From the Truong Son Mountains to Northern Europe

The Boeing 777 flight carried over 400 passengers. The Vietnamese flight attendant, Mai, a quick-witted girl from Ho Chi Minh City, helped me with my luggage. "Your seat is 14D, sir."

The author and his in-laws

Next to me was Mr. Dat, a Vietnamese expatriate originally from Phan Thiet, who has lived in Denmark for over 30 years. He was open, cheerful, and talked a lot about his family's stable life in the cold country.

Meeting a fellow countryman in the high heavens.

At approximately 4 AM Dubai time (7 AM Vietnam time), the plane landed at Dubai International Airport. The space was spacious and clean; the staff, dressed in traditional Arabian attire, provided attentive service.

While waiting for my connecting flight for three hours, I took the opportunity to explore this world- ranked airport. Getting between terminals required a variety of transportation: trams, trains, wheelchairs…

The flight from Ho Chi Minh City to Dubai takes almost 6 hours. According to the map, the plane crosses several continents: Asia, Africa, the Indian Ocean, and then the Middle East – some of the places I've visited before, except for India.

Memories from 2011 come flooding back: a week-long study trip to South Africa – from Johannesburg to the Cape of Good Hope. There, I met Ms. Do Lien (Madam Lien), who was then the Chairwoman of AAA Insurance Group and the Honorary Consul of the Republic of South Africa in Ho Chi Minh City.

Later, when I joined the Ho Chi Minh City Association for Supporting Families of Martyrs (2020-2025), Madam Lien's family actively participated, contributing tens of billions of VND to the Association's activities; during the Covid-19 pandemic alone, they provided billions of VND in support to families of policy beneficiaries.

On the flight, I met another Vietnamese flight attendant. It was Thao, from Thai Binh province. Hearing my voice, Thao recognized me as a fellow countryman and kindly showed me how to use the control panel. “When you need us, press this button. We’ll be right there.” When I needed us, I pressed the button. Soon, a hot cup of coffee was on my table. At an altitude of thousands of meters, this encounter with another Vietnamese person warmed my heart.

A Norwegian cultural family

The villa, with its distinct Nordic style, sits atop a hill. The weather in Oslo, the capital of Norway, this morning wasn't too cold, around 2°C. A few days ago it was -6-7°C, and the snow hadn't completely melted yet.

Our hosts – our in-laws – are a refined couple. Over 80 years old, they have had a vibrant and experienced past. Having lived and worked in China for over 10 years and in developed countries like France, the United States, and Japan for many years, they possess a broad and insightful perspective.

My mother-in-law shared: "When we retired, we chose our hometown as our final destination. Their villa is like a mini-museum preserving their mementos. The majority of their collection comes from China."

The costumes from various Chinese emperors and antique artifacts were arranged very professionally by the couple. Knowing that I also enjoyed learning about history and antiques, my mother-in-law stopped several times to introduce me to the "history of each artifact," and the arduous journey of bringing them from different countries around the world.

When in Norway, you have to eat salmon. My in-laws invited us to try this specialty dish, which my father-in-law prepared himself. My mother-in-law said that my husband rarely worries about cooking, but whenever we have important guests, he personally goes into the kitchen.

My father-in-law is a man of few words, but when it comes to salmon, he mentioned that his grandfather was a researcher and conservationist of wild salmon. He was the author of a famous book on salmon research and a strong advocate for wild salmon conservation.

He showed a video of his youngest son (our son-in-law) at age 10, who had been chosen as a national television presenter. He added that other family members were also journalists and sculptors…

A warm and cozy family gathering steeped in Norwegian tradition. From the hilltop villa, with forests stretching out before me like Santa Claus wearing a snow hat, I silently reflected that despite differences in language, customs, tastes, and cuisine, people still share a common denominator: human connection, the essence of their national culture, and integration.

Happy birthday in the land of snow.

First of all, it must be said that birthday celebrations are similar everywhere in the world. In developed countries, the culture of celebrating birthdays formed and spread earlier. While the West focuses on celebrating birthdays, the East places more emphasis on ancestral commemorations.

Whether it's an anniversary or a birthday, they all share a common purpose: to acknowledge and honor the "main character," to create opportunities for family members to gather, and to showcase the beautiful aspects of family and community culture.

I recently had the opportunity to attend a birthday celebration in Oslo, the capital of Norway, a Nordic country with snow all year round. It was the second birthday of my granddaughter, My Tam (her Norwegian name is Kornelia).

It was a beautiful Saturday, with golden sunshine and a temperature of around 2°C. About 20 guests attended, mostly relatives from My Tam's paternal side. My daughter and her husband had organized a simple yet cozy birthday party for her.

"Let's treat you to Vietnamese food, Dad," said the daughter.

My daughter ordered three dishes from a Vietnamese restaurant: shrimp patties, roast chicken served with instant noodles, and rare beef salad. She made the chicken wings herself. The family's living room, over 40 square meters, was decorated brightly with balloons and garlands of vibrant colors.

Since it was a buffet, the food and drink tables were arranged very neatly and logically: one area for food, and another area for drinks including spirits, wine, beer, soft drinks, and bottled water.

On time, family members and relatives began arriving. Because it was the snowy season, everyone was wearing thick warm coats, looking quite cumbersome. Each person brought gifts for My Tam or her parents. As for myself, I brought a 1.5-liter bottle of Ngoc Linh ginseng wine from Vietnam as a gift.

