One street, countless paths of life.

(Baonghean) - From the bustling city streets in the early morning, just a short distance further, the hustle and bustle quickly fades away. It's not far, just separated by the North Canal; on one side towards Vinh Airport is the Soviet-Nghe Tinh Boulevard, on the other is the Lenin Boulevard, yet the rural streets and the countryside are already distinctly different.

The Soviet-Nghe Tinh Boulevard, stretching over 4km towards Vinh Airport, is sometimes described as a "city within a city." This place has developed its own unique character, a convergence of diverse urban life. In the early morning, a leisurely stroll along the road allows for a closer look at the city's landscape.

Soviet-Nghe Tinh Boulevard. Photo: Tran Hai

After traveling many roads, I've given this one a nickname: "The Meat and Fish Road." It's quite something, isn't it? Before dawn, the "pig ninjas" (a term I've given to those importing pork, or even calves) with their faces covered, speeding along in both summer and winter. Large chunks of meat hang precariously from their bikes in the flickering streetlights. Next come the fish vendors, groups of three or four, pedaling noisily, their conversations barely audible as they push themselves to catch the market, trying to make a profit. At 4 am, the women from the coastal areas cycle past the Nghia An Friendship General Hospital. Their voices, heavy with the accents of Nghi Thuy and Nghi Thu, carry baskets covered with thin mats, faintly smelling of the sea.

This street could also be called the "car street," as it boasts nearly a dozen dealerships of modern car brands. Crossing the North Canal, towards the airport, for about a kilometer is the Renault (French) showroom. Further along the road, past the 115 Hospital, are showrooms of various brands: Hyundai, Vinh Ford, and opposite them, Mitsubishi. Hyundai alone has a grand establishment with three showrooms selling passenger cars, trucks, and marine transport machinery. At the end of the "car street" is a highlight on the airport side: a series of three impressive showrooms for Kia, Mazda, and another proud representative from the City of Lights, France: Peugeot. Surely, in the past, when the French colonized Vietnam and built Vinh to serve their exploitative schemes, they never imagined that one day their renowned car brands would be present in a city that had once ruthlessly pursued a "scorched earth" strategy, only to see "new shoots sprouting" and "a rosy hue amidst the rubble," a city built with the sweat and tears of war to create the prosperous empire it is today.

Some argue that it should be called a "hospital street." Well, that's true. It's not as densely packed as Ton That Tung Street, with its Obstetrics and Pediatrics, Oncology, Orthopedics, Vinh University Medical Center, and Cua Dong. Here, along the street are large hospitals, encompassing countless hardships, suffering, and the compassionate care of medical professionals. Those concerned about "the health of their eyesight..." have the Saigon Eye Hospital near the beginning of the street. A short distance further, turning onto Pham Dinh Toai Street, is Vinh International Hospital. A little further on, there are three more hospitals side by side: Nghe An Friendship Multi-specialty Hospital, Hospital 115, and Dong Au Hospital. Among them, the most imposing and deeply committed is the 700-bed Friendship Multi-specialty Hospital, which is still expanding and being rebuilt, hoping to alleviate the suffering of birth, aging, illness, and death.

The trees on this street are different too. There are all kinds of trees, but they don't embrace each other, creating a sense of closeness and nostalgia like those in the city streets. Instead, they stand tall and straight, stretching endlessly into the distance. There are all kinds of trees, from teak, mahogany, yellow-flowered acacia, yellow-flowered cassia, and crape myrtle. In the median strip are oleander, bougainvillea, rows of crape myrtle, and ornamental palms intertwined. Occasionally, a single crape myrtle tree remains by the roadside. In mid-March, passing by, you suddenly catch a whitish scent of the countryside, a silent call, and the distant street seems gentle, stirring a feeling of nostalgia. Sometimes, along the roadside, you might catch a glimpse of a couple of betel nut or jackfruit trees belonging to some house. That's the essence of the city intermingling with the countryside.

