Hanoi Streets

Four months ago I was in Hanoi, Vietnam, with my mother and sister, there to adopt and bring home her two-year old son, Ryan. It was a time of watching and waiting - we did not speak the language, did not usually know where we were, precisely, did not really know how the process would unfold...we stayed in a comfortable western hotel with other families who were adopting children, and together we were ushered about by our Vietnamese adoption coordinator. It all went without a hitch and we left after twelve days with a little boy who wore his feelings right up front - stormy and eager and content and frightened though he was, he remained brave and willing to risk security for what seemed promising...how we love him already for this and his tender, generous, adventurous heart!


On the long ride out to the orphanage and back, as our driver took a winding route around and across Hanoi on busy streets, and then sped along rural roads, we saw glimpses real life here, glimpses of a life out of our context, gone in a breath... On the surface, all was calm and steady like the rain. Witness the street life - city residents, visitors, commuters in constant motion, walking and riding bicycles and motorscooters, rain and shine, often with two riding together. Women wearing dresses and heels, or pants and sandals; young men sending text messages while driving. Traffic flows here, it does not obey lights and signs as there are few of these. It winds its way, flowing through and around obstacles like water through a sieve, like a stream. And that is mostly what I see...there is a beauty in it and I am not sure if I am blind to the real story or just seeing what is.