo and we just couldn’t fit it in.  It was just as well.  Last night, Tra My took us to a Karaoke place where we were installed in a sound proof room, lined with couches, big screens on either end, party lighting and 3 microphones. A tablet listed what seemed like an endless list of tunes in all of the languages that we could sing in—we didn’t check on European languages but I bet they were there.  Julia had a great time singing her favorite Japanese and Korean tunes.  The rest of us picked tunes we knew.  It was undoubtedly more fun with Tra My, her brother and niece along to sing and cheer.