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  A large pot of green tea was always ready to be splashed into small beakers. It was a social exchange between those eating, those waiting and friends who came to gossip, squatting on their haunches around Mrs Han. After school her young daughter sat beside her chopping vegetables on a small plastic board and washing plates and tea mugs in a large bowl.

  Depending on her mood and the company, Sandy also ate in small cafes, hotels, or in tucked-away eateries known only to locals who made a habit of eating out on a regular basis. The food was fresh, cheap and tasty so Sandy avoided the more expensive restaurants catering to tourists and offering upmarket Vietnamese food, international cuisine and French wines.

  She had her favourite hangouts but her ‘regular’ spot was Barney’s Bar. It was run by a jovial American draft dodger who’d lived in Denmark and Canada before wandering around Asia. He’d hiked into Vietnam in the early 1980s before tourism had been embraced by the communist government.

  Barney Stuart had a loyal clientele of expats, Vietnamese business people and American and Australian ex-servicemen. Barney was the jovial host and bartender, and always had a suggestion about what to try. Mrs Lai Stuart, his wife, a pretty Vietnamese woman twenty years younger than her husband, supervised the cooking and menus. When she appeared from the kitchen she was always dressed in her long ao-dai, the traditional figure-hugging ankle-length dress with deep splits to the waist worn over loose flowing pants. It was quickly apparent that Lai was the business brains behind Barney’s. The two had been together for years and it was Lai who had suggested that Barney open the bar in Hanoi with her as the official owner, as she could see that the influx of visitors and the loosening of the communist restrictions presented a good business opportunity.

  Sandy jogged home from the lake, her route so familiar that she recognised the street hawkers on their patch, the shop owners and the itinerant businesses that set up to catch the night-time passers by. Families were out and about, children playing on the crowded footpaths as mothers shopped, prepared food or spread out trinkets, cigarettes, Tiger Balm, and other small souvenirs to sell to tourists. Coloured lights, strung haphazardly outside shops and along streets, twinkled, and candles flickered at outdoor altars. Incense sweetened the air.

  Sandy had overcome her initial shock at the chaotic traffic as wave after wave of bicycles, cyclos, motorcycles, scooters, cars and trucks in tooting congestion filled the streets. But as she ploughed into the mayhem of the endless writhing traffic dragon to cross the road she still had made no future plans.

  At work the following morning Sandy made herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen that served as a staff room in the HOPE headquarters in Hanoi. She always liked coming back here after being out in the field. The double-storeyed house with its open courtyard was narrow, reminding her of an upturned matchbox. Like most houses in old Hanoi, it was built in the days when the width of the site dictated the land rates. Homeowners added extra floors with balconies or extra rooms behind the frontage, sometimes separated by alleyways and sometimes sharing central courtyards. Sandy thought the colours of the HOPE building were like a hand-tinted photograph – fading greens and yellows, burned sienna and red picking out the fretwork and curling Chinese corners on the roof, while shutters and an iron lace balcony was an architectural remnant of the colonial French.

  The walled courtyard that divided the HOPE front offices from the rear was open with a small fountain, shrubs in tubs, and a weathered table and chairs. It was a place for informal meetings, for the staff to smoke during coffee breaks, as Cherie Mitchell, the HOPE country director and health fanatic, had banned smoking indoors. Off the rear of the courtyard were two bedrooms, a bathroom and toilet used for emergency staff accommodation.

  Sandy had spent her first few nights in Vietnam here before finding the tiny flat she now rented. Those first few days had been warm and welcoming thanks to the local staff and the overseas volunteers who worked for HOPE. She immediately felt part of a family. It had been interesting learning from her compatriots their reasons for wanting to join a non-profit, non-government aid organisation. HOPE, dedicated to helping people in developing countries, was partly funded by the Australian government and by public donation so their budget was limited.

