My butt kept sliding out of the narrow fiberglass bucket seat in the train terminal in Nha Trang as Lisa and I huddled to devise a strategy to overcome the crowd of locals gathering in a waiting room nearby. I asked myself aloud, “Where are we supposed to wait for the train?” as I looked up at the clock on the wall. A stocky Vietnamese man just happened to be walking by as I spoke the words and he turned to me, smiled and said in very clear English, “Oh, let me find out for you.”

“Oh boy, here we go again!” I thought to myself as yet another overly helpful Vietnamese had aimed his sights at us preparing to separate us from our money. But he spoke good English and we were genuinely confused of where to go so we allowed him to help.

He beckoned me to follow and we walked right up to the ticket-taker. He spoke in Vietnamese and then turned to me to ask me to show our tickets. The ticket taker looked at them and said something in Vietnamese. The man told me that the train would be boarding from this gate. I thanked him and couldn’t help but ask where he had learned to speak such good English. “I’m an American!” he said loudly as if he were pulling off a mask to reveal his identity. He laughed. In the space of ten seconds this man’s boyish charm won me over and I knew that I liked him. That was my first impression.

As we exchanged names and pleasantries he told us the best half of his story. He introduced himself as Louie, an odd name for a Vietnamese man. It turns out this was his Anglicized name. His real name was Moui, which meant the number ten in Vietnamese. He was the tenth of twelve children. Creative parents, non? He was born in Danang, Vietnam but now he lived in Denver, Colorado where he had recently been laid off from his job as an automotive painter. His talk of 401k’s and high rents disarmed our initial skepticism. We could really relate to someone for the first time since bidding farewell to the ambiguously gay duo in Malaysia. We had met a fair share of Aussies, Brits and Kiwi’s in Thailand, Lao and Cambodia and although they speak the Queen’s English quite well, when it comes to humor they might as well be from a different planet. Moui was funny and quite animated.

He asked us in which coach our seats were assigned. When we told him we had invested in a sleeper car he exclaimed, “Oooooh, expensive.” As he wandered off he said he would come by our car and say hello after the train left the station. We returned to our less-than-comfortable seats in the train station and Lisa and I commented on how friendly he was and helpful too, maybe a little too friendly.

As we settled into our berths in the soft sleeper cabin, shared with two Vietnamese businessmen, Moui appeared and offered us some cakes wrapped in palm leaves. Aha! So maybe this was the scam we’ve heard about where a friendly local offers travelers drugged cookies and sweets and steals their stuff when they are unconscious. But there was something about this guy and we just couldn’t refuse his hospitality. So we threw caution to the wind and agreed to just about every invitation he dealt us. The cakes were delicious; a tarry looking gelatin pod filled with sweet coconut paste.

We shared our cramped quarters with our coach-mates thankful they didn’t have any chickens with them. We slept as well as can be expected on a rattling train. Western toilets on trains are bad enough with the contents dumping directly onto the passing rails but Asian toilets….Ick!!! Apparently most people had a hard time hitting the target as the water closet had a wet slick of black slime evenly spread across the floor.

As we pulled into the train station at Danang, Moui appeared again and asked if we would like to share a taxi with him and his wife for breakfast in town. Under the spell of his charm we agreed.

With Moui in the lead we shot through the train station and found a cab. Apparently breakfast plans had been cancelled and he offered to help us find a hotel, as we hadn’t made any arrangements yet. He suggested a hotel on the beach near his house. The taxi stopped by his home and we dropped off his wife. He accompanied us to a hotel of dubious quality. It was conveniently close to his home and located just across the street from the white sands of My Khe Beach, known as China Beach to many American servicemen during “The war of American aggression”. Again the alarm bells rang in our heads, as we grew concerned of his intentions. He invited us to lunch and left us with a friendly smile.

When we arrived at Moui's house for lunch, we were surprised to see most of his family in the living room. They were all excited to have lunch with us. We joined them around a large blanket spread across the cold tile living room floor. They were preparing for a feast. They fed us delicious soup into which we added our preferred spices and vegetables. Moui presented us with a strange fruit which we had seen in street vendor carts but didn’t have the courage to try. It looked like a small neon-pink nerve football with soft spongy green thorns. It kind of looks like a big pink hand grenade but its watery white meat with tiny black seeds tasted delicious. He showed us how to cut it and it melted in our mouths. Moui's family was so warm and friendly!. They spoke very little English but Moui provided interpretation for both sides.


Moui is pictured on the far right. Only half of his gracious family is shown here.

