Faces of Vinh Street

How many people from far away, how many people from the countryside… have chosen the city to stay, to entrust their joys and sorrows of life, to be a wave floating on the river of the city every day. And the city, too, welcomes everyone with open arms. As many faces as there are people, there are as many faces of the city.

The streets are like rivers bustling with daily rhythms. Photo: Trung Ha

I sat for hours listening to my old friend, a resident of Vinh Ward 1, tell me about his Vinh. The time when Vinh was a place of thatched houses where just one moment of carelessness from someone during the Lao wind season could cause the whole street to burn. He told me about the lotus seasons in the moat, about the bomb craters near Diec Pagoda, about the ancient pagoda gate with moss on the red sky, about the city during the years of hurried construction.

Remembering the old summers of Vinh, burning sand with Lao wind, only the children were happy because it was the pinwheel season. That pleasure seemed to overcome the hardships and harshness of this land. He was born here, grew up here, and grew old here. Witnessing many changes in Vinh, Vinh sometimes felt familiar, but sometimes Vinh felt strange.

Vinh Street: old and new, strange and familiar. Photo: Trung Ha

He said, it seemed like in the blink of an eye, Vinh had changed. There were changes that he had not yet gotten used to. Sometimes he had that feeling, the feeling of anger and resentment like with a lover. As if that girl had changed so many shades in a day, changed so many colors of clothes and seemed to want to forget the old days.

Then, one day, walking on the street, where the gnarled banyan trees suddenly sprouted new buds, he suddenly felt that his anger and resentment seemed unreasonable. He said that loving Vinh, for him, seemed like that was not enough. Because he said he still missed Vinh even when he was in his heart. With regrets, desires towards...

Afternoon on the soccer field at the old Quang Trung Residential Area. Photo: Trung Ha

Another friend, a writer, left Vinh to seek a different life in a bustling city in the South. But Vinh with its happy and sad memories still seems to live in her every day. Even though those distant days were associated with so much hardship and suffering. She said that going far away is also a way to return. Going far away is also a way to understand Vinh and also to understand herself.

To understand how important Vinh is to her. And also to understand how unstable she would be if there was no such place waiting for her tired footsteps whenever she wanted to return home. And in her dreams in the noisy, distant South, there was still a city beating a peaceful rhythm in her heart.

Apartment windows open onto a red road filled with March cotton flowers. Photo: Trung Ha

The city with apartment windows opening onto the red road full of cotton flowers. With the sound of the stove fan and the smell of soaked rice waiting for the spring roll cake. With the slow rotation of the cyclo and the dirty faded back of the father quietly carrying honeycomb coal to sell…

So, Vinh has many faces. Sometimes it is lively and noisy like a child, sometimes it is frivolous like a girl in love. Just look at the constructions that spring up every day, the newly rebuilt sidewalks that have been peeled off and rebuilt. The rows of trees on the newly fresh roads have quickly blossomed when the sun comes back. The supermarkets, the noisy shops… You can sing innocently while walking on the street, or in a corner of a shop and receive sparkling eyes and smiles.

A corner of Vinh market at night. Photo: Le Thang

Sometimes, Vinh looks like an old man. Sometimes pensive, sometimes sad and sometimes irritable. The old apartment buildings, the ancient mossy citadel gates are reflected in the brilliant afternoon sky, the autumn nights after a noisy day, the air suddenly calms down with a ripple of the first milky scent of the season. The cool steam rises from Goong Lake, permeating every leaf, every wisp of coffee smoke.

At the corner of an intersection, a tree bends down to the road, its shadow reflected on the dark, wet street… The city at night is completely different from the daytime, suddenly becoming strangely quiet. It has the quietness of a dreamless sleep. It calms people with the gentle music coming from the darkness and rest.

A corner of Goong Lake at night. Photo: Le Thang

Vinh is like a friend. A place where we can rest our heads on a bench in the park, like resting our heads on the shoulders of a trusted person. A place where we can pour out our feelings, laugh, cry, sigh, or sit empty looking out at the street from a familiar coffee shop. The sweet smell of coffee, the rising smoke, and then some sweet music that makes our hearts sink like the beginning of autumn. It would be wonderful if we could choose a quiet shop. We could sit there reading a book, turn on the computer to work, or just sit pensively watching each sparkling drop of coffee fall into a glass cup on a beautiful morning. That is enough for a friendship with Vinh…

Morning sunlight on Vinh street seen from the window. Photo: Trung Ha

Vinh is like a beloved person. Gentle, charming, passionate. With dreamy dawns, opening the window and feeling like breathing in a misty breeze, faintly scented with roses. When the sun sets, just a few kilometers out of town, you will be immersed in a place where there is only nature. Along the Lam River, there will be thousands of steps that we want to stop.

Like in a beautiful love, people want time to stop at the sweetest moments. People want to savor its flavor slowly and passionately, intoxicated and quiet. For generations, the Lam River has been flowing tirelessly, as if the love would never end, as if the earth, sky and human hearts had a relationship without beginning or end.

Road along Lam River. Photo: Trung Ha

And, Vinh is also you. That is when the natives know that in every breath they breathe, there is also the wind of Lam River. That is when the people far from home remember Lam River as they remember their mother, all their lives away from home, they always long to return "to their hometown river". That is when people from other places come to Vinh, always hesitantly looking for their own reflection on the water, looking for their own name echoing on the crest of the waves, looking for their own soul pouring into each rowing rhythm of the ferry song...

And my “wave” has wandered on the street, looking for an echo from many other waves that are drifting. That echo is not only a choice (forced to choose, need to choose, or is the choice itself) but also a deep love for this Vinh street.