  While not having consciously planned her career to arrive at this specific place and opportunity, her first meeting with Cherie had made Sandy realise how she had been instinctively working towards this goal for years.

  ‘You went overseas as a youth ambassador straight after getting your degree in fine arts. Where did you see your future heading?’ Cherie had asked her new recruit four years previously.

  Sandy looked at Cherie smiling across the desk and formed the answer to the question. ‘I wanted to travel, see the world, but not just as a tourist or doing odd jobs to pay my way. I wanted to contribute in some way, so I joined Australian Volunteers International and later Youth Challenge Australia. I was sent to the Solomon Islands. Then I travelled on my own to India and worked for the Indian Archaeological Society. I also helped out in several charitable organisations there. So when I came home and heard about HOPE, I applied. I was thrilled to be appointed here as this part of South-East Asia is new to me.’

  Cherie ran an eye over a page of Sandy’s file. ‘You have of course completed the required reading and groundwork about Vietnam before arriving,’ commented Cherie giving Sandy her prepared pep talk. ‘While the emphasis of HOPE is alleviating poverty at the community level through rural, economic, health and agricultural projects, I hope you’ll make the most of the chance to learn about the culture of Vietnam. This is a unique opportunity to get to know a country and its people by working among and with them.’

  Those words came back to Sandy now as she carried her coffee to the old table in the sunny courtyard. She had indeed become immersed in the culture, customs, cuisine and lives of Vietnamese friends and colleagues. Her initial two-year contract had been renewed and she had signed on for two more years to work on different projects as well as stints in the HOPE offices in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. Sandy had worked on rural projects involved with providing clean water and sanitation to villages, and flood mitigation in the flood-prone Mekong delta, as well as education programs at several orphanage centres. She was now well qualified to move into international development programs or, as Cherie had suggested, perhaps international relations or the Australian Foreign Affairs Department. But none of these suggestions appealed to her at present.

  Cherie joined Sandy, planting a large bottle of water on the table. She studied the tall blonde girl with her wide green eyes and pretty face. To the Vietnamese, Sandy epitomised the healthy, outdoorsy Australian poster girl. But Sandy’s usually friendly smiling face was clouded.

  ‘You look pensive, Sandy. Still mulling over your next move? You don’t have to leave us, you know. But I sense you want a change.’

  Sandy looked at the director, who’d been her boss for the past four years. In her forties, Cherie Mitchell was a typical expat Australian who had lived and worked abroad for twenty years. She’d travelled widely, only making flying visits home to see family. She had no children of her own but had been briefly married to an American engineer she’d met on a project in South America. When he expected her to return to the US with him and settle down as a housewife and raise a family, Cherie realised their life goals were radically different and they parted. There were stories of her various liaisons over the years, but she was discreet and it seemed to everyone she put her job first.

  Sandy didn’t want to be like Cherie; she wanted a husband and children at some stage. But also a job that stimulated her.

  ‘A change, but not radical. I like seeing results from my efforts and I really like this country. I just can’t imagine fitting in to an office routine in Australia. My girlfriend Anna back at home suggested I go and work for indigenous communities in the outback, but it’d feel too remote after being here.’

  ‘Frankly, Sandy, what I think you need first is time o
ut, a break, a holiday.’

  ‘I haven’t saved money to go anywhere expensive,’ sighed Sandy, thinking time out with no obligations would be pleasant – for a short time. You didn’t work for an NGO to make your fortune. ‘I’m not very good at doing nothing. Never been one for hanging in a hammock or lying by a pool.’

  ‘You know, you should take a holiday here. Travel round Vietnam; there are lots of places you haven’t seen, or haven’t had time to enjoy. And it’s still inexpensive to be a tourist here. Do it now before this place starts to resemble Singapore or Thailand,’ said Cherie with a mock sigh.

  Sandy sipped her coffee. When she’d gone to regional areas on HOPE business she’d always made a mental note she’d go back to explore some day. ‘I would like to see more of Vietnam. Even to just spend time here in Hanoi. I’m always so busy with stuff to do when I’m here . . .’

