Weekend Market

Friday evening we arrived back at our hotel late, both tired and hungry. We decided to walk to the nearest restaurant for a quick bite and then retire early. We went to our rooms to drop off our day packs. My feet were killing me so I removed my shoes and put on some prickly sandals I purchased the day before. The sandals have little plastic bumps that I suppose are intended to massage your feet while walking. Since we were only going a short distance, I decided to try them out. We regrouped in the lobby and went out in search of a quick dinner.

Since our time was coming to a close in Vietnam, rather than grabbing a hamburger or making another visit to the next door Pizza Hut, we decided to go a little further from the hotel to find some local food. We passed corner after corner and crossed street after street, having no luck finding suitable local food. Eventually we happened onto the city center in the Old Quarter area. What we found was that the entire area was closed to vehicles, and what appeared to be a huge street fair was taking place. While it was certainly not what we were expecting, at least there were food trucks so at last we could find something to eat. There were games of all sorts happening up and down the streets, as well as a variety of very good live entertainment. Music groups were playing in different areas of the city center, and a main stage featured large screen TVs with a professional troupe doing native dances. There was also quite a large market area with tents selling foods and a variety of handcrafted goods and souvenirs. Several people were in costumes portraying cartoon characters, including Mickey Mouse and other Disney icons. Streets were closed for miles, and the place was literally packed with people. We had no clue what we had stumbled onto, but apparently we lucked out by being here during this festival. Amidst the excitement I had one nagging problem. My prickly new sandals were starting to dig holes into my feet. We had walked much further than we anticipated, and the pain in my feet was unrelenting. But the atmosphere was exciting. We were standing and watching all the activities and entertainment, but we still hadn’t eaten.

We then made a concerted effort to find food. We walked along the edge of the lake, which was at the center of the old city where this festival was taking place. It was every bit as interesting at a state fair, and maybe better. People were lined along the street painting caricatures of festival goers. There were people dressed as clowns making balloon animals for the kids, and doing face paintings. A long rope lay in the road, and every so often a large number of people would grab the rope, half on each side, and start tugging away. It was the largest tug-of-war I had ever seen played.

The lighting in the town square was also impressive. Bridges, trees and other structures on the lake were illuminated for the festivities. 

We slowly made our way through the crowds and thought we located the beginning of the food vendor section when we were approached by a few young Vietnamese kids. They asked if we would mind talking with them for a few moments. Anticipating a sales pitch, Bryan immediately let them know he had no money. His comment was immediately met with giggles; and the conversation began. In a few moments Bryan had a small group huddled around him asking him all sorts of questions in their very broken English. Where are you from, what do you do, why are you here, who are you with…and so on.

The group continued to grow in numbers, and soon I had my own group huddled around me asking similar questions. Mark, who is overly cautious of locals and always expecting a plea for money, wanted nothing to do with them and withdrew. He was basically hiding behind a tree hoping to be inconspicuous. It didn’t work. The more we showed willingness to talk, the more kids arrived. The group grew so large that several eventually found Mark cowering and attached themselves to him and soon he was also fully engaged. As it turned out, all the kids belonged to a city-wide English club. Their ages ranged from 16 to 26 years old. The goal of their club was to improve their spoken English. They study written English in school and concentrate on grammar, but pronunciation and practical use is not part of their studies. Their task was to find English speakers and practice. We were their assignments.

The 'few moments' turned into a couple of hours, and still more young people were walking by and joining in. By this time I was sure my feet were bleeding. I mentioned it to them and they all thought it was hilarious that I would wear such things. We helped them with their pronunciations and taught them new words, they likewise did the same with us. They taught us to count to five in Vietnamese, and helped us with other basic words and phrases. We shared stories, talked about their schools and careers, and even listened to some of them sing songs in English. One young man had quite a reputation for his terrible singing, and the only song he knew was "My heart will go on". With only the slightest encouragement he agreed to perform. His rendition of the song really was, well, terrible. But he sang it out like he was performing his best on America's Got Talent.

Finally the time had come when we had to make our move. The crowd was starting to lessen a bit, and we were concerned that the restaurants and food places would soon close. We graciously dismissed ourselves as politely as possible, and reluctantly the kids agreed to let us go. We took pictures and said our goodbyes. No doubt some of them would have kept us there all night. We felt like celebrities. In fact, speaking of celebrity, while we were deep in discussions a lady walked by with her husband. Several of the kids spotted her and started pointing. She was a Vietnamese celebrity of some sort, and certainly drew attention. One of the kids with Bryan commented that they were enjoying their talk with us more, so they all stayed and kept chatting.

By the time we finally pulled away, it was late and my feet had gone into crisis mode. Those little plastic bumps felt like razor blades cutting into my feet, and now I could no longer walk. I removed my sandals and shuffled around on the filthy streets for a bit, but that was no better of a solution. I looked for other shoes to buy. In the mean time we were all starving and finally sat down at the first little restaurant we could find. It was a place that the locals frequented. Very cheap, just some chicken pho soup. We sat on tiny little chairs on the sidewalk over little tiny baby tables. The entire place was on the sidewalk. There was a low table full of fixings. A man sitting there made up the bowls and served us. This was exactly the kind of place we had been avoiding up to this point. They cook the food on the street, wash the dishes in a bowl on the street, and serve to patrons who sit on the street. You couldn’t get more local than this. But it was tasty and we were starved. Our concerns about the street food were overshadowed by our hunger. We were pleasantly surprised at how tasty and satisfying our meal was. 

After dinner we started back to our hotel, but I was still unable to walk. My new sandals had failed miserably; my feet felt like chopped meat. I limped along for a few minutes, but I was certain I would not be able to walk all the way back to the hotel. I stumbled along and walked right into an area full of bicycle rickshaws. They swarmed us, offering to take us to whatever destination we chose. At first we declined, but then I realized I had no choice. We saddled up and off we went. 

We each had our own rickshaw and driver. My driver was old and didn’t seem to be in the best of health. With each pedal I could hear the man groaning and grunting. I was wondering if we were going to make it. A few times he groaned loud enough I thought about switching with him and let him in the little comfy seat up front. But he was a trooper and kept trudging along. We arrived safely and shortly thereafter I was in the shower massaging my damaged feet.

While talking with the college students, we discovered that the big festival that night was not a festival at all. It was their usual weekend event which they called the Weekend Market. This event was massive, and the crowds were overwhelming. We were completely shocked to find out this was their regular weekend celebration. It appeared that the entire town was out, and it was really amazing to see the community celebrate like that for no special reason other than it being the weekend.