I remember it being pitch black as I woke up. The thin mat I laid on didn’t protect me from the dirt and rocks of the bumpy ground, nor did the mosquito net around me keep away the persistently energetic and noisy insects. Every night the cock-a-doodle-doo of the roosters rose above the blended sound of the croaking frogs, buzzing mosquitoes, and chirping crickets that covered the lonely countryside of Vietnam. For it was here in the city of Pleiku in Vietnam that my family was staying. We were guests in a friend’s home, the first foreign American family (actually, the first white people besides Russians) to come to the village since the Vietnam War. The somewhat large house and property we stayed in with 11 other household members consisting of aunts, uncles, grandmas, and grandpas, cousins, sons, daughters, and babies, had been damaged in the war. The house’s main portion had been blown off by a bomb and other bombs created trenches in the yard, perfect for ponds and hills.

As I laid awake listening to the daily cock-a-doodle-doo one early morning, the other nocturnal creatures ‘songs’ began to fade and light began to fill the long, crowded bedroom my four siblings and I shared. I walked out of the still room to the outdoor world where bursts of light and color filled the brightening sky and the air was crisp and fresh, yet smelled of manure and food. When I went back to the room, four pairs of eyes met mine and I knew my family was up. We went into the connecting room that was serving as the living room to experience breakfast. Our hosts entered bringing in platter by platter of traditional Vietnamese cuisine. First came the grilled morning glory with garlic, then Pho, a customary noodle soup, along with toasted French bread, and finally chunks of juicy red and yellow watermelon. It was savory!

We needed a way to fill our time, so like any normal lively kids we went outside to play in the yard that seemed to hold secrets and adventures. Cops and Robbers! Excited we split up behind the old house. Suddenly we saw a pig, a small runt, lying dead in a burn pile. In the midst of the Vietnamese heat and humidity, we were stunned as the aroma of rotten corpse mixed with burned leaves rose into our nostrils!

By mid-morning half way through our stay, we were out of ideas. Our mom had gone to the market, so we, my siblings, dad, and I, resolved to sit around like average lazy Americans and watch “Gao Rangers!” with our little friend, Hui. Except, it was quite difficult. “Gao Rangers!”, a Vietnamese version of Power Rangers, was the only movie in the place. It was quite interesting the first time despite the unfamiliar chatter filling our ears, but to our disappointment the movie never finished. Time and time again Hui rewound the DVD and watched a particularly action-packed climatic scene over and over and over again. Eventually he left and we finished the movie, but none of us will ever forget those 5 ‘power’ rangers flying down to save the day!

As our ‘journey’ was coming to an end, we encountered one more trial which was the real reason our travels took us back home. It occurred one evening just as the sun was setting and the brilliant red, orange, and dark purple colors of the sunset were like a painting on a canvas. My mom and dad were sitting at a couch when all the sudden the hostess of the house and her daughter went up to them and began asking a serious looking question. My mother went berserk, politely, and my dad became repulsed, politely. The next morning, to our host’s disappointment we left the quaint, traditional Vietnamese village of Pleiku, only later to find out that the host had asked my dad if he would marry her daughter.