  ‘There you go. Why not ask a friend to come over and travel with you? You’d be a great guide,’ said Cherie, taking a swallow of water and getting up. ‘You might also want to think about sharing your insights with the new intake of volunteers who arrive in the next few weeks.’

  Sandy nodded, remembering her first weeks here as a new volunteer and how green she’d been. No matter how much you read about a country, the reality was so different, more powerful. She had worked hard at learning about the history of Vietnam, a country that had seen seven hundred years of warfare. While she’d been well briefed by HOPE before she left Australia, when she arrived in Vietnam, Sandy had realised that one was never really prepared for the culture shock – good and bad. Her time in India had meant many adjustments, but somehow she had known what to expect, and there wasn’t such a language barrier as in Vietnam, although she spoke Vietnamese quite well now. Yet so much of her training had not really prepared her for on-the-job reality. She could have done with some hands-on, nitty-gritty advice from an experienced worker when she’d first landed in Hanoi at HOPE headquarters. So she readily agreed to share her experiences and insights with the new arrivals.

  This idea of cruising around the countryside sounded terrific. And sharing the journey with someone else would be even better. Cherie’s plan was a good one and the obvious choice of travelling companion was her long-time friend Anna.

  It was a logical choice, not only because of their close friendship but also because Anna was half Vietnamese. Anna had been born in Sydney to a Vietnamese mother and an Australian father, and the two girls had gone to school together and remained close friends.

  Anna had laughed when Sandy told her she was moving to Vietnam. ‘Tell me all about it. I don’t know anything about the place. But I’ll really miss you.’

  While Sandy sent long and what she hoped were interesting emails about her adventures in Vietnam, Anna had responded in detail about life in Sydney. She worked as a public servant at the local council and was wrapped up in her boyfriend, Carlo Franchetti. Ever since Anna had met Carlo, he had dominated her life. While Anna hadn’t been swept off her feet initially, she told Sandy she found him attractive in his dark heart-throb Italian way. But he was persistent. Within weeks he had become the centre of Anna’s life to the point where he decided where they would go, who they would meet and what Anna should wear.

  When Sandy had finally met Carlo on a trip home she’d thought him handsome too – but, boy, did he know it and flaunt it. Sandy thought that Carlo was trying to smother Anna and that she hadn’t had a chance to assess her true feelings about him. Sandy had kept probing Anna.

  ‘What can I do, Sands? He adores me, he spoils me, he’s gorgeous . . . I mean, I’m lucky, aren’t I?’ said Anna.

  ‘Just don’t let him boss you around so much.’ Sandy didn’t want to say there was something about Carlo, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She felt Anna had given in too easily, almost as if she was afraid to pass up the opportunity in case no one else came along. So Sandy had taken it upon herself to flatter and praise her beautiful best friend, but Anna had laughed it off.

  ‘You’re the queen bee in our crowd, Sands.’

  Sandy tried again. ‘Anna, you’re a real catch; don’t take up with someone who wants to own you. You want some freedom, come with me for a girls’ night out. I go back to Vietnam in a few days,’ she’d pleaded.

  But their night out had been spoiled by Carlo texting Anna every twenty minutes, complaining he missed her, asking her what she was doing and suggesting that she let him come and pick her up and take her home. Sandy and their friends had finally persuaded Anna to tell him good-night and turn off her phone.

  The next day Anna told Sandy that Carlo had been waiting for her at her father’s house when the taxi had dropped her off.

  ‘That’s outrageous. He’s too possessive, Anna.’

  ‘He was just worried, that was all.’

  ‘Anna, you should see other people, put a bit of space between you,’ advised Sandy. ‘He’s your first serious romance but it doesn’t mean he’s it forever.’

