I set out to find the one person in Cao Lanh that my parents told us to contact. We call her Co Ba, because she is the third child in her family. She and my parents used to teach at the same school in Tram Chim. We have Co Ba's address, but it doesn't mean much here in Vietnam. By asking a succession of people if they know where Co Ba's home is, we are pointed further and further into a winding complex of unpaved alleys that connected small homes with the main road.
Roosters crow even though it is ten-thirty in the morning.
Women squat over fire pits, roasting corn, banana cakes, and other delicacies. We finally arrive at the open door of Co Ba's home. An old woman, about four and half feet tall, wearing glasses, her hair neatly rolled into a bun, looks at us in a confused manner - my parents had not written to her beforehand. I clasp my hands and bow to her in the traditional Vietnamese greeting, and I introduce myself and UyenThi. I tell her my parents' name, and watch her eyes light up in amazement as she comprehends who we are.