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The English content below is automatically generated by Google Translate. Please ignore any wrong wordings or you could change the default language to Vietnamese.
The deafening sound of the train whistle drowned out all sounds in the station. When the train arrived at the dock, when the steam locomotive began to release smoke, people standing and sitting moved around, gathering in large and small groups in front of the door area of each car waiting for tickets. Backpacks were carried in the arms and armpits, plastic bags tied with bows a few times. Inside, you could clearly see a bunch of bananas and a pile of country eggs wrapped in a few sheets of olive notebook paper. This girl climbed on the train and still did not forget to look back to greet her younger brother: “Let’s go.”
I recall the short story “Two children, a train releasing white smoke carrying my dreams from my childhood days. Does anyone know what I like most about trains? It’s the smell that lingers in the air every time the train passes by, the smell of foreign grass and trees and the smell of long-distance dust from distant lands.
I chose the soft seat in car 3. After a while of traveling, being able to lie down was a happiness worthy of breathing a sigh of relief.
The first thing that caught my attention was the phone calls that started reaching train riders. Familiar answers that anyone who hears can understand what the other end of the line is asking and what their feelings are. “I’m on the train, I’ll be there in 2 hours, don’t worry.” “Here mom, I’ll be sure to get up and call a taxi. Yes, I know… What a short period of sound, just a few words of conversation but enough to stir the lake inside me.
The calls gradually became less frequent as the train began to roll, with a few gasps. Once it got into gear, the train ran very smoothly, almost no longer vibrating or shaking. People gradually left behind their worries and thoughts or hurriedly leaned back in their chairs. People holding phones to watch movies and read newspapers. The person wore sunglasses and put on a coat to cover himself, trying to sleep. I suddenly realized that once we got on the train, it wasn’t clear where they were going or what they were doing, but now we were so similar. Agree to put everything aside so the train can lead us to the final stop. The train won’t stop, won’t go faster for any of us.
I opened my eyes and felt a slight pain around my ears. Not sure when I leaned my head against the window and fell asleep. I realized the train was in Hanoi when the first spans of the bridge made the sound on the train change, louder, deeper, and the train also shook a bit more. Just as I was about to reach Long Bien station, Hanoi subtly woke me up.
This is Long Bien bridge, a historical part of Hanoi. In my dream, I remembered the day when I was a child and my grandfather rode a bicycle on the bridge, watching the Red River flowing under my feet, dropping downhill to the bridge and then going all the way to Tran Nhat Duat to go home. Under the spindly tree branches, I passed by a small alley without bothering to look back. My childhood was like a slow-motion movie, just passing by before my eyes.
This season in Hanoi, the trees are changing leaves, the canopy of green leaves, yellow leaves, and red leaves creates a brilliant area below. Dump trucks carrying pineapples parked on the side of the road. The ladies pick, carry, and carry baskets of pineapples gracefully moving back and forth between the bustling traffic. The “small gardens” grow vegetables and somewhere you can see peach branches, blooming in the middle of the lonely streets. Children run and jump carefree next to walls full of random graffiti on the boring cement floor. In the distance is Hanoi’s Old Quarter, always bustling with tourists. The train took me through the bustling streets below, seeing Hanoi in a very different way. Admire the small alleys through the spindly trees, admiring the old tenement-style houses typical of Hanoi. A Hanoi that is both bustling and developed but somewhere still carries the breath of the old days, a Hanoi that is beautiful because of its people, beautiful because of the passages of time that still dye every tiled roof and peeling yellow wall.
Hanoi through the train window appears like a painting through an old picture frame, still intact with the values that only the “city in the riverbed” can fully exude. So for a long time, there was a Hanoi I had missed through the train window. Perhaps everyday life is truly beautiful only when we are willing to acknowledge it.
“The train has arrived at Long Bien station. Please check your luggage carefully before getting off the train. Thank you and see you again.”
The sound of the loudspeaker brought me back to reality. Joining the crowd, I set foot at Long Bien station. The station is small and beautiful, newly renovated so it looks much cleaner and more spacious than the last time I visited.
Remember the old days when it was said that Long Bien Station is actually not a true station, but just a stop to pick up and drop off passengers in Hanoi’s Old Quarter area. Later, it was named station + Dau Cau, because it was attached to Long Bien bridge. This station has only one main track, without side tracks or platforms for passengers to get on and off the train like other “genuine” stations.
Not in a hurry to catch the bus to leave the station, I just leisurely walked around this place. Leisurely passing through the side gate, I was standing in front of a hollow stone arch where the ship was “floating” above Gam Cau Street. It’s hard to believe, but perhaps the people here are so used to the strange image before their eyes that they don’t even bother to take a look. Everyone does their own thing, I’ve been tilting my head for a few minutes now.
People often compare each person’s life to the image of a train. There are also departure and arrival stations, and ending stations, as well as large and small goals that we must achieve, just like the stations where the train must arrive; There are also people with whom we will go for a few stops or who will accompany us until the end of the journey.
This time the journey stops here, with an unhurried trip, I will see Hanoi again through the train window.
