Life is suffering - it seems that sounds like one of the fundamental truths of Buddhism. In my case, this began to affect literally in the first minutes of my stay on Vietnamese soil. At the airport in Ho Chi Minh City, through which I flew to Hanoi, I was struck by terrible sciatica, almost literally forcing me to bend in half. What helped me survive those unpleasant moments? Of course, the sense of humor with which in Vietnam no one ever has problems.
At the Hanoi airport Noi Bai, a driver met me, looking like a little boy of about 14 years old (Vietnam generally looks like one big high school) with a striking sign: WELCOME, MR. LEVIN CYRILLIC.
It is such a nickname - "Cyrillic Levin" - for some unknown reason that the host side appropriated to me. And it was under him that I was mentioned in all official lists of tourists.
-Do you speak English? I asked the little boy.
“No,” he answered, giving me a radiant smile in return.
-Russian? No? O.K. No problem.
That’s how, or something like that, all my subsequent dialogues with the local population took place. Relations with the Vietnamese from the very beginning have been quite warm. They did not understand what I was saying, but I did not understand what they were saying.
The first impression of Hanoi is a teeming anthill. Never in my life have I seen so many people: the horde of Khan Mamaia before the battle on the Kulikovo field, only on motorcycles. Yes, this is the most popular and most convenient means of transportation here: driving a car in such cramped quarters is much harder. I will not sin against the truth if I say that the Russian driver in this city simply could not leave the garage.
The little boy drove me to the office of the company, where I had to pay for the tour. The manager of the company, "a boy already 12 years old," politely opened the car door:
- Mr. Levin Cyrillic?
“Yes,” I replied to my new nickname.
-Welcome to Vietnam! My name is:
However, of course, I did not remember his name. Accompanied by the manager, I headed to the office. Everything in Vietnam - offices, shops, cafes and other institutions - is extremely small, but something is completely tiny. The office I needed was no exception. By the way, the doors of the rooms here either do not close, or they do not exist at all. Vietnamese are an open people. Why do they need doors?
At the entrance to the room almost always there are either motorcycles or bicycles. And at lunchtime, people just leave the offices, sit right on the sidewalk, pull out chopsticks, rice, noodles and eat quietly, not paying attention to anyone. Nobody thinks that it might hinder someone from going through, creating inconvenience, and if it bothers someone, no one is offended. In this country, in general, no one is nervous and does not even raise his voice at each other. The Vietnamese behave as if they are sure that they will live forever. And if eternity lies ahead, why worry about all the little things?
I paid for the tour and asked the manager to take me to the nearest exchange office to get acquainted with the dongs - the local currency. At the exchange, I pulled out two hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the cashier. When he counted out 500 thousand dongs, surprise was expressed on my face. When the amount reached a million, my eyes, already square, climbed onto my forehead. A million and a half. Two. Two and a half. Three!!! Three "lemons" for two hundred bucks! Comrade Ho Chi Minh winked at me cheerfully from the last 100,000th note. Let me introduce myself: Mr. Levin Cyrillic, the official Vietnamese millionaire.
However, this is no longer funny, I thought, sitting in a Hanoi cafe and eating white rice with a tiny spoon. Radiculitis did not let go, but this is only the first day of seven. What to do? In addition to Suffering and its causes, there is also Liberation from suffering and the Path to liberation. How to find this way?
So what do I even know about Vietnam? The liberation struggle of the Vietnamese people against the American imperialists: No, this obviously will not help me. What else?
Finally it dawned on me: balm! In a red tube with a star! In the old Soviet times, it was sold in every pharmacy. Good remedy. Surely something like this should be now. Need to find a pharmacy. Where is the path to liberation?
The waitress said "good evening". Maybe she knows some other words?
- Excuse me. May I ask you, please? I am looking for the chemist 's. Is there any chemist's near to the café? 1
Instead of an answer, the waitress gave me a sunny smile, but shook her head negatively.
