Chapter Twenty-Two
...In this world you will have trouble
John 16:33
Time passed quickly leading up to the travel date. In one week, we celebrated Thanksgiving and decorated the house for the holidays. I wrapped presents for Christmas, packed for the trip to Vietnam, gathered Manisha’s clothes and toys to stay with the Murphys, paid bills, made arrangements for the care of our animals, and confirmed last-minute preparations before leaving.
I was excited to have Jenni Murphy join me on the trip. Bright and inquisitive, Jenni embraced the diversity of Vietnamese culture in a way that amazed me. Every meal was a new adventure for her in tasting the exotic. On a practical level, she became quite adept at reading Vietnamese maps—a good thing, since I was notorious for getting us lost.
I hope someday God will use the trip to reveal Himself to this talented young lady who is trained in film production. God never wastes or squanders opportunities to teach us something we wouldn’t otherwise learn.
The big day finally arrived. We took two cars from Gainesville to Jacksonville. Curtis, Jenni, and Linsey rode in one car; Sylvia, Manisha and I followed them in the other. After stopping at a McDonald’s for coffee, we lost each other. I figured we would eventually connect somewhere along the way, but the humor of it didn’t escape me. We hadn’t gone twenty miles and were already separated. How would we ever manage not to lose each other traveling halfway around the world?
After arriving at the airport, Jenni fixed the broken zipper on my suitcase that I had discovered shortly before leaving home. I could imagine all my clothes being strewn about in the baggage compartment of the plane at thirty thousand feet. We checked in my luggage and picked up our tickets, walked through the carry-on baggage check, and found the departure gate. Already fatigued with anticipation, we sat down in some empty seats and waited.
Jenni, dressed casually in her red Adidas T-shirt and jeans, had her dark brown hair cut short for convenience. Unlike me with volumes of suitcases, she had only one backpack that she carried around easily on her back. Talk about traveling light, she could be in the Guinness Book of World Records.
It was hard to believe the long-awaited moment was here. I tearfully hugged Manisha and said good-bye multiple times. I wished she could go with me. She told me later she cried all night the first night, but if she wanted a sister, there was no other way. I knew it would be hard, but it was harder than I imagined.
The plane began boarding and we grabbed our carry-on and stood in the long line. Jenni gave her mother and father a last hug. At eighteen, she acted grown up about it, but good-byes are always hard. I gave Manisha one more embrace with tears in my eyes, offering a silent prayer that God would bring us home safely. I blew her several kisses as I stepped up to hand the attendant my ticket, waving quickly as I distractedly followed the boarding procedures. He tore the ticket in half and handed me my seat stub.
It happened all too quickly. As Jenni and I entered the door to the gangplank, we both waved until Manisha, Sylvia, Curtis, and Linsey were lost from sight. I wanted to run back over and give Manisha one last hug. I couldn’t. If Jenni hadn’t been with me, I might have dashed back into the airport lobby throwing boarding protocol to the four winds. I might have changed my mind. I will never know. As I boarded the plane, my only reassurance was I knew God had called me to go to Vietnam and He would comfort Manisha while I was gone.
I also knew Curtis and Sylvia loved Manisha almost as much as I did. I laughed and thought to myself, she may have so much fun she won’t want to come back home. She was getting a break from school and chores and I told Curtis and Sylvia she could watch all the television she wanted. “Uncle Curtis” was one of her favorite people. They could spend hours putting together puzzles or swimming in the local YMCA pool.
We found our seats, 21A and B, strapped ourselves in, and readied for takeoff. Our first stop was Atlanta. In Atlanta I called my mother from one of the pay phones as we waited. It helped to pass the time which ticked agonizingly slow. I hated uncertainty and with everything that had happened in the preceding few weeks, it was hard not to worry about the future. After the hour and fifteen minute layover in the Hartsfield International Airport, we flew to San Francisco.
In San Francisco we had two and a half hours to get a bite to eat and feel tired. From there we boarded a Cathay Pacific jet. It was a large state-of-the-art luxury jumbo jet. In three words, it was beautiful. Each of the seats in front of us had a pull-down screen with a wide variety of entertainment choices. I was fascinated with the one that showed our location in the air—our altitude, how far we had traveled, how fast we were traveling, how cold the air temperature was, the wind speed—I was mesmerized as I watched the numbers change as the plane slowly made its way toward Hong Kong.
With air time and layovers in Atlanta and San Francisco, it was about twenty hours before we landed in Hong Kong at 6:30 in the morning on December 6. Jet lagged and fatigued, we stretched our legs. I was relieved to have landed safely on solid ground.
Security at the Hong Kong airport was tight, which reminded me of when I traveled to Israel. In New York's LaGuardia, before they would let me board the El Al plane, I had been pulled out of the line and drilled for over an hour by a senior official. He along with others wanted to know why a young, blonde female, who obviously was not Jewish, would be traveling alone to Israel when the United States was fixing to launch an attack in the Middle East.
Who had packed my bags? Had they ever been out of my sight? Where was I going? How long would I be there? I wondered why other countries had so much tighter security than the United States.
In England I had been pulled out and frisked. In Switzerland they dumped out all of my belongings going through customs and demanded an explanation as to why I was carrying around a Nikonis underwater camera when Switzerland was in the middle of a snowstorm.