  While Carlo was sugar sweet and charming to Anna’s girlfriends, Sandy saw a side to his nature that she didn’t like. He seemed threatened by Sandy, as if they were competitors for Anna’s attention, and she knew he had been pleased when she returned to Vietnam to work.

  Within a year Anna and Carlo were living together in an ad hoc arrangement. Anna still kept some clothes and her bedroom at home, telling Carlo she had to keep an eye on her widowed father, but she frequently overnighted at Carlo’s flat. Carlo worked as a partner in his father’s import business and regularly visited his large family, where he was the apple of his mamma’s and sisters’ eyes. He told Anna he had big plans for their future, and marriage would have to wait till they were financially set up.

  Sandy didn’t like the sound of this but Anna brushed aside her concerns, saying he was attentive and caring, a good lover and had big plans for them. Sandy bit her tongue, but to her it seemed that Carlo Franchetti was all talk and exaggeration. She was yet to hear of any of his great ideas coming to fruition, so she told Anna to hang on to her job and keep her savings away from Carlo.

  Over the four years Sandy had been in Vietnam, her trips home had been short and crowded. In the brief times she had been alone with Anna, Sandy had seen that Carlo was exerting more and more influence over her friend, but thankfully Anna continued working and laughed at Sandy’s concern that she might marry Carlo.

  ‘Your lives are so enmeshed. Does he assume marriage is inevitable? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with him? With his family?’ asked Sandy.

  Anna had told Sandy about his large extended family and how Anna felt she was at the bottom of the pecking order. She was expected to cook his favourite Italian dishes and to learn to speak Italian in order to converse with his mother, who spoke little English, and his grandmother, who spoke none at all.

  ‘I guess I’m considered part of the family. Carlo says marriage should wait until he’s hit the big-time. But his father hates the fact that we sort of live together – I’m not pure,’ grinned Anna.

  ‘God, it sounds like the 1950s,’ said Sandy. ‘What’s your dad say?’

  ‘He’s okay with our living arrangements but I don’t mention any future plans. Easier that way.’

  Sandy liked Anna’s father, Kevin Fine, a down-to-earth Australian and a hard-working garage mechanic who was also a relief taxi driver on weekends. Anna enjoyed her widowed father’s company too and made it a habit to spend Friday nights, which was Carlo’s boys’ night out, with him. She would cook dinner and watch TV, play a game or drag him off to a movie.

  As Sandy finished her coffee, Cherie’s suggestion started to take hold. If she could persuade Anna to come over and have a decent holiday with her, it would not only be fun, but it might give Anna a breather from Carlo and let her reassess their relationship. Sandy decided to send her a long email.

  Initially Anna dismissed Sandy’s idea, but Sandy was persuasive, arguing that Anna’s visit would help her through a time of transition, of indeci
sion, and surely it would be an interesting experience for her to see and learn something of her mother’s homeland.

  Anna replied that although her dad approved, she couldn’t possibly leave Carlo and he was against the idea.

  Sandy was appalled that her friend wouldn’t take a holiday because her boyfriend didn’t agree. She decided to call Anna’s father and talk it over with him.

  ‘Jeez, it’s good to hear your voice, Sandy, love. We miss you round here, but I hear you’re going great guns over there.’ Kevin was fond of his daughter’s best friend. And when Sandy expressed her concerns about Anna’s relationship with Carlo, Kevin quickly agreed with her. ‘You’re spot on there, Sandy. That Carlo is very foolish. He’s spoiled by all the women in his family and expects Anna to fall into line. I reckon it’d be a terrific thing for her to have a proper holiday with you. And frankly, I’ve always thought she should visit her mother’s country.’

  ‘Do you know anything about her mother’s family? Where they came from?’ asked Sandy suddenly.

  ‘Not really. I’ve got some papers of Thu’s. I’ve been waiting for Anna to show some interest, didn’t want to force it on her. But I always thought one day, y’know, when she has kids of her own, she might want to know more.’