Monsoon Read online

  Sandy had a fleeting thought that if Anna married Carlo there’d be trips home to Italy, not Vietnam. ‘Listen, Kevin, try to persuade her. Say I need my best friend with me. We’ll have fun together.’

  ‘I bet you two will. I’ll try to talk her into it. I’ve got a bit put by, I’ll throw some dollars in the kick as a bit of an early birthday pressie.’

  And to Sandy’s surprise, Anna finally agreed.

  At Sydney Airport Carlo cursed as a parking attendant waved him away from the No Standing zone outside the departures terminal.

  ‘It’s all right, Carlo, just leave me here. You don’t have to park and come in. It’s chaos,’ said Anna, who didn’t want him to argue with the parking attendant.

  ‘Baby, are you joking? You’re going away from me for three weeks and you think I’m just going to leave you on the footpath? Never. Get a trolley and I’ll park and I’ll be with you in a flash.’

  ‘I can manage my bag. Sandy told me to travel light.’ Anna sighed in resignation. ‘I’ll see you inside then.’ She pulled her bag along behind her and joined the check-in queue. She was at the counter when Carlo joined her and began flirting with the check-in girl looking after Anna.

  ‘Come on, you can do better than that, a beautiful girl like you. Don’t tell me you don’t have some pull around here . . . Bev.’ He read her name tag and leaned over the counter in front of Anna who shrank back, embarrassed by his obvious cajoling to get her a better seat. ‘This girl is going to Vietnam for the first time,’ argued Carlo.

  ‘Look, the best I can do is the bulkhead seat, give you more leg room.’ Bev smiled at Anna.

  ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’ Anna nudged Carlo as he was about to press for an upgrade.

  In an airport cafe Carlo put a coffee in front of Anna and sat next to her. ‘Look, I could have got you into Business. I was just getting warmed up.’

  ‘It’s fine, Carlo, just save the famous Italian charisma for when I really need it.’

  ‘You gonna miss me, bella?’ He picked up her hand and nuzzled her ear. ‘I’ll be horny as hell by the time you get back.’

  ‘Do you good,’ she chided. ‘You could do that work at your dad’s place he’s been asking you to finish for ages. Work off some passion in the yard and shed.’

  ‘What about you, dream of me at night, eh?’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘I’ll miss you, of course. But Sandy has a lot of trips worked out. I’m starting to get a bit excited,’ said Anna, a fact that had just struck her now she was actually on her way. She wished Carlo had let her dad bring her out to the airport as he’d offered. ‘Carlo, you should get back to work. I might go through Immigration and browse in the duty free.’

  He pulled away and downed his short black in one gulp. ‘You trying to get rid of me? Don’t you let Sandy lead you into any trouble. You’re my woman, remember that.’

  Anna stood and kissed him quickly. ‘Of course. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Call that a kiss? C’mon, babe. Kiss me like you mean it. This one’s gotta last.’ He pulled her to him, his hands on her bottom pushing her pelvis into his as he kissed her passionately.

  Anna bought a bottle of perfume as a gift for Sandy and a book to read on the flight.

  The Immigration officer glanced at her departure card and opened her brand-new passport.

  ‘First trip away?’

  ‘Yep, I’m visiting my girlfriend. She works for HOPE, the aid outfit.’

  ‘Good one. You got rellies over there?’

  ‘Not that I know of . . . it’s just a holiday.’ Anna was slightly uncomfortable at the awareness she looked Vietnamese.

  ‘How long you plan to stay?’

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘It’s a great place. Went there last year. Terrific food. Nice people.’ He stamped her passport and handed it to her. ‘Have a good trip, love.’

  There was a less friendly reception when she landed in Hanoi. Tourists were herded by officials in unflattering khaki uniforms. There were also police or army officials, she wasn’t sure which, holding guns. The women officers wore the same uniforms as the men and were brusque and unsmiling. There was a lot of standing around in a cavernous cement space with posters on the walls which she couldn’t read. She followed an English sign to claim her baggage and waited with the other subdued passengers from her flight.

