After teaching in Vietnam for nearly ten years, I left in 2003 to very mixed emotions, not knowing if and when I would be able to return. This past week, I had the extreme fortune of returning to Hanoi for the first time since 2009. A lot has changed since then, both in the heart of Hanoi and in me. When I left Vietnam, I had yet to write my first novel. Now I had the opportunity to bring my novel to its source.

I can’t quite express what it meant to be back amongst the people I have grown to love. Seeing old friends, visiting many museums, walking to exhaustion each day as I travelled the chaotic streets – all of these were absolute highlights. But perhaps the favorite thing I loved – the thing I missed the most – was speaking Vietnamese with the unsuspecting public.

When I lived in Vietnam, I was a sight to behold – a tall white foreigner. There weren’t many of them. That’s no longer true. Hanoi today is covered with tourists from all over the world. The rocking bar scene in Ha Tien Street felt like a crazy night scene in Bangkok or Pattaya. The local population is immune to the foreigners, except for enticing them to spend money on banh mi sandwiches, craft beer, or midnight bowls of pho. Nobody looked at me as I walked by. I was just another tourist blending into the endless flow of cash being pumped into the country.

While I didn’t mind blending into the crowd for once, I didn’t stay blended in long because I would open my mouth and Vietnamese would slip out naturally as if flowing from a waterfall. The Vietnamese language came back with a vengence. It overwhelmed me in the best possible sense. I would listen to conversations as I passed by and the words would come alive in my ears. I would see an item in a shop or on the street and the Vietnamese word I hadn’t thought of in 20 years would pop into my mind. It was a tremendous awakening. But the most enjoyable thing would be to walk past the crazy tourist streets and find a lady on a quiet street with a small drink stand and a half-dozen minature plastic stools waiting to make a small income. I would sit down and order, “Co oi, mot coc nuoc mia, nhe!” – (May I have a glass of sugar cane juice.) She would, of course, be surprised at my Vietnamese and we would start chatting and I would tell her about my past and tell her how much I love Vietnam and tell her how much I love the refreshing sugar cane juice. One day, I ordered a passion fruit drink and a Vietnamese man struck up a conversation with me. At the end, he asked who my Vietnamese teacher was because she must have been good. He said Vietnamese is difficult and my pronunciation is very “standard.” Another person told me my pronunciation is very pleasant to listen to. After 20 years, I couldn’t complain.

I guess it’s just a fact that Vietnam has gotten into my soul and hasn’t left. I think this made me happiest. To be able to travel to a foreign county and know people at a personable level without having to rely on Google translate or fractured accents is a gift. This will not be my last time in Vietnam, I’m sure of it. And my novel is just a taste of how this beautiful land and culture has affected me. Welcome home, Lady Trieu. This is where you are from.