Vinh Station, please give me a return ticket!

(Baonghean) - I don't know why, but every time I step into the train station, a strange feeling rises in my small chest. It's as if a train is rumbling inside, its whistles blaring incessantly, harmonizing with the train whistles on the railway tracks. I often stand still for hours in front of the locomotive displayed in the station. With admiration, even a touch of reverence, I stand perfectly still, just like when I stand for the Monday morning flag ceremony…

My best friend from high school had a dad who worked at Vinh Train Station, so whenever we had free time, we'd hang out at the station. But it wasn't really anything special; his dad was a train conductor and was always traveling on trains north and south, rarely there to witness the mischievous antics of us kids...

Vinh Station

For some reason, every time I stepped onto the train platform, a strange feeling welled up in my small chest. It was as if a train was rumbling along inside, its incessant whistles mingling with the sounds of the train whistles on the railway tracks. I would often stand motionless for hours in front of the locomotive displayed in the platform. With admiration, even a touch of reverence, I would stand perfectly still, just like when I stand for the Monday morning flag ceremony. At such times, the person who would awaken me from my reverie was usually my best friend, his shout barely louder than a train whistle: "The train's coming in, man! Come quickly and see if it's my dad's train!"

The old locomotive sits in the station yard, a reminder of historical times.

"Dad's train," I often heard him call, and I felt incredibly envious. Especially when the two of us would run out and stand idly on the platform, watching the train slowly pull into the station and sound its familiar whistle. There it was, the Vinh-Hanoi train, the same train my friend's father worked on. He was a man in his early forties, unusually strong and always smiling. When the train stopped, he opened the doors for passengers to disembark one by one, inspected the carriage, and then stepped down himself. That time felt like an eternity, because my friend and I would just stand there, mesmerized, watching the shadow of his hat as it traveled the entire length of the carriage. When he stepped down, he would always take off his hat, spread his arms wide, and let his son run to hug his neck and swing him back and forth. Then, in a very warm voice, he would look at his son, then at me, and ask, "Were you two well-behaved at school today?"

Chug, chug. I woke up with a start, seeing the train beginning to pull into Vinh Station. Memories of the past vanished like smoke. Vinh Station today is different from when I was a student, but it still retains enough familiar shapes and features for me to recognize it, and my heart once again flutters at the sound of the train whistle, just like in the old days. My friend's father no longer works on this train; my friend informed me he had moved to Quang Binh, working on a different train. It's sad, but I still vividly remember the story he told about Vinh Station. He said that since the 1900s, the French had begun building the station and railway lines in Vinh. This was one of the five Indochina railway lines, invested in by the French government with about 200 million francs to serve the transportation of resources and minerals extracted in the colonies.

In 1905, the first steam train sounded its horn requesting passage to the station – the Hanoi-Vinh train. From then on, Vinh Station and Truong Thi Railway Factory were placed under the management of the North Central Vietnam Railway Special Zone. The railway workers of Vinh - Ben Thuy at that time were also important figures in the later revolutionary movement, culminating in the Nghe Tinh Soviet movement of 1930-1931. Throughout the two wars of national liberation, Vinh Station witnessed the most challenging and fierce periods. There were times when the station's staff and workers had to hide locomotives and carriages with the city's people to protect them from enemy bombing.

Dozens of young men working at Vinh Railway Station enlisted in the army in response to the call of the Fatherland. However, the most difficult period was after the Gulf of Tonkin incident, when American planes relentlessly bombed North Vietnam. Dozens, even hundreds, of bombs were dropped day and night on the station area in an attempt to sever the vital transportation artery connecting the North and South. Determined to protect this crucial transportation point and ensure the uninterrupted flow of tens of thousands of tons of weapons and food supplies to the South, Vinh Railway Station had to be relocated and its locomotives and carriages evacuated dozens of times. The blood of countless railway workers and members of the Vinh Station self-defense force was shed…

The story of the man who operated those trains nurtured in me a burning dream: to one day become a skilled mechanical engineer, to invent locomotive engines with five or ten times the pulling power. So that trains could travel faster and more smoothly, like flying, connecting distant parts of the country. One afternoon, standing for a long time before the old, silent locomotive in the station, I told myself this. And I silently asked the locomotive, resting peacefully after years of tireless work in the smoke and fire: "Is this also what you have longed for all this time?"

On the day I boarded the train to Hanoi to start university, not only my best friend but also my parents came to see me off. My mother let go of my hand so I could step onto the train. Seeing her standing below, crying uncontrollably, my heart ached. My friend's father stood beside me, gently stroking my head with his calloused but warm hand, softly saying, "Every train has a way out and a way back. Who says there's no reunion after parting? You have to make sure that on the day of reunion, your mother can proudly smile, understand?" I silently nodded, feeling the salty tears on my lips. Is this what it feels like to stand on a train slowly leaving the station? As the train began to move faster and the clatter became more urgent, the sadness was dried up and replaced by hope and excitement for the new lands that lay ahead…

This time I was the only one getting off the train. It was still dark. Walking slowly out onto the platform, I nodded to the familiar locomotive and carriages, taking one last look at Vinh Station. It wasn't too different from before; perhaps the biggest difference was the new, electronic, and technologically advanced ticketing system. The old shops and stalls were still intact, stirring a sense of nostalgia in me. Perhaps this was one of the reasons I preferred visiting Vinh Station to my parents' workplace, because where else would you find such charming little shops with friendly, talkative aunties and uncles who knew all sorts of stories from passersby? I hurried out the station gate. Phan Boi Chau Street was still sparsely populated. Only a few people were setting up their stalls at Vinh Station market. Only the women selling breakfast food were the most agile and lively in this dimly lit morning. The motorbike taxi drivers were restless, eagerly asking everyone they met, "Where are you going, sir? Where are you going, madam?", to the point that one woman, being "competed for" by the motorbike taxi drivers, had to shout, "I'm selling sticky rice right here, where else would I be going?!"

That endearing atmosphere brought a strange sense of peace and relief to my heart. People often say that train and bus stations are crowded, chaotic, and bustling places. Yet, perhaps because I've been familiar with them since childhood, I always find Vinh Station so simple, welcoming, and lovely. In a few days, this place will be bustling with students from all over the country coming here to take their first important exam in their lives. And then, shortly after, they will reluctantly say goodbye to their loved ones, boarding trains laden with youthful enthusiasm and dreams to new lands. But "every train has a way out and a way back; who says we won't meet again after parting?" I looked back at the gates of Vinh Station one last time before leaving, silently thanking this place for holding my ticket back to a cherished memory.

Text and photos:Thuc Anh