Ngu Hai, a peaceful corner of the street

(Baonghean)-Well, should we call it a road, or should we call it a small, straight, green, and peaceful path? A path built under two rows of trees, so that anyone passing by would want to take it slow, walking and breathing in the strong scent from the flowers, from the rough bark, from the sap that oozes out after the rain and is sent in the wind, when the weak drops of sunlight cautiously rest on the rustling branches and leaves. I often softly sing that song, and ask myself a vague, wandering question: Is the phoenix flower path in Hue like this Ngu Hai street?“Rows of green trees close together”?

Perhaps so, that poetic and quiet phoenix flower road has existed in my Vinh street. Has anyone startled me and called out to me in the middle of the street, “Why did you get lost here?”. This is not the way to my home, nor is this a place where you can shop or have fun? Why did I “get lost” here? And why did you, you also “get lost” here? Are you, like me, looking for a quiet, thoughtful place every time you see the streets out there so crowded, so narrow, so hurried? Are you, like me, walking while letting your soul linger on those green canopies filled with chirping birds? There are rosewood, purple-flowered lagerstroemia, royal poinciana, cajuput, milk flower, mango, fig, water lily, sedge, tamarind, soapberry… too. So many trees, so many flowers. Counting forever but not enough. Every few steps there is a tree, regularly growing green, spreading shade. The ornamental areca tree, the mango tree stands straight and solemnly next to the tamarind tree. There is a slender, leaning, pale-armed girl welcoming the rain. A royal poinciana guy seems to be nostalgic for the passion of summer, gently releasing tiny yellow leaves into the wind. The milk flower is different, it likes autumn the most. Is it like someone wrote: "Because it gives all its fragrance, it becomes ugly to the point of regret", so the milk flower is always quiet. Only waiting for the night to fall does it dare to spread its white-green petals to tell the moss-covered roofs that it loves the city and people very much.

Ngu Hai Street (Vinh City). Photo: My Ha

From house number 72, across the street, there was a couple of friends, seemingly deeply in love. They were Lagerstroemia and Water Lily. The branches and leaves from above stretched across the street, touching each other and chattering: “Why can’t we stand together on the same side?” On the third floor of someone’s house, the Melaleuca tree stretched all the way to the window. Melaleuca feared winter the most, so it seemed like it wanted to lament to the wall of the house: “How I want to go inside to that warmth!”

Each tree standing on this street is whispering a story about the street, the roofs and the people passing by every day. They grow roots in the heart of the street, each piece of wood stretches to receive the warm sap to grow green, offering people a cool shade. Hey, my lost friend, why are you still standing there in a daze? Let's go to a shop together? The famous sticky rice cake and goi cake in Dang Tat? Right at this turn, by the fig tree whose trunk is still laden with fruit. What do you want to eat on this street? How about sweet potato cake? There is a lady selling sweet potato cake and sticky rice cake sitting in a corner under the shade of a vông tree next to house number 21. She puts down her carrying pole, busily placing a pan of grease on the blazing charcoal stove. Suddenly the sidewalk is bustling. Or let's go find a tea shop? Walk around the street, look at all the shops. This street is full of small shops. It's strange, there's nothing special, but there's everything. From the Saigon optical shop with its flashing red and blue electronic sign, the dry cleaning and ironing shop, the tailor shop, the cosmetics counter, the grocery stores, the Ngoc Quy gold shop, up to near the top there's a shop that used to sell silk flowers, a karaoke bar, near Le Mao street at the Six-Way Intersection there's a pho noodle shop, a large inkjet printer, car and motorbike insurance... Well, there's everything, everything. It's just not crowded, not bustling.

