The Locals of Kenh Ga

I exited the hotel and meandered down the steps to the narrow yet bustling street before me. At the bottom, I paused to absorb Hanoi for the first time.

Above me, a tangled web of powerlines cascaded between ragged grey buildings. Already, Vietnam was so different to Australia. Closing my eyes, I drew a long breath.

A smell. I couldn’t pick it. The scent didn’t match the street – it was pungent and mouth-watering. I scrunched my face, focusing on the teasing aroma.

A sharp beep snapped me conscious, and I stumbled precariously as a motorbike zipped past. Heart racing, I watched dumbfounded as it sped off and eased through people and traffic. Driving in Hanoi was an intricate dance.

The bike revealed my answer though. I could see the source of the scent - bursts of colour contrasting the grey buildings around me. Food!

I walked eagerly, and soon the street was abundant with fresh produce. Elderly women bounced babies on their laps while greeting hungry customers – or where they friends? It was impossible to tell.

My hunger thrived as I continued on. KFC’s were out of place and there was no McDonald’s, but almost every shop had a makeshift stove outside with cliques of locals huddling on tiny plastic chairs.

I had to laugh. I’d seen these chairs at home, but they were the kind that kids used playing musical chairs at birthday parties.

A group of pho-eating locals looked at me, and my face burned. Throughout the walk people had stared at my skin and whispered about my height.

Nervously, I joined them. I carefully lowered myself into the miniature chair. They stared, but all I could think of was whether the seat would snap under my weight.

“Xin Chao. Pho bo? Pho ga?” a woman said.

I looked up and thought of my phrase book. That means hello.

“Xin Chao,” I replied with a smile. Do I want beef or chicken pho?

“Pho ga.”

The group chuckled at my accent but continued talking. I relaxed and watched on. The woman served the pho promptly, and gestured to the seasonings. Squeeze the lime there. Don’t forget the chilli!

I pulled a heaping of food to my mouth. It was piping hot, spicy, and a hint of citrus cut through the chicken. It was delicious.

The others smiled warmly as they ate. Maybe it was the chilli that put red in their cheeks, but I felt welcome.

I ate slowly as I listened to endless horns and watched tourists fumble travel guides. Unbeknownst to them, all they had to do to experience Vietnam was pull up a little plastic chair.