I had a light bulb moment while reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery on the bus between Hanoi and Ha Long Bay. It was because of one of the many brilliant passages in the novel. In this section, one of the two main characters, Paloma, is considering why her sister can get to her so easily:

"[Colombe] has discovered what I dread more than anything else in life is noise. I think she discovered this by chance. It would have never have crossed her mind spontaneously that somebody might actually need silence. That silence helps you go inward, that anyone who is interested in something more than just life outside actually needs silence: this, I think, is not something Colombe is capable of understanding, because her inner space is as chaotic and noisy as the street outside" (85).

I appreciate this passage for so many reasons, one of which is that I know many people who actually fear silence - a notion that boggles my mind. I think they might be afraid of the inevitable self-reflection that is possible when you are silent. But the reason that this passage really stood out to me at this moment is because on the bus I had been watching the Vietnamese countryside and was in a completely relaxed state. I realized that it was because I could have the benefit of the scenery - the beautiful rice fields with the farmers and the small townspeople going about their day - without the deafening noise that usually accompanies everything in the outdoor space. There is always a constant hum of noise here, and I didn't realize that it was starting to get to me. The passing countryside had become like a silent movie where I could watch and think both at the same time.

The grey sky makes the bright colours of the buildings and the green fields of the rice paddies very vibrant. Along they way, as the bus moves past scenes of life, I catch snapshots of people just living.

Snapshot: Three children on the roadside waving at passing vehicles. I wave back, being the only one on the bus paying attention, and the little boys are overjoyed that someone reciprocated their wave. They jump up and clap and their smiles make their way into my heart and imprint themselves on my mindseye.

Snapshot: Rice paddies checker the landscape while men and women stand knee deep in the mud and water, bent at the waist and busy at a hard days work.

Snapshot: A motor bike passes stuffed with live chickens strapped to the back. Another passes with a man, a woman, and two children perched between them. Another passes with huge crates of eggs strapped to the back. Another with a man texting. Another with a woman wearing bright red heels. Another with vegetables overflowing off the back.

Snapshot: Neatly organized rows of lettuce and other greens creates a patchwork field where a woman stands with a hoe, tending to her plants.

Snapshot: A woman and boy each ride a water buffalo, who is grazing in the rice paddy.

On the way home we were fortunate enough to experience a real live Vietnamese traffic jam. I thought that the phenomena of intense traffic for absolutely no reason at all was a Calgarian one only, but it appears that it is not. So here we are on a two lane road, which has suddenly turned into a three or four lane road, and our bus driver is zig zagging from the far right "lane" to the far left "lane" without a second thought. It is a miracle that our bus was not smunched, because nobody wants to let anyone in but everyone wants to get in. Ridiculous I tell you.

Hanoi is quite lovely, but the pollution really makes me very sad. It is very smoggy here from exhaust and cigarette smoke and fires. And the garbage is awful. But I always have to remind myself that I am coming from a place where the standards are very different than here. The people are lovely and we have had so many great meals. The food is amazing - especially when we know what we are eating. Sometimes that is really not the case. But it is usually tasty none-the-less.

This afternoon we are off to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Angkor Wat promises to be a treat.
Will update when I have a chance.