Today was another big day, involving a visit to the John McCain memorial, a crashed B52, the Women’s Museum, and a visit with one of our tour guides grandmothers. But I really want to dive in on the visit with Viet’s grandmother.
Throughout the trip, breaking bread or sharing a drink has taken on a new meaning. I have always felt the value of sharing a meal or beverage with each other, but in the language barrier magnifies the experience. When you can’t speak directly with one another, food becomes the point of connection. When 18 of us were crammed into Viet’s grandmothers small salon drinking tea, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company, I really felt this connection. To jump forward a few days at our first home stay, we had a similar experience, (sorry I’m jumping around a bit, at the time of writing I don’t have internet.) Our host family serves us three meals a day. We sometimes help cook and clean the dishes. Every time, I feel that the barrier between us is diminished. Food knows no language.