As we all learned on 9/11, the United States was lured into a false sense of security. This day, though, things followed a logical course and after disembarking, we found a good place to eat. The airport was spotlessly clean and beautiful. After leaving customs, the crowds thinned and we were left with a feeling of wonder at the modern, white architectural design of the building. Airy and open, adorned with much Eastern-flavored artwork in the form of sculptures and paintings, the airport was a major hub for international travelers making connections on smaller carriers.
The back side of the airport was all glass. Through the raindrops on the windows, I could barely make out the coastline of China, with the outline of huge mountains largely covered by clouds and mist. It would have been nice to see more. The little bit I could make out made me curious about what I was missing.
Before exiting the plane, the pilot had told us there were several places travelers could go in the terminal to take a hot shower and freshen up while waiting for a connecting flight. We walked around exploring in a daze and eventually found an “oasis” for relaxation. I opted for a massage in a chair that rolled bristles up and down my back and tickled my feet. I quickly settled into a couple of hours of pampering myself and enjoying a little freedom. It seemed odd not to have to worry about anybody but myself. Jenni found several shops to buy souvenirs.
“I am so excited,” she said several times. “Even if we turned around and went back now, just to see this has been worth it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. She reminded me that even with weary legs, I could still feel young at heart. I had forgotten what it was like to be a college student with a zeal for the “eccentric.”
After a hot shower, I sat down at a computer and typed some emails. I sent one to the Murphys letting them know we had arrived safely in Hong Kong and one to the adoption agency. “We're Almost There,” I titled it. Soon it was time to leave our little pampering and board for the final leg of our journey. It was a much shorter trip to Vietnam but after flying for two days, we were both exhausted.
Upon landing and disembarking at the Hanoi airport, we stood in a long line to retrieve my bags. As we were waiting, we met two other women from Canada that were also adopting. Their adoptions required two visits and they were on their return trip to complete the Giving and Receiving Ceremony. They had already met their new daughters a few weeks earlier.
After going through customs and finding all of my bags, we dragged everything outside into the wet, humid Hanoi air to take a taxi to the Lillie Hotel. There were many vans waiting outside the airport to provide transportation for foreign tourists. We motioned for one, and a driver came over and loaded our bags into the back. I turned on the video camera as we pulled out into the overcrowded streets of Hanoi.
It had been raining and the wet streets sprayed moisture on the cab, making everything look distorted and blurry. The roads were clogged with cars, vans, motorcyclists, bicyclists, and funny-looking vehicles called xichlos. A xichlo is a three- wheeled, pedal-powered rickshaw where the driver “pumps” the rider along the road seated in the front.
Honking horns created a cacophony of noise that screamed back at me from the past. Within me an overwhelming sense of familiarity arose as I stared out the back of the taxi. I can't believe I am doing this again, my emotions shouted, recoiling as fear set in, and my mind, fatigued from lack of sleep, cried out, I'm in a foreign country adopting another child! Somehow out of this mix of chaos, fear, worry, and exhaustion a spirit of peace enveloped me. I knew God would be with me and would calm my anxious heart.
The taxi driver dropped us off on Hue Street at an inexpensive hotel. Located up two flights of brown marble-like stairs, a sign written in English advertised the “Lillie Hotel” in large tan letters. A tall Philodendron in a ceramic pot stood by the stairs. At ground level beneath the Lillie Hotel was the Ristorante Roman where we frequently ate. Jenni helped me carry my bags up the stairs, and we entered through a solid glass door that opened into a sparsely-decorated, brown-tiled foyer.
Although the hotel accommodations were rather plain, the location was attractive since Hue Street is one of the major arteries into downtown Hanoi. The hotel was also situated just a few blocks from the famed Hoan Kiem Lake, which symbolized politically and geographically the epicenter of the quaint capital of Vietnam.
Exuding warmth and charm and more conservative than South Vietnam, Hanoi had the feeling of an old-fashion town. On the north side of the lake was a labyrinth of little shops where the storeowners sold their wares. It was enjoyable to walk along the streets strolling in and out of shops. The Vietnamese women were always ready to help me find whatever I needed with a warm smile and gentleness so characteristic of their nature. They particularly catered to Western tourists and adopting families offering baby clothes and accessories at very affordable prices.
I was surprised by my first impressions of North Vietnam. I had expected to see more than just vestiges of communism as a result of the Vietnam War. Quite to the contrary, the Vietnamese had adopted a lot of our Western culture—selling our music, speaking our language, and owning their own shops, resulting in a vibrant, capitalistic economy. My uneducated mindset of a people living in apathy or without freedom was turned on its head as the North Vietnamese appeared to be hard- working and content. They showed an endearing love for their children, were kind to me, and harbored no ill-will toward Americans.
Against this backdrop of normal everyday life, having been a teenager at the height of the Vietnam War, vivid images from the past still lingered in my mind of the bloodshed spilled. It was hard to forget the nightly newsreels splattered across our television screens showing dead bodies blown apart. The horror of a country devastated by the ravages of war was seared into my consciousness. I didn't expect it to affect me so deeply after I arrived.
Everywhere were stark reminders and memorials of an era gone by. It seemed surreal to be in Hanoi. I kept waiting for a “bad guy” to show up and handcuff me. I had to remind myself that was another world, another time, and another place. A forgiving spirit over the devastation wrought on their land just a few decades earlier had brought renewal and hope. Vietnam was a land of dreams and vision for the future. Now I had come in search of mine.
To read more or view photos, go to Lorilyn's website.
0 comments:
Post a Comment