CAFE AUBERGINE (your home away from home)

CAFE AUBERGINE (your home away from home), a photo by alison lyons photography on Flickr.

“You know...” She said plainly. “We have a whole other life back at home... And its not this.”

It was their last night in Hanoi and they were perched on the first floor balcony of Cafe Aubergine. She had just taken a photo of the street below. There was something about the light that reminded her of a film set. That, and the relative stillness of the scene. Only hours before it had been near impossible to cross the narrow street as motorbikes, cars, cyclos, tourists and hawkers poured through the streets like in slow moving and impenetrable torrent.

“Its like someone has pressed the “pause” button on our life at home. This... this is our reality now, but when we get home, this will just be a memory. It will cease to exist. We will just resume our lives, like this never happened.“

He was listening, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue. He sipped on his beer and looked out at the street.

A swirl of images filled her head. They had seen so much in the last three weeks. Each day, new sights had overlaid the ones from the day before and it was hard to remember any of it. The images continued to swirl, but she couldn’t hold on to a single one. It was like catching butterflies.

“... this will continue after we leave. Its like a parallel universe. Its like time travel. We will press the pause button here when we leave. And it will stay like that, for us, until we return. If we ever do...” She trailed off... lost in thought.

It was her third visit to Hanoi, and the old French quarter had wrapped itself around her with the warm familiarity of an old sweater. It was like watching a favourite movie for the third time. She was no longer afraid of missing something and could lay back and drink in the detail. The reality of Hanoi was palpable. The heady smell of wood fire smoke, the sweet taste of organically grown vegetables. The relentless honking of horns. The press of people negotiating the horrendously overcrowded footpaths. And the shimmering tableaux of sights. It was impossible to imagine being anywhere else.

“Could you live here?” She asked. “I mean, if we had an income and we lived in a French Colonial villa. Do you think could you live here?”

He paused, ever so slightly before he answered.
“No.” He said. “I don’t think so.”

“No.” She agreed. “I couldn’t either.” But she continued to mull over the idea in her mind as she stared out into Hanoi’s cool night air.

The glass wall of the balcony was just lower than the height of the table. A clumsy wave of her hand and she could easily knock her glass and send it skittering through the air and crashing onto motorbikes or people on the pavement below.

She ordered another Mango Lassi... realising it would be her last one. She wasn’t sad to be returning home, but she wasn’t happy about leaving Hanoi either. Limbo.

It was different this time. They were returning to a life together. So she didn’t feel the wrenching heartache of leaving that usually gripped her. But there was a sense of melancholy, never-the-less. And it was a feeling she knew he didn’t share.

She sighed and looked across the table at him. “This is probably the last time I will ever be in Hanoi.” She said finally, her voice catching in her throat. She was fighting a deep sense of loss that was welling up inside her. She felt a sense of mourning, but there were just too many other places in the world she still wanted to see.

“No.” He said, and he smiled at her. “I think we will come back.”