Kronka

And we’re back.

With the kitchen renovations done and Eric back in Baltimore, the dinner parties resume.

Antipasto: caprese salad
Primo: lobster risotto with roasted parmigiano broccoli
Secondo: veal osso bucco
Dolce: Italian wedding cookies (also, cupcakes)

Six friends, four courses, eight bottles. About right.

Viet Nam! Ho Chi Minh!

Viet Nam, Ho Chi Minh...
Viet Nam! Ho Chi Minh!
Viet Nam, Ho Chi Minh...

(We were taught part of a Vietnamese song. Only those words, though...)

Oh, God. Ohgodohgodohgod.

We would later joke that of the places we visited, half drove on the left, half drove on the right, and then there was Hanoi… where it was not clear whether the roads even had sides to begin with. How society functioned in the face of such blatant disregard for motor vehicle safety was beyond me.

For the moment, we just needed to cross this road. Our hostel was mere yards away, but we had to face apparent death to get there: mopeds, motorbikes, and cars zoomed past us in a chaotic and unrelenting stream. Passing, swerving, cutting, intersecting — inches from our toes. They paid us absolutely no attention.

“I think we… uh… should just start walking.”

Eric looked like he’d rather break both legs while traversing a glacier.

Sonya was wide-eyed, but grinned. “Okay.”

We nervously shuffled across the street. Somehow, the less attention we paid to the oncoming motorists, the easier it was. Or at least, the less we’d have to stare death in the face and wonder whether our travel insurance was a good investment.

Despite the constant dangers, Hanoi had a certain charm. In the evenings, the whole city seemed to burst into a different kind of activity, as the residents flocked to Hoan Kiem Lake to amble and relax. By dinnertime, the sidewalks were crowded with makeshift stoves and grills, while plastic tables and chairs spilled into the roads. Street markets in the city’s Old Quarter sold wares to eager buyers, each street still specializing in their original, centuries-old trade: Paper Street, Silk Street, Textile Street, Random Cheesy Knick Knack Street…

When we eventually made it out to Halong Bay, four hours from Hanoi, it was an entirely different world. Our little cruise slipped in and out of tranquil bays surrounded by majestic limestone karsts, as we ate and drank and read and sunbathed. Not another ship was in sight, and nothing was in a hurry. There was time for kayaking in sea caves, swimming in the bay, picnicking on a beach, fishing for squid, singing folk songs, and more.

After three glorious days of relaxation, it pained us to leave. We promised our tour guide we’d be back, and that we’d spend a little more time in the rest of Vietnam. For now, though, we had flights to catch and promises to keep…

And miles to go before we sleep.

Hong Kong

We touched down in Hong Kong early — too early — on a hazy Sunday morning, our brains desperately trying to figure out the time zone arithmetic associated with intercontinental air travel. The trip from the airport to the city was longer than I remembered — but we spent the ride grinning at each other, in awe that, by some miracle, we had pulled this off. We had said, “Let’s do it. Let’s go.” And then we had done, and gone. And here we were…

We stumbled our way to dim sum, passing the street markets setting up for the day, the old ladies exercising in the park, the food stalls steaming up the alleys. The bustle quickened as the city awakened, stretched, and yawned. Hong Kong woke up as we did.

We wandered through the street markets branching off Nathan Road, stopping for the snacks and drinks. Eric and Sonya got their fortunes told at Wong Tai Sin Temple, and we lazily walked through the temple gardens full of koi, turtles, and grumpy old men.

Dim sum in the mornings, sightseeing in the afternoons, shopping and eating in the evenings. We hung out in Lan Kwai Fong, enviously eyeing the foreign businessmen (and businesswomen) in their perfectly tailored suits, wondering if one day our lives could be like theirs, and wondering — probably as they did — if that life could be worth it. We took the Star Ferry across the harbor (multiple times!), craning our necks to look up at the spectacular skyline; then we rode the Peak Tram up to see it again from above.

It felt a little too familiar to me, yet, as always, a little too distant. I don’t know how many times I’ve been to Hong Kong — at first tagging along with my dad on his business trips, and now getting into various shenanigans with various friends — but when would I be here again? I hated that I’ll soon be giving up (for a good while, anyways) the feeling, the chance to say, “I could go, if I wanted to.”

We’ll see.

The above was excerpted (with gratuitous edits) from my travel journal and albums this summer. I am not actually in Hong Kong right now. Sorry. But I will endeavor to post bits from each location of the remainder of our trip.

Suddenly

And then, suddenly, I’m staring down at course lists and exam schedules and class syllabi and required reading and other phrases I wish weren’t so familiar with. And I’m realizing that I’m not ready to go back to school. How did I fool this institution into believing I would be a good student, anyways — and a medical student, at that?

But it’ll be good, right? It’ll be good.