Open-minded or not

For me, Vietnam marked the beginning of one of the most exciting chapters of my journey, and Hanoi was the perfect shocking and confusing introduction that makes you not want to put the book down.

The North of Vietnam welcomed me with temperatures that the typical German backpacker is not prepared for: at night, the temperatures dropped below 10 degrees, and after three weeks, I gave in and invested ten euros in a first-class Adidas jacket, which is still my daily companion today.

After the officer at the passport control stamped my passport and grumpily waved me through after endless minutes, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. The website of the Vietnamese government had reminded me more of a discount supermarket, and I could not believe it until I left the airport. That was indeed a visa.

I stomped out of the airport and immediately encountered a taxi driver. What can I say, exhausted, I got in the unofficial-looking taxi and directed my driver to the new accommodation. After an hour, we reached the building, a huge rundown skyscraper. Cool. Just before I got out, my friendly taxi driver from earlier turned into such an aggressive asshole that I ended up paying double the usual fare. Exhausted, I started searching for the entrance, passing by two rats, and went up to the 26th floor. Finally, I found apartment number 1 in the dark hallway. Completely confused, I knocked. A group of Vietnamese faces started to smile and pulled me into their arms. They offered me food and let me sleep in their bed. All the baggage and excitement of the past hours fell off of me. No matter how disgusting this place was, I was warmly welcomed here.

In the next few days, I got to know Vietnamese organization at its best. My arrival date at 'Mercury,' the language school where I would teach in exchange for accommodation and meals for the next two weeks, had been set for months. Nevertheless, no one had a clue that I was arriving on this evening. I had no bed, I was not on the timetable. I was a stowaway for the rest of the week.

There were two apartments belonging to the organization. Two apartments for about 5 Vietnamese and 12 volunteer helpers. We slept together in rock-hard beds, surrounded by the constant noise of the 8-lane road next door. Warm water was not often granted, cockroaches sat in the sink in the mornings, and the bathroom smelled unmistakably like a public toilet. The balcony was the only place for me in this chaos.

I wanted to use my first days in Hanoi to explore the city, but I ended up spending the first day on our balcony. This city was so gray, loud, and unfathomable. Hanoi was the first city that made me feel uneasy.

On my second day, I explored our surroundings, about 12 km from the city center. The first challenge was crossing the road. I don't know about you, but I would never walk along a highway at home, and that's exactly what was demanded of me from now on every day. The first few days, I had sweaty hands, but eventually, I just went for it. Living on the edge.

The second challenge of this day was the stares. Stares that pierce through you, fingers pointing at you, groups of men bumping into each other and pointing at you.

I claim to be a very open person. Wherever I go, I try to see through the eyes of the people who live there. To inform myself and take new perspectives before I judge. And Hanoi couldn't stop me from wandering through every alley and discovering the furthest corners of this city.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that this place didn't want me here. Even after two weeks, when I could ignore the stares, decipher the Vietnamese menus a bit, and find landmarks, I still didn't feel comfortable. And every evening, I returned to this dreary apartment. Every day, we ate rice with boiled meat and water spinach. I counted the days until I could leave. Open-minded or not, some places on earth mean well with you, while others want to get rid of you. No matter how hard I tried, I had to accept at some point that with certain people, an open-minded attitude alone would never be enough to reach them. Cultural, linguistic, and wealth differences cannot always be easily bridged. That was the first moment in my journey when I realized that change takes time and that as a backpacker who just arrived, you have to accept that certain bridges have not yet been built. And that's okay. It was okay for me.

Nevertheless, I wanted to get to know Hanoi, and Mercury gave me the opportunity to do so. For two weeks, I taught English to Vietnamese people of all ages and got the chance to immerse myself in their lives, and lo and behold, they are just like you and me. Young people who worry about their future, mothers who take care of their children, men who talk about their work. We were so different in many ways, yet we all had the same problems. Talking openly with the people, asking questions, laughing and discussing together, opened our eyes and brought us closer together.

Suddenly, I walked through these streets and understood the secretive glances. Hardly any of these people had ever been abroad. Hardly any tourists ventured into this neighborhood. I could appreciate our meals. The rice that fills us up and the meat that is used to the last edible part. Slowly, I could also see Hanoi with different eyes.

I went out to eat with one of my "students," went on excursions with my colleagues, got drunk with unfamiliar Vietnamese people during a football game, and ate dinner together like a family.

Hanoi was certainly not a beautiful place, but here, we crossed borders again, celebrated, went new ways, lived, every day.