By Stephanie Lau
Boarding the airplane at John F. Kennedy Airport, I was
exultant, excited, and a bit tired, but most of all,
anxious. An abundance of nervous energy was pent up within
me. This trip to study abroad in Vietnam, a country that I had
fallen in love with a summer ago, would be my second, and I was
filled with trepidation at the idea that my journey back would not
meet my exceptionally high expectations.
“No! I won’t allow you to go. Why don’t you go to Italy or
England or even China? Vietnam’s dangerous,” declared my
father when I finally revealed to him my decision to study abroad
in Vietnam prior to last year’s trip. His reaction was
consistent with all others received by my classmates and myself.
It’s dangerous. It’s a war-torn country. They despise
Americans. My head had been spinning from the perceptions
others had engrained into it.
When most Americans think of Vietnam, it is difficult not to
envision warfare and bloodshed. Images of a tragic war during
where tens of thousands of American soldiers and millions of
Vietnamese lost their lives unjustly will never escape our
minds. The Vietnam War has, undoubtedly, left its mark on
history, influenced the ways in which our government deals with
other countries today, and scarred those who were affected by it
forever.
Danger. A war-torn country. Hate. My family and
friends could not be any further from the truth in their depictions
of Vietnam. The scenes I absorbed during my very first tour of
Hanoi, Vietnam’s capitol, immediately contradicted their
opinions. Charming, aged French villas peeked behind coconut
palm trees and green gates, made even more nostalgic by
decay. Little, old ladies leaned against the sides of
brightly-colored buildings, some crouched over the fresh
vegetables, exotic fruits or home-cooked dishes they were selling,
others seeking solace from the hot afternoon sun in the cool
shade. Busy, crowded streets, congested with both people and
an immeasurable number of motorcycles, were lined with delightful
rows of tamarind. A magnificent, great lake, which I later
discovered was called West Lake, was situated in the heart of the
city, amazingly placid, still and clear, undisturbed by the hustle
and bustle carrying on around it. The delightful aromas of
exotic cuisines could be detected journeying to my nose from one of
many small, local eateries. I soaked up the sights through my
senses, enamored by the beauty surrounding me.
My family and friends were undeniably wrong about Vietnam.
Not once did I feel as if my life was in danger. Never did the
Vietnamese I encountered mention the Vietnam War. And contrary
to popular belief, they embraced us Americans - always eager to
practice their often excellent English skills - extremely honest,
and delighted to be given any opportunity to proudly educate us
about their beautiful country. Indeed, the Vietnam that I knew was
charming, enchanting and beautiful. My memories of the country
were filled with nostalgia.
Would this second trip to Vietnam meet my expectations or was I
setting myself up for disappointment? Did my creative
imagination make Vietnam into a place more beautiful than it was or
could the country truly be so picturesque? Although my
anxieties did not yet altogether disappear, they diminished as soon
as our group finally left Noibai Airport in Hanoi and settled down
on our bus ride to our hotel. The views of Hanoi that we
soaked up while on the bus were just as breathtaking as those from
a summer ago. Now two days into the trip, not only have my
worries vanished, I never want this experience to end. Vietnam
is, indeed, a beautiful country, not a war.