“Medicines,” I made another attempt. - Pills!
Fortunately for me, two pale-faced women sat at the next table, who explained to me that the pharmacy was not so far away. A few minutes later I was already in place.
An elderly saleswoman stood at the pharmacy counter and talked animatedly with another Vietnamese. I stood for two or three minutes, looking around the medical supplies and expecting that she would pay attention to me. But in vain: the saleswoman did not notice me, enthusiastically continuing to chat. Talking with these people in any language is useless. Need to act.
“Paper,” I said decisively, gesturing that I was going to write. The saleswoman handed me a piece of paper.
"BALSAM," I wrote a keyword on paper. The saleswoman shook her head, not forgetting to smile sweetly. Yes, it can’t be that it wasn’t!
- Listen to me! Back, problems, oh, oh, problems, ”I pointed to my sore lower back, making a grimace of pain. Both Vietnamese also tragically shook their heads: they say, yes, we understand.
- Balsam, - I poked at a piece of paper, - to smear, Whack-Whack, and good. Good! - I made a joyful grimace.
Both Vietnamese women also shook their heads cheerfully in response.
After a couple of minutes, the saleswoman pulled out the coveted tube with White Tiger balm. The tiger is a symbol of strength, and white is the color of good and light. The White Tiger really soon lifted me to my feet.
Meeting with the leader
Usually the first day of sightseeing is a sightseeing tour of the city, stories about the main attractions, stops for photographing, etc. But the tour of Hanoi is special. The main pride of the city is the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh City. There are only four such places in the world: in Russia, China, North Korea and here. So the place is very interesting.
On the way to the mausoleum, tourists took away cameras and video cameras. They all built in two (I was paired with one Japanese woman) and led the formation inward. If I’m not mistaken, the last time I walked in the ranks was in the 10th grade NVP lessons.
Everywhere on the way stood sentinels in ceremonial white uniforms; their faces were strict and concentrated. I, on the contrary, cheekily thrust my hands into the pockets of my leather coat and immediately received a comment from the sentry. Hands from the pockets had to be pulled out. Ahead of me, a tourist from Brazil received an order to remove her hat. And so we build along the entire Mausoleum, reaching the body of the Great Leader. Slowly and silently circling the body, under the stern gaze of the frozen sentinels we moved toward the exit, giving way to the next group.
My secret dream came true. Now, with good reason, I can safely say that I saw this Ho Chi Minh City in a coffin. In the literal sense of the word.
Spell
On January 10, on Monday, as part of the "limited contingent" of foreign tourists, I arrived in a place called Hoa Lu, from where I was to take a trip on a small boat to Tam Coc, which translates as "Three Grottoes", an amazingly beautiful creation of nature.
Along with the Swedish tourist, we stepped into the boat, and our rower, a thin woman of about 30, made the first swing with an oar.
Nature in this country resembles a living organism. Everything here - wind, mountains, rocks, caves, ravines, sky, river - as if breathing, living its own life. The wind blows, it gets cold, and it seems that it is worth asking the wind not to blow, and it will stop. Mountains bizarrely resemble animal figures or parts thereof. Something is like the tail of a dragon, and something like the head of a tiger. And it seems that even a moment, and the dragon moves its tail; another moment - the tiger rises and gracefully rushes after its prey into the surrounding forest. Caves look like an entrance to parallel worlds, the abode of spirits. It is as if the river itself leads you in the right direction, protecting your peace and security.
If you treat all this beauty with love and understanding, then nature will answer you the same. This is how, for centuries, people live here - in harmony with the outside world. Therefore, they themselves easily and confidently adapt to everything, feeling the great power of nature. And what can be afraid with such support?
Our boat slowly entered the first of three grottoes. And all of a sudden it suddenly darkened, the light disappeared, and only the sound of an oar cutting through the water disturbed the rest. And after a couple of seconds from the opposite end another boat entered the grotto with the same thin woman with oars in her hands and tourists on board.
