The monsoon season
turns even the most mundane aspects of Vietnamese daily life into a splendid
watercolor painting. In the morning, the flower ladies of Quan Thanh
Street make bouquets of unbloomed lotuses and small orange roses, lined up on
the sidewalk. They rip leaves and snip thorns, pausing to joke with their
neighbors and shovel some phơ noodles into their mouths. Behind them,
West Lake glistens in waves of hazy pinks and lavenders. Dead fish, shredded
plastic wrappers, and floating Bia Hoi beer cans dot the surface of the water.
As the daily smog engulfs the city, a muted yellow light descends in the early
afternoon. The city turns quiet. Everyone parks their motorbikes
and puts away the products they've been selling. Clouds brood over the
lake. Then the rains come. It does not begin to rain, as one would
say in English. The rains come. They deserve their plurality,
splashing on every surface of Hanoi with abandon.
The rains march in heavy
plods down the alleys, carrying along pomelo rinds, broken furniture, and
newspaper. Pedestrians don ponchos that stick to their bodies and hang
down to their knees. Sloshing through the water, they swat at their
ponchos as the plastic gathers in between their legs.
Though the rains appear without the audible warning of thunder, the rushing
sound, like a wild boar charging through a thicket of reeds, makes it difficult
to hear. The droplets are so thick that they fall in visible white
streams. The Vietnamese retreat to the cafe nearest their parked
motorbike, the rains inspiring a thirst for a yogurt smoothie. In Hanoi,
this means a matter of yards--one can expect at least two on any street or alley.
Straining to slurp the thick liquid through the curled straw, the displaced
look out the window and wait.
Sunlight forces its way over Hanoi,
drenching the city in brightness. Since no one has yet realized that the
sound of rain has dissipated, the light startles. Slowly, the beeps of
motorbikes start up and crescendo until the city reaches its usual
cacophony. During the months of June through September, there is never a
question of whether it will rain. Instead, the Vietnamese wonder at what
time it will rain and how many times.