  Finally, after every scrap of official paper was scrutinised, she headed for the exit with a wave of jostling travellers. An official checking luggage stickers spoke to her in Vietnamese and she shook her head.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

  Two more officials at the exit waved her through, one making a short comment to the other. She heard the words ‘Viet Kieu’. She would hear them much more in the coming weeks.

  Through the sea of pushing passengers, drivers touting for business, and hotel and tourist operators waving placards with names on them, she spotted the tall figure of Sandy, her blonde hair a beacon in the sea of drab colours. They hugged, each surprised at how happy they were to see the other.

  ‘C’mon, Kim from our office is here to help. Is that all your luggage? Good girl.’ Sandy linked an arm through Anna’s and waved at a smiling young man standing by a car.

  ‘Welcome to Vietnam. I hope your visit is everything you want it to be.’ Kim spoke with an American accent.

  ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,’ smiled Anna. ‘Is this your home?’

  ‘I wish it were: I love it very much here. I’m American. I work for HOPE also,’ he answered rather formally.

  ‘Kim’s from Hawaii. Anything you want to find in Hanoi, Kim’s the man,’ said Sandy as they approached the car. ‘You take the front seat and experience the full impact of driving in Vietnam,’ said Sandy, and Kim laughed.

  Anna quickly understood what they meant as they left the airport and made the forty-five minute drive into the city. Soon she stopped stamping her foot on the nonexistent brake, cringing and drawing to one side as vehicles and bikes, a hand span away from the car, surged around them as they wove through the haphazard traffic.

  ‘At least we’re all going in the same direction. Are there any road rules?’ she asked Kim.

  ‘Some. The problem is that only fifty per cent of drivers have a licence so you just have to take your chances. Stick your hand out and wave and jump into a space as soon as you see it,’ he explained.

  Anna gazed at the pretty women seated on their motor scooters, some dressed in the traditional ao-dai, some in casual pants and blouses. They wove through the traffic with poise and skill. Some wore hats, kerchiefs over their faces and long gloves to protect their skin from sun and pollution.

  ‘The women don’t like getting sunburned,’ explained Sandy. ‘White skin is preferred. The Bondi look doesn’t work here. A tan means you work outside in the fields, a peasant worker.’

  The motorcycles and scooters fascinated Anna. Couples with several children perched in front and behind, and people carrying impossible loads of brooms, food, bunches of flowers, crates of chickens, even several huge live pigs, careened past. Close to the centre of town cyclo drivers seated behind their passengers furiously pumped their pedicabs to keep up with the flow of the traffic.

  They passed the untidy remains of a huge flower market now almost deserted after its five am start. Anna was experiencing strange feelings as she looked at the women on the sidewalks and in the traffic, and recognised traits and similarities to herself. The swish of their long hair, their delicate frames, their facial features, even mannerisms fleetingly glimpsed. She was seeing flashes of herself in a thousand mini mirrors.

  Sandy leaned over the seat and touched her shoulder. ‘It’s always a bit over-the-top when you first arrive. You’ll adjust.’

  Anna simply nodded, hypnotised by the bustling street life, the throng of people and traffic, the tall narrow multicoloured buildings, the open-air markets.

  ‘It can be a bit overwhelming. But there are oases in th
is city. I love Hanoi,’ said Sandy reassuringly.

  ‘It’s still the real Vietnam,’ agreed Kim. ‘With a lot more western comforts. I worry tourism is going to change it too much. Like Saigon.’

  ‘What does “Viet Kieu” mean?’ asked Anna suddenly, and Kim glanced at Sandy in the rear-vision mirror.

  ‘It has several meanings, literal and inferred. Basically it means foreign-born or half Vietnamese and also means Vietnamese who live overseas,’ said Sandy. ‘You’ll be regarded as a foreigner no matter what you look like. It’ll be up to you to ignore it, or to try to bring the two pieces of your family history together somehow.’

  Sandy hadn’t expected this to come so early in Anna’s visit. Foreign Vietnamese, those born or living outside the country who had privileges and opportunities but no awareness or knowledge of their heritage, often earned the scorn and ire of those living in the country who had inherited the past as well as the future of a now-united Vietnam.

  Anna recalled the friendly exchange with the Australian Immigration officer and the snide remarks of the North Vietnamese airport officials. ‘It’s not my land. I have no connection with this place. Australia is my home; it’s all I know,’ she answered.

