I remember meandering the streets in 2004, by myself. Crossing the street was stressful, and yet yesterday, within our pack, it was manageable. We just crossed as one organism, weaving through and part of this flow on the streets. I think back to last time, on my own, when I never felt part of anything, but felt rather lost. I remember then feeling I had to rise against it, that Hanoi was something to be conquered. Maybe I wasn’t in the right place; maybe it wasn’t the right time.

You never really know with cities. They’re like people, and you don’t always hit it off.

And so I have the opportunity to relearn this city, and reshape what I thought I knew: transforming largely negative memories into new and fresh ones. I look at street corners and food stalls and cute cafes, picturing me here and there, sitting on a plastic stool slurping a bowl of pho; lounging at a table with a book and a cafe sua da with my husband, who smokes a cigarette and smiles at the delicious chaos of these streets. I imagine strolling alleys for nooks and crannies — and corners I would not have turned ten years ago.

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