Chapter 1: Homecoming

It’s been two and a half months and many uncertain
developments since I last walked the streets of Da
Nang. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little
worried about what I would find. My entrance process
had changed, and my visa requirements had changed; it
was obvious that the Vietnamese government was a bit
apprehensive. There have been mandatory quarantine
zones across the country, and visitors from many of the
countries most heavily affected by the outbreak have
been banned from entry.

As things were beginning to spiral out of containment
and prevention and more toward full outbreak status
back home in the States, I was desperate to get out
before the U.S. was also placed on a banned list—or
worse, locked down in its own right. Even if just
temporarily, a travel ban from home would have been
devastating for me and my wife. I hadn’t slept well in a
few days, as my anxiety about getting home to Diem
was beginning to mount.

The flight from Doha to Da Nang was highly unusual.
The last flight I took to Da Nang was pretty full. This
flight was empty—eerily empty. There was only one
other person in my row, a young African man sitting in
the other window seat. The row consisted of three seats
on each side and four in the middle. There were no
travelers in the three rows in front of us or the two
rows behind us. There couldn’t have been thirty people
on the entire flight.

The attendants were kind and attentive, and the flight
was quiet and uneventful. I ate dinner, took two
sleeping pills, stretched out the length of my row of
seats, and tried to sleep. The plane would be landing at
6:45 a.m. Da Nang time, and it would be a rough day
without any rest. I awoke about two hours before
landing and ordered a cup of coffee. I settled into a
pretty good movie called Driven. It is about the fall of
John DeLorean. It was actually very interesting.

The attendants provided us with health declarations
that are now required for all people entering Vietnam.
It was a simple enough form: “Where have you visited
in the past fourteen days? Have you exhibited any of
these symptoms?” and so forth. Of course, I had only
been in the metro Atlanta area and had had no symptoms
of any kind except the stress-induced insomnia
of the past few days. That, of course, was not on the
list.

Diem had asked me, in a very concerned way, to please
put my mask on before exiting the plane. The flight was
early in, and I missed the last ten minutes of the movie.
I thought, “I’ll have to catch it on the return flight.” as I
grabbed my belongings, put on my mask, and waited at
the curtain for the signal to disembark. I was the first
person not in first class off the plane and sprinted
toward the exit. Twenty-six hours in the air, I was
ready to run.

I submitted my health declaration, received my
approval papers, and was waved past the temperature
readers and physical station. I guess those are used for
suspect travelers. My visa was fastened to the inside of
my passport, and I headed to the immigration line.
Most of the Westerners arriving did not have masks on,
but every local and anyone of Asian descent did. And so
did I.

With so much stigma surrounding the outbreak, Diem
informed me that locals were very suspicious of
foreigners in general not wearing masks, as all the cases
in Vietnam had come from elsewhere. I was assured
that once I got into our neighborhood, things would be
fine. So, I dealt with the mask and waited for my turn
in line.

There were only two agents at immigration, and it
made for very slow progress. I’m sure they were
running on smaller crews as travel and tourism had
been hit hard in the region. It took about 30 minutes to
get to the front, which I guess really isn’t that bad. As
the gentleman in front of me handed his American
passport to the agent, my line came to a stop. The agent
kept looking past the line for several minutes when
finally what he was looking for came into view—his
superior.

He waved him over and his boss took the
passport and the gentleman and escorted him away.
Before the boss came over, the agent kept pointing to a
stamp in his passport. I have no idea what his issue was;
I’m assuming it may have been about his previous travels.
Who knows, it wasn’t my problem; it was now my
turn. No issues. Click clunk, click clunk as my passport
was stamped and handed back. “Com on, (thank you),” I
said, gave a slight bow, and rushed to retrieve my
clothes and cooler of meat. The good news about the
light amount of passengers was that my luggage was
already waiting, usually it’s the longest part of the
process.

I grabbed my boxes, threw them on a cart, and rolled
them straight through the exit. This was also unusual,
as I usually had to run everything through a detector
and security. I guess now there are other things on the
local authorities’ minds than my undeclared USDA
ribeyes.

