Many years ago, I celebrated New Year’s Eve in Hanoi. It began when I met a distinguished elderly gentleman on a bench by the lake in the heart of the city. He was retired, but proudly told me that he was an academic who had concluded his professional career as a professor. With New Year’s Eve approaching, he promptly invited me to his home to celebrate the happiest day of the year.
Here is an excerpt from the book I later wrote, Buddha’s Children – A Journey Among People (2006):
New Year’s Eve. I am about to experience the Vietnamese at their very best. The Thirty-Six Streets are dressed for celebration, and in the distance the bells of St. Joseph’s Cathedral chime. The weather has grown cooler in recent days, and the willow trees flutter briskly in the north wind. Moisture from the mist has formed a slippery film on the streets, and the wise old men walk, if possible, even more slowly than usual. Some use their walking sticks like antennae. At street corners, frozen women squat beside open cardboard boxes selling warm clothing, while the masses hurry in both directions, burdened with dangling parcels, bundles of vegetables, and bushes of pink blossoms.
New Year’s Eve. I am about to experience the Vietnamese at their very best. The Thirty-Six Streets are dressed for celebration, and in the distance the bells of St. Joseph’s Cathedral chime. The weather has grown cooler in recent days, and the willow trees flutter briskly in the north wind. Moisture from the mist has formed a slippery film on the streets, and the wise old men walk, if possible, even more slowly than usual. Some use their walking sticks like antennae. At street corners, frozen women squat beside open cardboard boxes selling warm clothing, while the masses hurry in both directions, burdened with dangling parcels, bundles of vegetables, and bushes of pink blossoms.
