The young girl stoops over and uses the wiry bristles of the short broom to scrape up chopstick wrappers, orange rinds, dust, and leaves, until all that remains is a tangled pile of refuse on the bare cement. Stacked blue and red plastic stools tower like soldiers behind me and large baskets filled with plates and bowls lie basking in the sun. Flies dart at my legs and arms and I shift to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench.

I miss my new friend already. Although we met only a few hours ago, her easy smile and quick laugh, worked their way into my heart. In near perfect english, she entertained me with stories about her recent exchange trip to India and then explained the customs involved in her upcoming wedding. She asked me questions about Canada, my travels, and whether I ever want to get married and have a family. (In case you’re wondering, the answer is yes and I know I’m not getting any younger as everyone in Vietnam likes to remind me).

As the crowd of 70 dwindled down to immediate family, it came time for my friend to leave and we promised to stay in touch as she donned a floral face mask, revved the engine on her motorcycle, and with a backward glance and a wave, disappeared down the dusty road back to her village.

So, here I sit, watching the young hostess of the party and her Mother clear away the scraps of food and dishes left behind by the friends and family who came here today to celebrate the anniversary of their mother/grandmother’s death. Every year on the eve of a person’s death anniversary, entire families gather to prepare and share food, drink, and conversation as well as to present offerings and prayers to this departed ancestor. From my friend’s explanation, I understand the Vietnamese people believe that by gathering in the deceased’s memory, the spirit of their ancestor will return to join them for the annual celebration.

It is an honour to be included in this event, especially because I am the first foreigner that many of the village children have ever seen. Earlier today, these children gathered around me and giggled uproariously each time I answered questions about my age, my name, and where I came from.

Now, with the disappearance of my new friend, I am once again on my own, surrounded by a language I don’t understand. The smell of cigarettes lingers in the air and a group of men sip the last of their Tiger beer until their cheeks take on a Christmas like glow. I stare at the pile of garbage, adjust the bobby pin in my greasy hair, and wonder when I’ll be able to take a shower.

You see, after an early breakfast of noodle soup and a coffee at the house turned coffee shop next door (check out the picture of my host father and his adorable 4 year old nephew), my host father told me to bring my camera so I could get some pictures of the rice fields near his childhood home. I made the assumption that we were heading on a Saturday morning drive before coming back so he and his wife could host the anniversary party that evening. It wasn’t until we arrived in the village and I noticed the party preparations that I realized my error in both the timing and location of the celebration. So, while my host sister (who arrived on her scooter about an hour after we did) looked the part of a Saturday afternoon party goer/adorable Asian barbie, I unfortunately did not. With slicked back hair and blue jeans, I did my best to fade into the background (nearly impossible when you’re the only white face for miles around).

Sometimes while living in a foreign country with a host family, so much of what is happening is lost in translation. You might follow a member of your host family to the car or scooter, with no idea of where you are going or how long you will be there (or what kind of toilets you might have access to in the interim). But, inevitably you will wind up having a once in a lifetime experience (even if you are the schleppy foreigner who shows up un-showered and underdressed.

Despite the occasional lost in translation moment, I feel incredibly blessed with the time I had in Da Nang to celebrate Tet with my gracious hosts. Imagine offering to have a complete stranger (who p.s. doesn’t speak your language) to come and stay with you over Christmas and New Year’s. It was an honour to share the holidays with them and an experience I will remember for years to come.

As I write this, Vietnam is slowing getting back to work and I have since arrived in sticky and humid Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). I best get some sleep because I’m off to the Children’s Cancer Hospital tomorrow.