Two mornings

Hi, Uncle Wilson.

Robert was telling me about a poem he read once in a college literature class about how cities rise from their evening slumber. The poem ended on a scary note -- something about cities don't awaken, they are disturbed.

Anyway, he had lost his sun hat in a restaurant one afternoon, so he went out early one morning to buy another one before we left town to go operate medical clinics in a remote village. Hanoi is a town that knows how to hustle, but there wasn't much going on at 6 a.m.

The corner that was bustling the previous afternoon was down to a population of one.

At another sleepy corner, traffic had started to pick up--walkers, cyclists...

This vendor bouncing her goods to some destination or another practically had the whole street to herself.

Gradually the pace picked up. Here's a guy who had a purpose in mind.

The city came alive with more cycles, whose growls could be heard before they cleared the corner and came into sight. Before too long, they had taken command of the streets. Hanoi has 4.5 million of them, buzzing like locusts in a steady stream, some overloaded with families or products, but most carrying one or two at the most, endlessly. Day has arrived.

Oh, there are big vehicles, like trucks and buses, but two wheels are the preferred mode of travel.

Our medical team was heading out for another community that awakens more gently, It's southwest of Hanoi, in the Mai Chau district. Using the map below you can identify it by the red letters near the center of the map at its bottom edge. Scan the map, and you can locate Mai Chau somewhat between Hanoi and a famous little place called Dien Bien Phu, which is where the French colonists met their Waterloo in 1954. Our Seattle Colleges medical team was leaving Hanoi this day to operate clinics in a small village in Mai Chau.

The village we were heading for: Mai Hịch, in the Mai Châu district of Hòa Bình province.

Now here's how mornings began in Mai Hich:

Light filtered into our upstairs loft. where we all slept, protected by just-in-case mosquito netting.

The first excitement each morning was finding out whether our clothing was dry from last night's washing. Usually it wasn't.

Before you ever get up, there can be a lot of noise. most of it doesn't involve machinery. First of all, it's the roosters. They don't just squawk at dawn. They go on and on all night, singing. Being a One World Futbol, I speak a lot of languages, so I understand what they're crowing about: It's a male version of a song you may have heard of: "Don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like me?"  Funny, the hens never answer. I don't know what that's about.

And the dogs. They are constantly saying the same thing over and over, off and on all night long: "Who goes there?" "Who goes there?" "Who goes there?" Nobody ever answers.

One morning the pigs were making a real racket. They have terrible diction; it's like they're talking with their mouths full. I have no idea what they were saying.

And that's it -- almost. Except for the chain saw that started up at 5:30 a.m., the only other sounds you could hear came from animals.

One place everyone goes to first thing in the morning is those little rooms next to the bike rack, below. The bikes at the home stay are for rent.

This motorcycle patiently awaited the arrival of its rider.

A lead cow with a wooden cow bell led her charges for the day's forage.

Women performed the morning wash in what was apparently an irrigation ditch.

Nearby, a man crowched to cut some tender grass shoots.

In the distance, a morning walker followed a path leading past an irrigation ditch.

Children bicycled past, most likely enroute to morning classes.

A bicycle, sandles and a woven sun hat awaited the owner beside the rice fields.

The community building for the clinic awaited the hour when the throng of patients would arrive.

Well, as you can see, Uncle Wilson, Mai Hich is a pretty bucolic place. It wakes up gentle and quiet.

By the way, I would have e-mailed this sooner, but we didn't have wi-fi at our Mai Hitch homestay. I'm not kidding. no wi-fi! Can you believe that? And only three electrical outlets for all our cell phones, cameras, and other electronic devices. I'm actually writing this back in Hanoi. So you'll just have to pretend that this isn't week-old news. I hope that's OK, because we have lots to share.

Love,

Jean Baptiste, and Robert