Then, slowly circling around a few times, looking at the trees, looking at the street to see the old and dull brown tea shop under the mango and water lily trees, next to house number 39. Perhaps, this is the shop that still retains the old, rustic style in the middle of a young city with a new, vibrant pace of life every day, amidst the hustle and bustle of buying and selling on the busy streets around. A few square meters, the walls are peeling, the roof is old, the table and two long, large, sturdy chairs are full of holes and the color of time, on the table are peanut candy, sesame candy, cu do, some bottles of soft drinks, a plate of bananas, a plate of guava, above is a series of hooks dangling packages of dried cakes, convenient raincoats and a bunch of yellowing bananas. The shop owner, halfway through sweeping the fallen leaves onto the sidewalk, leisurely returns, pouring the guests a bowl of shimmering golden tea. “Who are you looking for? Oh, about this street?”. And the story, still leisurely like the appearance of any resident of Ngu Hai street, but gradually returning: from the past to the present... I came back to this street since the eighties. My husband and I are both from Do Luong, working as post office workers. Along the beginning of this street, at that time there was a row of restaurants, then a garment company, later sold that piece to the North Central Maritime Company. In 1992-1993, when my husband and I retired, I opened a tea shop, which was also when people planted two rows of trees along the street. I remember that after the 3rd Provincial Party Congress, the city re-planned a series of roads. People planned to plant trees in front of their houses, I said to change some of them to grow mangoes...

Sipping green tea from old porcelain bowls, it feels like it has been there since the small shop of Mrs. Nguyen Thi Minh first opened. Mr. Le Hong Khuyen, Mrs. Minh's husband, also came from home to join the conversation. "During the French period, this road was planned to be very wide. It runs all the way through Dang Thai Than Street to Nam Dan. This is the Second Gate of the old Vinh Town. This area is also behind the Ba-rac Hall. Before, the grass and trees grew wildly. The French built the road in the past as a cobblestone road. Later, when it was re-planned, it was paved with asphalt, then narrowed to what it is now. But even though it is narrow, it is still the most beautiful because of the trees. It is not an exaggeration to say that this road is the most beautiful, cleanest, and coolest in the city. Almost every family, from the beginning to the end of the road, knows each other. When happy or sad, under the shade of the trees, they call each other and they are there. And everyone is conscious, come out tomorrow morning and see, the whole neighborhood will be filled with the sound of brooms sweeping the trash.

The road has many trees, so there are many leaves, especially in the fall. Then in the evening, it has become a habit to sweep and water again. Perhaps they love the trees, so the trees love people back. In the summer, many people do not go to Tran Phu street, they go around this road to work, to school. The trees cover the whole road. If the trees were not cut down or fallen after the storm, the sunlight would not be able to penetrate the road surface." Mr. Khuyen said, thinking, his eyes absorbed in the green foliage. "I opened this small shop, just for the old couple to watch people, watch the street to relax, the profit is only a bunch of vegetables each day. If I don't open a shop, I feel sad, feel empty. There are also people who like to come to my shop to sit. They say, looking all over this city, there is still a rustic feel here. Even the women who sweep the streets during the day and at night also come to greet the grandparents and have a bowl of tea. I have made these tables and chairs since I opened the shop. I am also good at carpentry. The street is not busy, there is no meeting point, so it is suitable for the elderly and civil servants here. "

Mr. Khuyen reminisced about the old road.

Mr. Khuyen refused to accept our payment for the cup of tea. He said, coming here to drink water and chat was fun. Mrs. Minh occasionally came out to sweep a few fallen leaves. Mr. Khuyen said: “She’s used to it. The broom is always ready under the mango tree. Each tree has its own personality and character. It’s true that when you come here, you’ll know all four seasons…” Was he talking to us or to himself, or to the trees, to the road that has been with his family for nearly 30 years? His children grew up with the seasons of the Indian almond, mango, and milk flower here. They grew up with the sound of dry soapberry fruits hitting each other, rustling all through the cold winter nights. That soapberry tree is also very strange. It’s so green on sunny days, but very quickly, when winter comes, there are only bunches of dry fruits swaying in the cold wind.

The afternoon also seemed to pass by this street very slowly. We, too, walked silently side by side on the sidewalk paved with green and brown bricks. I don’t know why, but this street makes people remember poetry so much? You turned to ask: Hey, was it Nguyen Binh who also once walked on a street like this, and wrote: “I walked face up on the deserted sidewalk/ Watching the tree branches marry each other”? Perhaps, this street is the street of poetry, of music, or at least it is the nostalgia of those who have passed by once…

Thuy Vinh