Then our Vietnamese suddenly sang. So, as only women of this country can sing. In its incomprehensible, magic spell-like magic language. How much power and light was in this song and in its very voice! Another Vietnamese answered her from the other end. Two voices merged into one, and suddenly everything lost its meaning, it went nowhere, falling into the void. What is it? What happened to me here? Nirvana?
Retreat late
The next morning I sat in the lobby of the hotel with things waiting for a guide. I already checked out of the hotel, as the next excursion was two-day: I had to spend the night on Cat Ba Island near Ha Long Bay. I had to get there first by bus, and then by ferry along with other tourists.
Usually a sightseeing bus drove around the hotels, gathering people. And after everyone was together, the tour began. Finally the guide appeared and we left the hotel.
Immediately at the exit, some unkind premonition pricked me in the chest. Something today was not the same as before. But what? And then a hunch struck me. There was no bus! What will he take me to the gathering place on? Motorcycle? Will he take me on a motorcycle? Oh no it can't be! This is not the first day I've lived in this city and had a good idea what kind of movement is here. How do I get to the place?
Well, have sailed. Got it, damn it. I got some unconscious anger at myself. What the hell are you doing here? Exotic, he wanted, you see. Life has become boring. What, nowhere else to go? Now you get exotic! According to the full program. One of two things: either an accident or a broken heart.
But it was too late to retreat. A Cossack should not be afraid of anything in this world. Crossing myself mentally, I went for a guide to his motorcycle. The Vietnamese looked quite self-confident and optimistic. He deftly threw both my bags somewhere under himself, he gestured to me at the back seat, cheerfully clapping himself on the sides: they say, hold on tight, otherwise you will fall. And we rushed to the roadway, teeming with motorcycles, bicycles, cars and just people.
“Well, that’s the end,” I thought, when the driver aimed his motorcycle directly at two cars at once. “Where is he going? Mom! Mom!”
I was already ready to squeeze my eyes, as the heroes of cheap comedies do on the screen, but no: at the last moment a sniff, and the Vietnamese managed to slip into some gap between the two machines. The danger has passed. And so we drove all the way — diving, jumping, yurk — from one turn to another. And right in the ass from their "iron horses" I was honored by other children of nature.
But what is it? Because of the turn, a white Matiz is coming towards us! "Our Father,
like thou shalt be in heaven
Hallowed be thy name: "
But no, and this time the “iron horse” managed to slip through.
- O.K.? - the Vietnamese winked at me merrily.
- O.K. - not very fun, I muttered in response. For some reason, his optimism and self-confidence were not transmitted to me.
And finally, we drove on a relatively wide road. Then thunder struck, and the first drops of rain fell from heaven to earth. The wind playfully waved the floors of my open raincoat. We merged with the flow of people, cars, motorcycles, and all this mixed up with rain and wind, turning into something unearthly ...
Where I am? In nirvana?
I left, and the wind with the rook continued the argument in the distance.
The reflection of the clouds dissolved in a stormy river.
I am on my way and I don’t have any worries and worries.
My lonely boat, breaking the wave, floats ...
Last night 
- Mr. Levin Cyrillic? - the bell rang in my room.
“Yes,” I answered habitually to my Vietnamese pseudonym.
- I would like to reconfirm. Tomorrow we will pick you up at the hotel between 8.45. and 9.00 and take you to the airport. Is it O.K?
- Yeah, it 's O.K.
- So, how was the trip?
- The trip was great! Really. Thank you very much for everything you did for me. It was just unforgettable.2
1, Sorry, can I contact you? I need a pharmacy. Should there be a pharmacy nearby?
2, I would like to confirm something: Tomorrow we will pick you up from their hotel between 8.45 and 9.00 and take you to the airport. Have you agreed?
- Good.
Did you like the trip?
The trip was just wonderful! True! Thanks for all. What have you done for us. It is simply unforgettable!
Dmitry Levin