  There was silence in the car for a moment, then Kim said warmly to Anna, ‘It can be an advantage to blend in when you can. You might discover Vietnam brings you all kinds of gifts.’

  Anna thought it an odd remark.

  Sandy leaned forward and touched her friend’s shoulder. ‘We’re here for a good time, right? I’ve worked hard since I’ve been here . . . now it’s time to play a bit. We both need time out.’

  Anna thought Sandy was referring to their jobs, but Sandy was thinking more of Carlo. She desperately wanted Anna to have fun, feel free and adventurous. And loosen the ties to Carlo.

  Anna was obviously thinking of him too. ‘Do mobile phones work okay here? I must text Carlo and tell him I’ve arrived safely.’

  ‘Some places, no probs,’ said Sandy easily. ‘Let’s settle you in to my flat. It’s no palace, but it’s comfy and a great location.’

  Kim joined the conversation. ‘So, Anna, what kind of shopping do you want to do? Vietnam has many wonderful things to buy.’ He broke into a recitation of hot spots for tailored clothes, lacquerware, antiques, pirated DVDs, places to eat, places to see.

  Anna began to relax. She was with her best friend in a place that offered interesting sights, great food and shopping, and a chance to share their lives as they always had. She realised how much she’d missed that. Anna pushed aside the uncomfortable business of her genetic links to this place. Yep, she was here for fun. And she intended to make the most of it.

  2

  WITHIN A WEEK ANNA knew her way around the centre of Hanoi and had her favourite coffee bar, noodle shop and pho maker where she and Sandy stopped after their morning walk around the lake. Sandy had taken Anna to the lake at six on her second morning in Hanoi and she’d so enjoyed the scene that Sandy decided they should walk there every morning. Their evenings were taken up with eating out and meeting friends from HOPE, and, it seemed to Anna, there was always a friend of a friend from home passing through.

  Sometimes they met for drinks in the plush modern surrounds of five-star American-style hotels where some friends stayed. Other times they met at the more modest hotels, many of which clung to their French heritage with small metal-grille lifts, tiny balconies and dining rooms presided over by maître ds who called everyone madame or monsieur. Or else they hung out at trendy bars frequented by foreigners and the business elite.

  Anna, not a sophisticated foodie, as Kevin’s mother had raised her on plain Australian fare, found the cuisine on offer a continuous gourmet safari. With Sandy now on her break the girls indulged in occasional long lunches trying French or Italian food as well as local dishes. Anna watched men and women cook at stalls, over a brazier on the street, in markets, in large noisy outdoor restaurants, in tiny food shops. Sometimes she and Sandy cooked for themselves at the table in small cha ca restaurants, dipping vegetables and fish pieces in the bubbling spicy broth.

  ‘I think I’d like to learn to cook properly,’ Anna confided in Sandy.

  ‘Perfect place to do it! There are cooking schools and courses proliferating like mushrooms,’ said Sandy.

  Anna spread her arms. ‘So many interesting people everywhere you look . . . doing things, starting businesses. No wonder the Vietnamese are so successful everywhere they go.’

  Sandy smothered a smile. ‘Yep, industrious and entrepreneurial right down to a woman sewing, cooking or selling produce off the pole on her back, or a cyclo driver dreaming of one day owning a taxi. And with the government loosening restrictions on free enterprise, big business is booming too.’

  After browsing through a street full of silk shops and tailors Anna sighed. ‘It’s too confusing. All those fashion magazines and assistants trying to push me into this or that design. Or else they expect me to wear the ao-dai and when I don’t understand what they’re saying they give me pencil and paper to draw an outfit like I’m an illiterate kid.’

  Sandy laughed. ‘Tailoring shops are pretty competitive. Wait till we go to Hoi An, it’s probably cheaper down there.’

  Sandy was working on an itinerary to show Anna more of the country and decided the first trip out of Hanoi should be to one of the great natural wonders of the world – Halong Bay.

  ‘So what’s there?’ asked Anna as they threw their small bags into Kim’s old car.