The party began with a few brief, heartfelt opening remarks from the host. My daughter helped translate my speech expressing my feelings about the gathering. Afterwards, I personally poured and offered everyone Ngoc Linh ginseng wine. Everyone who drank it praised the wine as rich, warm, and full of energy, especially suitable for the cold weather of the Northern European winter.

Little My Tam, who just turned two, seemed to sense that she was the "main character." She went up to each person, hugging and kissing them, making everyone laugh with delight.

A close childhood friend of Martin – my son-in-law – was also present with his wife. The young couple, as beautiful as movie stars, had shared Ngoc Linh ginseng wine with me many times. They expressed their special affection for Vietnam and its people – a beautiful country, rich in potential, whose people are always resilient, know how to overcome their own limitations, and are incredibly friendly.

Come to the joy of Africa

As the snow began to fall heavily outside, most of the guests had already left. My daughter opened a video clip she had just received from Zambia (Africa), saying that at this very moment, a birthday celebration for my granddaughter, My Tam (Kornelia), was taking place at a school there.

Out of curiosity, I asked around and finally understood the story. The school, named TOSF, is located in Zambia and was founded and primarily financially supported by a friend of my daughter's in Singapore. My daughter is also a member of the support team. The school currently cares for and educates about 500 poor, disadvantaged, and orphaned children. Each year, these children only have the opportunity to eat meat and fish 2-3 times.

On each of Kornelia's birthdays, instead of receiving gifts for herself, her parents launch a fundraising campaign and donate all the money to organize a Christmas party with chicken for children in Zambia.

At that party, the grandmothers who were raising orphans were also invited. The children sang "Happy Birthday" together, sending their best wishes to Kornelia from a place half a world away.

Last year's birthday celebration raised $2,000. Of that, $400 was used to organize a Christmas party, and the rest was used to repair the school and install a solar energy system.

A truly meaningful job

My whole family shares this shared vision: my colleagues and I are dedicated to honoring fallen soldiers; my wife devotes her efforts to disabled and orphaned children; and my two daughters tirelessly connect with and support those less fortunate, regardless of borders – each in their own way, contributing their small part to the community.

Perhaps that is the most profound beauty of birthday celebration culture – not just personal joy, but also the spreading of love. Thinking about that, amidst the snow-covered landscape of Europe, my heart suddenly feels unusually warm…

December, a month of unforgettable memories.

December returns, like an invisible thread gently pulling taut the deepest recesses of my memory. There are people, there are days that seemed to have faded into the past, yet a single cold wind of early winter is enough to bring them all back, intact and poignant.

My exact date of birth isn't clear. All I know is that my birth certificate, issued in 1960, listed me as December 12th. Whether by chance or design, this number remains a vague yet fateful milestone. Every time the last month of the year arrives, I feel as if I'm reborn – in my memories, in my thoughts, in the things I never had a chance to say.

Amidst the laughter of children, I suddenly heard the distant echoes of the past, where life and death, war and peace, separation and reunion were once as close as breath.

Exactly 55 years ago, in December, we – Unit 2255 – crossed the Truong Son Mountains from Nho Quan into Southern Vietnam. That path was not only built from rocks, stones, and bombs, but also from youth, from faith, and from silent promises left behind.

At that time, the Truong Son Mountains were not just mountains and forests, but also a test of willpower, a measure of human character. There were stretches of road I traveled that felt like it would take a lifetime to reach.

And then, also in December 1977, I officially started working at the Military Region 7 newspaper. The first pages I wrote in my military uniform were not just a profession, but my breath, my way of preserving time through words.

I carry with me the sounds of the Trường Sơn streams, the marching footsteps, the faces of my comrades… infusing them into every line of text, every poem, every short news report amidst the hustle and bustle of work and memories. For a writer who emerged from war like me, it is not only an honor, but also a debt of gratitude.

This December, I'm not in Truong Son, not in the Southwest region – the place where my youth was once imprinted – but living in a distant land in Northern Europe, where snow blankets the sky year-round. The cold here is not like the cold of the mountains and forests of yesteryear, but sometimes, in the long, silent night, I can still clearly hear the rustling of the forest, the sound of the stream, the wind, and even the footsteps of my comrades echoing somewhere in my memories.

And I know that one day I will meet those soldiers of yesteryear – the men of Regiment 2255 – in my own homeland. Where the song "The Trường Sơn Walking Stick" still resonates silently, enduring like time, like human affection, like a melody that will never fade.

At this age, I no longer count time in years and months, but in encounters, handshakes, and glances that still recognize each other amidst the dust of life. I understand that I am not living only for myself, but also for those who perished along the Truong Son mountain range, for those in their twenties who never lived to see the end of their lives.

If there is anything I will leave behind for posterity, I hope it is not victories or medals, but the memory of courage, loyalty, and an unwavering faith even in the darkest days. And as December draws to a close, wherever I may be in this vast world, I know my heart will turn towards one direction – towards my homeland, my comrades, and the Trường Sơn road of those years – where a part of my life lies.

Oslo, late winter 2025

Essays by TRAN THE TUYEN

Essays by TRAN THE TUYEN

Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/tu-truong-son-den-bac-au-post838017.html