Our trip was coming to a close. I only had a short time left in my homeland. I had mixed feelings about leaving. Part of me was excited to get back home, but part of me just wasn’t yet ready to go. I felt there was still so much for me to see, to do, to experience.

Not only did I want to explore more of my country, I also wanted to spend more time with my relatives. I felt like I was just getting to know them. There was a certain bond I felt, a sense of familiarity and comfort. My relatives were so gracious while we were there. Although they don’t have the “wealth” that we have here in the United States, they have great wealth in their generosity and spirit. Tom and I felt so at home during our visit that I couldn’t believe it took us this long to come back.

The last outing we took was to Bến Tre, a southern province of Vietnam. This was one of the most memorable parts of the trip for me. We took what I call tippy- tippy boats along the Mekong River where we passed little resorts made of bamboo surrounded by lush, green foliage that resembled lily pads. It was very tropical and exactly what I thought Vietnam would be like. We stopped at a coconut candy “factory,” which was basically an outdoor area with an urn-like floor unit that churned hot coconut. In the middle of this area were women who sat around large wooden tables, hand-rolling the freshly-churned hot coconut into candies. I couldn’t help but sit down and asked if I could join them. So there I was, in the middle of what appeared to be a tropical rain forest, hand-rolling candy with strangers. As I was talking with them, I realized we were really not that different. We have hopes. We have dreams. And we all have life challenges that we deal with in our own ways. At that moment, home had a different meaning for me. It’s not a place or building, necessarily, but it’s where the heart is.

As we were preparing to leave, Tom and I agreed this was one of the best vacations we’ve ever taken. We didn’t bring home many souvenirs. But what we did bring back were memories – memories of a country and its people that will always be a part of me. That was January, 2003.

Today is June, 2009. We currently have some of those same relatives visiting from Canada and Vietnam. Now that they’re on MY turf, MY domain, I sometimes wonder if they feel like foreigners, like I once did. Last night, my question was answered. We went on a beautiful dinner cruise down the St. Croix River, leaving from Taylors Falls. I watched my relatives laugh and take pictures with other locals on the river boat. As I watched them dance in the cool night breeze to classics from the Eagles and Van Morrison, I realized - Nope. They feel right at home.

We took an excursion to Hoi An and Danang (small cities on the South Central Coast of Vietnam) then traveled onto Huế (a city in Central Vietnam well known for its monuments and architecture). We hiked through amazing caves and climbed steep paths that overlooked a beautiful countryside.

As we drove along the South China Sea, we saw a beautiful bay overlooking a pass called Hai Van Pass. The story behind this bay is sad but has a faithful ending. A long time ago, the people in this area put those who had leprosy onto boats and left them in the sea, leaving them to die. As luck (or perhaps faith) would have it, the wind and waves brought the boats back into the bay where these people started their own community. Over the years, they had children who, fortunately, were not affected by this disease. As the children grew up, they left the community one by one. Today, there are still approximately 300 people left in the community.

A couple of days later, we visited Vung Tau (a resort town approximately 78 miles northeast of Saigon). While we there, we visited my dad’s old dental clinic, the hospital where I was born, and the military barracks where we lived. We had a fantastic lunch of blue crab in a restaurant on the beaches of Vung Tau. This was so ironic considering what we were doing the last time we were on this beach. You see, the beach at Vung Tau is where my family left when we fled our country over three decades ago. It was on these beaches that we ran for our lives from the communist soldiers. Luckily, we made it. Unfortunately, not everyone did. As my dad and I stood on the beach, he had a far away look in his eyes as he stared into the sea. I could only imagine what he was thinking – the life he left behind, the parents he would never see again. I couldn’t imagine having gone through what my parents did. I stood next to him for awhile then walked away so he could have time for his own thoughts.

At this point in the trip, I felt like such a foreigner. After having been raised and grown up in America, everything here was so foreign to me. And not foreign because I haven’t traveled much (Tom and I have collectively traveled to over 18 countries). No, it was foreign because although these are MY people, MY country, and MY heritage, I knew so little about it. Sure, I knew what I had been taught in school. But what they didn’t teach me was my sense of yearning and even the sense of sadness of what used to be.

Not only was my people foreign to me, but I was foreign to them. I knew it and they knew it too. It was made more clearly to me when we went on tours. There are two prices charged to tourists - one price (a lower one) for the Vietnamese and one price (a higher one) for the foreigners. Although I’m Vietnamese, I had to pay the foreigner’s price because I was married to an American. If that wasn’t enough, there are separate entrances at some tourist spots – again, one for the Vietnamese and one for foreigners. Guess which one I went through? However, the feeling of division I felt would soon be gone.