  ‘Did you ever see the film Indochine with Catherine Deneuve? That was before tourism hit the area,’ said Sandy. And when Anna shook her head Sandy smiled. ‘Try to imagine fifteen hundred square kilometres of jewelled waters with over two thousand limestone islands soaring out of the sea.’ She was still surprised how little Anna knew about Vietnam or the fact that she hadn’t bothered to do any homework on the country before jumping on a plane to visit.

  Kim had offered to drive them on the three-hour trip to Halong Bay. He thought he would then go hiking in the Cat Ba National Park while the girls spent the weekend on Halong Bay. They’d all drive back together after he’d visited a fish farm project in the port of Hai Phong.

  Just outside Hanoi the car slowed as it threaded through the crowded street leading into Bat Trung, where two adjacent villages formed the commune famous for its ceramic production.

  ‘What’s that smell? And look at the pollution,’ commented Anna from the front seat.

  ‘It’s from the coal-burning kilns,’ said Kim. ‘They’re replacing them with gas-burning ones now, but it’s not a clean place yet.’ He pointed to a pile of coal pats drying along a wall. ‘That’ll soon be a thing of the past.’

  ‘Look at the dirty buildings from years of coal fires,’ said Sandy.

  Anna studied the blackened bricks, the sooty roofs and the darkened wood of shops displaying all manner of ceramics from incense burners to bowls and vases, while others looked like they held more antique treasures. ‘Those places look interesting.’

  ‘This Red River delta area has been famous for its ceramics since the fifteenth century. It’s the kaolin clay that came from the local provinces,’ said Kim. ‘See, there’s the river.’

  ‘Wow, can I take a photo?’ exclaimed Anna.

  They left the car and picked their way through the traffic as workers busily loaded wide wooden sampans with piles of cream-and-blue ceramic pots. The boats, already low in the water, had their roofs strengthened with wood and timber to take the weight of the pottery.

  ‘We’re only thirteen kilometres from Hanoi so the pottery is sent downriver to the exporters. Or people carry it on bicycles to shops in Hanoi. Some of those ceramic pots could well end up in garden nurseries in Sydney,’ commented Sandy.

  After Anna had taken photos of the broad stretch of the Red River bustling with activity, Sandy led her down an alley to a small factory. Through a side door they entered a workshop where several potters were kneading the grey-white clay while
two girls were delicately painting flower designs on large vases ready for glazing and firing in the large coal-fired brick kiln.

  Sandy greeted the head potter who pointed to the rear of the workshop. Anna followed Sandy to a small studio where an elderly man with a shock of white hair and strands of hair on his chin that hung in a wispy beard waved a hand and rose to greet her.

  ‘This is Master Potter Thinh. He’s very famous in the village,’ Sandy told Anna. ‘He was one of the first people here to start reproducing the antique glazes.’

  Mr Thinh gave a slight bow and greeted Anna in Vietnamese.

  She smiled, saying, ‘Thua Bac,’ the greeting of respect that Sandy had taught her.

  Mr Thinh led them both on a tour, proudly showing off shelves stacked with figurines, vases and bowls waiting to be fired. He pointed at details, from the traditional dragonfly and taro plant decoration to the graceful curve of the lip of a vase.

  ‘These are made by Mr Thinh’s students. He is a great teacher who uses the traditional methods. We’ve also helped him start classes for women in the rural parts of the province to make pottery at a co-operative. Handicrafts are proving to be a great income for women, and a popular export,’ explained Sandy.

  Anna was entranced with a vase decorated with water lilies. The glaze was cracked and tinged brown, giving it an old patina. ‘This looks very old.’

  ‘Mr Thinh worked out how to imitate the old glazes. Years ago this sort of work was sold as genuine,’ said Sandy. ‘And even now there probably still are unscrupulous dealers passing them off as real antiques in Hanoi and Saigon.’

  As Anna carefully replaced the vase on the shelf, Sandy noticed a large plate that certainly looked old, even down to the chip on the edge. It was painted in blues and greens with two fighting cocks in its centre. She studied it for a moment then picked it up and turned it over.

  ‘Is this one of yours, Mr Thinh?’ asked Sandy.

  The wizened old man gave an impish smile and shook his head.