As I walked through the exit, I spotted Diem immediately.
Even with her covered face, her eyes would never
betray me. It was so incredible to see her again. I
grabbed her in a heavy hug and twirled her in my arms.
I gave her a kiss through our masks, and she ordered
our taxi. It was an amazing ride to our apartment.
The smells, sights, sounds, textures—everything came
rushing back into my brain and coalesced as if I had
never left. My second home, my wife, the world, the air
—it was wonderful. I held her hand as we crisscrossed
the busy streets in the back of the taxi on our way to
our new apartment. We, or I should say Diem, had
moved around a few times, and each time I returned to
Vietnam from the U.S., we seemed to be in a new
apartment.

We had been looking for something more permanent
but struggled to find something that fit everyone’s
needs. Diem almost refused to let me pay anything
substantial for a nice apartment. On my last trip, we
visited a few rooms looking for something suitable for
the long haul, but I was not impressed. One room in
particular we looked at had walls made of the corrugated
plastic used for campaign signs in the U.S. That
just wouldn’t do.

Though it was better than a lot of habitats in the country,
I was not going to let my wife live in just any kind
of place. So, running out of time, I put her up in a nice
hotel for a month the day I last saw her. In that time, we
were able to find a better place. She moved in when the
month ran out at the hotel, and the new apartment was

seemingly perfect: near both Jennie and Lisa’s schools,
near the church, near the beach, with a coffee shop on
the bottom floor, and sweet landlords.
The only complaint Diem had, though not really a
complaint, was that the apartment was just above the
coffee shop and very noisy in the early morning. I
assured her it was okay and that if it were a problem,
we would work it out when I returned in March. Then
the virus hit. Tourism came to an almost complete halt,
and a recession began to set in Vietnam. The building
emptied out, and the penthouse became available.

We negotiated a relatively modest long-term rental
agreement, and Diem, with the girls, moved into our
permanent penthouse—a separate kitchen, modern
bathroom, air conditioning, a guest room, and an
amazing rooftop patio. Did I mention the patio? The
patio itself is worth the rent. A two-floored rooftop. We
have an upper patio for hanging clothes and a 360-
degree view of the city. The lower patio is complete
with a dining table, a bench, a hanging swing, water
sculptures, and plenty of plants. We can see the ocean,
the mountains, and Lady Buddha from our lower
perch. It’s the most amazing place I’ve ever lived.

I mean no disrespect; I love my childhood home and
residence in the States, but this is something I never
thought I would have: a dream come true, a penthouse
home in paradise. It is truly an incredible moment. In
the past couple of years, my life has evolved into an
absolutely amazing thing—a wonderful wife, an
amazing family back home in the States, and an
awesome in-law family here in Da Nang. Technology is
an amazing thing as even with a massive language
barrier I speak with my family here in Vietnam with
relative ease.

The lady of the house and her family live in the
building and run the coffee shop on the ground floor.
They collected my luggage from the car as we arrived,
and I was sent to our apartment to settle in as they
brought my luggage up the stairs shortly after. It was
the first time I had seen our permanent home here in
Da Nang, and I was very happy with the accommodations.
A walk up to the top floor ensured that I would at least
get exercise every day, walking up and down the central
marbled staircase. I unpacked, stored my clothes, and
packed the freezer with my still-frozen solid chunks of
boneless chicken quarters, ribeye steaks, short ribs,
pork belly, and pork shoulder.

Diem had already filled the pantry with Asian oranges,
farm-fresh eggs, rice noodles, and countless seasonings
and staples. As we walked in, I could already smell
something delicious as Diem had the Instant Pot
cooking chunks of pork for breakfast. After breakfast, a
brief tour, and some time just enjoying Diem’s
company, I showered and lay on the bed. It was still
early morning in Da Nang, but days of insomnia and
naps on airplanes crossing the globe had caught up
with me. A sleep without worry or stress overcame me
and I drifted off into a most beautiful dream.

I awoke around six in the evening and realized that I
was in trouble. I had slept all day, and it would be
nearly impossible to sleep tonight. It was a good thing I
brought medicine for such problems, and Diem and I
walked to the market for some grapes and to stretch
our legs.

We prepared a quick dinner of fried fish cakes, bun, and
seared short ribs. We settled onto the patio for a delicious
dinner in the cool night breeze. After dinner, we
talked and cleaned up the kitchen. It was wonderful to
be by her side again. Afterwards, we settled in for the
night, and I took some medicine to force sleep. I knew I
had to adjust as fast as possible, and that required
sleeping through the night. It wasn’t long before sleep
overcame me again. It was some of the best sleep I’ve
had in months………….