"It's Christmastime in Hanoi again and the Metropole Hotel is lit up like an amusement park. In the courtyard, a monstrous white tree with bright red ornamental balls towers over the swimming pool. The decorative palms shine blindingly bright with a million tiny bulbs. I'm on my second gin and tonic and planning on having a third, settled back in a heavy rattan chair and feeling the kind of sorry for myself that most people would be very content with. There's incense in the air, buffeted about by the slowly moving overhead fans; a sickly-sweet odor that mirrors perfectly my mixed feelings of dull heartache and exquisite pleasure. I often feel this way when alone in Southeast Asia hotel bars-- an enhanced sense of bathos, an ironic dry-smile sorrow, a sharpened sense of distance and loss. Today, this feeling will disappear the second I'm out of the door."
(Anthony Bourdain)
Xiamen, China, ca. Oct. 2018: 12 hours layover, I existed immigration with a day pass and headed out to find local food - anywhere the airport bus took me was fine; it was doing a roundabout of the city, according to the map, with drop off points you can hop on, hop off as you wished. With no language and geographic orientation where I was, I rode along a coastline-route and went with the flow watching a new country unfold before me on the fly. Entering the first commercial district stop, there were manual bicycles and clean taxis on the avenues, a red temple and signs of workweek bustle, although benign, I got off and told myself, Let's see what happens. I followed the path were people worshiped (it is universal, I see, that food is always followed by sacrifice here - I couldn't agree more) so there I was incense-burning and bowing heartfelt, forward and back. Shortly after, around the corner of the plaza leading downstairs, there it was: a hawkers open food court and noodle shops! if "heaven" were surely upstairs, it was to find a "hell" of a time just below to feed the hungry, earthly soul (not to mention jetlagged). It took one translation app on my cell phone to communicate what I was looking for, and flashing it politely to a kind stranger willing to speak with me, he said, in return quite quickly, Come over here (from Cantonese), waving me the foot direction. Whole crawfish spicy noodle soup was a staple to the Xiamenese, given their proximity to fresh sea-catch daily. The complexity of the broth came from directly flash-frying in the scalding extreme, concave heat of the wok awaiting ginger and green onions essences to internalize in the shellfish flaming up with rice wine to then materialize the magic of your soup with the requisite local beer in hand (simple and grand). Often in my travels I wonder why when your food is so good the concept of heaven is almost always blurred when something that is hot and tangible and divine hits your tongue, and why give this up now? I had been a follower of Bourdain's "spirit" through his world food odysseys - and it's because of his kindred attention to writing about it so well (like a poetic "Captain"). The man I followed to this noodle shop actually owned the place, and we hit it off thanks to google translate and eye contact that gestured humanity and sincerity without words. His young family arrived in tow, a little later, and I was introduced and that I was only visiting for a few hours, and his wife without batting an eyelash commandeered the table and told her husband, Let's take him around town on our motorbikes, quick let's all go now with the kids. Their toddler in front of Mr. and I behind, on another bike was Mrs. with their daughter, and off we went on a joy ride to god knows where, I merely trusted the universe to show me a good time, Far East breeze of the Orient blowing through my face, and holding tight on the backseat grate, I let all my trepidations go... and it was a super day, deep, unforgettable Samaritan hospitality speaking a common language from our hearts because of food. I am still in touch with the family from Xiamen. And this instant friendship story I will always remember with gratitude is for them.
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