An elderly person taking a morning walk for exercise. Photo: Tran Hai

Another less common element is the cycling community. Older men wear motorcycle helmets, minibike helmets, even Thong Nhat brand or any other type of bike. Their attire doesn't necessarily have to be cyclist-related; they wear whatever they have. They cycle for the sake of cycling, for a change of pace. The younger generation, of course, are all "matching" from their bikes to their... heads. They add bright lights, GPS trackers, speedometers, water bottles, and flashing red taillights. Sporting it is one thing, but for the younger generation, is the stylish, flashy appearance more important than pedaling? On clear days, the "army" of cyclists almost forms a tangled mess on the road. Occasionally, a convoy of a few dozen bikes, uniformed in yellow shirts, glide smoothly across the road towards Cua Lo. Their lights flicker in a continuous stream, like a shimmering string of stars attached to a bicycle's frame. A spectacular sight rarely seen in the bustling city. Because they often arranged to meet near the Customs roundabout or the Square intersection to watch the sunrise over the sea together.

At this same time, precisely on schedule, the morning buses slowly passed by, beginning a new day on this route that evokes so many journeys. The red buses of Su Chuyen, the green buses of Phuong Thao, the red and white buses of Thach Thanh, and the red and yellow buses of Dong Bac diligently stopped to pick up and drop off passengers. But the busiest place was still in front of the hospital gate, where people coming and going all looked pensive, anxious, and sorrowful. The mundane realities of human life—birth, aging, sickness, and death—were most clearly manifested in this place where joy was scarce and sorrow was abundant.

Normally, this long, seemingly endless stretch of road is deserted, with only a few elderly people trudging along in the morning. But lately, the weather has turned cold, as quickly as the news, and the number of people walking has dwindled considerably. The groups of cyclists have probably shrugged off the capricious weather and snuggled under their thin blankets, leaving the anonymous pedestrians silently breathing in the tranquil morning air…

Before dawn, a group of people, still half-asleep, had just disembarked from buses and coaches at the hospital gate. "Did you bring bananas with you, sir?", "How have you been feeling these past few days, ma'am?"... These were dialysis patients. Because they had all been dependent on the hospital for many years, they knew each other and treated each other like family, at least in terms of "fellow sufferers."

The terrible disease of kidney failure has forced them to come here every four days to lie in the machine, each session lasting four hours, filtering fluid from their blood. Their two poor kidneys have shriveled up, no longer the "seeds of life" that one medical professional described them as. So they come here, like moths drawn to a flame, never daring to rest.

The woman selling breakfast snacks knew all the customers' names. Patiently, in hushed tones, they helped her set up tables and chairs, and put up a tarp for her tiny little stall selling sticky rice and steamed rice cakes tucked away in a corner by the hospital staff's gate. Each person in this "dialysis neighborhood" had their own personal struggles, but the common one was poverty. Those nearby were better off, but those from further away, like Do Luong, Thanh Chuong, Anh Son... or even as far away as Ky Son, Tuong Duong, and Que Phong, had to form their own dialysis association, because where would they get the money to travel back and forth several times a week?

That unfortunate and miserable group of three or four men shared a room near the hospital. Their expenses depended on motorbike taxi rides, "gradually scraping away" their savings. They brought a few old motorbikes from home, patiently sitting around the hospital, transporting patients and their equally impoverished families, and then scraping together to support each other. They used the meager, worn-out money of fellow patients, painstakingly saving and struggling to push away the day of death. One man recounted how he hadn't been able to urinate even once in 20 years. One night, he dreamt of finally being able to, and was overjoyed. He would wake up, only to be filled with sadness and prepare to go back to the hospital for dialysis. It was heartbreaking to hear.

Admittedly, kidney dialysis patients are fundamentally poor, and while they generally have health insurance—many even have 100% coverage because they are so poor—they still need food, clothing, and so money. It's common for doctors to lend patients a few hundred thousand dong in emergencies. Struggling to make ends meet, scraping by day after day in this world, there seems to be no greater sorrow than this. Knowing for sure that the day they leave their loved ones is not far off, they still have to live, to survive on their own...

Many days, wanting a change of scenery, I would quietly make my way to Vinh Airport, observing the deserted airport in the morning, the quietude before the arrival and departure of countless people from all directions. This vital route, bearing three names from its border with Ho Chi Minh Square to its final destination, Vinh Airport, made me imagine it as a launching pad soaring ever higher. Many nights, looking down from Quyết Mountain, silently gazing at the road from the highest point in the city, I saw the streetlights marking a straight line. It was similar to the feeling I had on an airplane before landing, seeing the row of lights connecting the Soviet-Nghe Tinh Boulevard, briefly resembling a brightly lit runway leading to my destination.

A straight line, yet life's many paths lead to its end!

Tran Hai