During our lunch Moui told the rest of his life story. He was 52 years old, which surprised us because he had more energy then Chris Sepe. During “The War” he had served in the army for the South. After Saigon fell in April of 1975 he was sent to “re-education camp” where he was imprisoned for four years before escaping on a boat with 28 other men to Hong Kong. In Hong Kong he was introduced to an aid organization that sponsored his immigration to America. He arrived in San Francisco where he learned to speak English at the age of 33. Several years later he made his way to Denver, Colorado where he now lives. Moui had overcome so much adversity and yet he had such positive energy. He was inspiring. With all the scammers and rip-offs we had met thus far, this man instantly restored our faith in humanity. His family didn’t speak much English but he showed us off to them like we were his best friends and they took us in like two cute stray puppies. He was almost too nice, if there can be such a thing. He informed us that they would be going to the market and we must have dinner with them that evening. Who were we to refuse such hospitality?

As the honey colored sunlight faded into dusk, we met Moui and his family at their house and it was as if we had arrived late. The meal had been laid out and it was elaborate: fresh squid, clams, and jellyfish along with bowls of spices and colorful vegetables. Moui’s wife began to cook up servings in a wok as the ingredients were collected and handed to her. A glass of sake was poured for everyone and we toasted to new friends. We were a bit apprehensive at first but we couldn't risk offence so we threw caution to the wind. Another glass of sake was poured and another toast offered. Seafood in central Vietnam turns out to be fresh and safe as it is caught offshore away from the filth and raw sewage draining into the sea. We tentatively sampled the squid mantles fried with lemongrass and garlic. All reluctance melted away after that first delicious plateful. Another glass was poured. The steamed clams dipped in a mixture of salt, pepper and MSG were delicious and much more appealing than the slices of raw jellyfish. Another glass was poured.

We talked into the night about life in Vietnam and Moui’s life in America. He was very open about his life, telling us that after arriving in America he met a woman of Italian background and they were married and have two children, now in their late teens. Before he married his “American wife” Moui was informed by his family that his “Vietnamese wife” had a child by him. He had made a life for himself in America and could not return to Vietnam. By the time his Vietnamese son turned sixteen the government had mellowed a bit. Moui was able to sponsor his son to come live with his American family in Denver. But that didn’t work out too well. The story gets vague here but Moui and his American wife split up and now he is trying to sponsor his Vietnamese wife to live in America with him. She has waited her entire life for him to return to her in Vietnam. Marriage, as it should be, is for a lifetime in the Vietnamese culture and she never remarried. He told us this story with her sitting nearby unable to understand the English he spoke. It was a touching story and he had a sparkle in his eye when he spoke of his Vietnamese wife and how much loved the woman sitting next to him. They didn’t seem to be too interested in what our families were like back home but they shared everything about themselves and we were eager to listen. We volunteered information when we could. Later that night, drunk out of our gourds, we danced the short distance to our hotel with bellies full of the best food we had eaten in the last two months and the only seafood we had eaten since January.

Just before sunrise the next day Moui and his cousin Hien pounded on our door, “Kwis…Kwis, come on were going swimming.” Hung over, but unable to refuse the invitation the three of us walked down to the beach and I was amazed to see hundreds of people swimming and playing in the ocean. Some were stretching on the beach and others were meditating. When I asked, Moui informed me that everybody goes swimming before going to work. It’s just what people do. We played in the waves as the sun rose in the east. Hien bumped into a jellyfish while swimming but it didn’t sting him. Instead, he hoisted the gelatinous creature (it was as long as he was tall) over his head and threw it as far as he could (about five feet). Less than a minute later it had swum back to him like I dog returning with a stick. Hien picked it up with a smile on his face and threw it again. He would repeat this several more times before losing interest.

After swimming in the ocean Moui took me to breakfast in Danang to his favorite restaurant, an unremarkable hole-in-the-wall that must have held some nostalgic value for him. He ordered us his favorite breakfast of Vietnamese coffee and fried eggs. We shared stories about relationships and for the first time I sensed the sadness over his split life between two worlds.

The next day Lisa and I motored around Danang searching for a gift to offer for such gracious hospitality. We presented our gift and delivered hugs and said goodbye with misty eyes. Unknown to us at the time, our time spent with Moui and his family would be our fondest memory of our visit to Vietnam. He wasn’t too thrilled about our plans to travel to the North as he still had some bad feelings toward the folks in that general direction. I pretended to understand as we waved goodbye, a lump stuck in my throat, wondering if we would ever meet again. He never wanted anything from us other than just to show off his family whom he loved dearly. We felt ashamed for doubting his intentions when we first met him.

Thank You Moui! You touched our hearts and made us feel like family. Please keep in touch when you return to America. We would love to share time with you again.

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