In the Morning, No Bombs.

I'm very proud of myself. I've apparently learned to pronounce the name of one of the main streets near us correctly. Saying "Ngoc Ha" is tricky. First we said "Nyahck Ha,' but after a while, we learned that "Knock Ha" was closer, so we've been saying that and it seemed to work. A few days ago, however, a cab driver took pity on me and explained that it's "Noke (like Coke) Ha."

So today I said "Noke Ha," and the cabbie turn to me and said, "Noke Ha. Very good Vietnamese. Very good." Then he asked where I was from, and when I told him he said, "Oh, America," then "Over there," pointing toward the dike road along the Red River, "over there many bombs. Many many bombs." I agreed. Many bombs. "Only in the evening," he assured me, "and over night. In the morning no bombs."

"Only at night?" I asked. "Yes. The avions come at night. In the morning safe." I asked him if he had been here during the bombing, and he said he had. I asked how old he was at that time, but I couldn't express the question in a way he could understand.

After a moment, he continued. "Then, American number 10 (as in very bad). Now Bill Clinton we like. Barack Obama we like. Bill Clinton good person. Bill Clinton bitte schoen. Bill Clinton merci."

And having reached the limits of our mutual language skills, we rode in silence until we got to Noke Ha. We said our goodbyes then and shook hands with a smile.

P.