#leninpark

Ansichtskarte

Greiz (Thür.) Blick aus den staatl. Kupferstichsammlungen in den Leninpark

Reichenbach (Vogtl): VEB BILD UND HEIMAT Reichenbach i.V. (III/18/6 A 3/61 DDR Best.-Nr. 10/194 Echt Foto 1200/61)

I stare at my overstuffed suitcase and wonder what I was thinking when I packed all these books.  Didn't I know that I'd be working forty hours a week?  Couldn't I predict that I'd want to walk on the streets and see things instead of sitting with a book in my room?  Did I forget my philosophy, which is, living beats reading 9 times out of ten?  And the clothes! Gosh, did I really think that I would wear long sleeves in Hanoi?  And all the skirts that I go six months without wearing at home, what made me think I'd suddenly start wearing?  I'm angry at myself for bringing so much stuff.  Had I packed smartly, I could walk from the hotel to my new home, but since my suitcase is full to the bursting point and my carry-on bag is so heavy, I need a taxi.   My host shows me to my room, gives me a copy of the house keys and another set which I must give the other roommate who will be moving later today.  Thao also gives me a cake wrapped in banana leaves.  She tells me it's a Vietnamese delicacy her coworker brought and she plans to take them to her mom.  She urges me to try it.  It's vegan, she says, made of rice and banana.  I open the little triangle, taking layer after layer of banana leaves, and am finally left with a little black pyramid.  I take a bite and am surprised by the taste, which resembles chocolate.  Thao doesn't think it tastes like chocolate, so it might be just me.  It's not too sweet but tastefully so, and I find it quite good.  Before my new hostess leaves for work, she hands me a couple of banana cakes.   After I organize my things in the bedroom, I lie down to take a nap, but I find I can't.  It's just that the neighbor's two roosters have no internal clock and therefore crow incessantly.  I think it's a game.  One crows -- never mind that it's the middle of the afternoon -- and the other follows.  They don't count points; if one crows, the other just has to crow. Dear Lord, I thought I liked to hear the cock crowing!  Now I realize that I'd rather have silence.  I give up on the nap and get up.  Sweat is running on my back, even though I have the air-conditioner on.  I get the remote control and click some buttons, but I can't make it work properly.  All I know is that I should not be sweating in a room while the air-conditioner is on.   I decide to make good use of my time and turn on my computer, but I soon realize that, although it is plugged into the wall, the battery is not charging.  I try to charge my phone, but of course, the problem is not the cable or my devices, it's the outlet.  So I take my computer downstairs to the living room, plug it and it charges just fine.  I'm there a short while later when Stephane, the Frenchman, arrives with his stuff.  We introduce ourselves, talk briefly, and I give him the keys.  

Next day is Sunday and I go out looking for the park where I got lost a few days before.  Lenin Park -- or Thong Nhat Park -- is a big and busy place with lots of activities.  There is the statue of Vladimir Lenin, as the great influence on Ho Chi Minh and the philosophy that shaped Vietnamese socialist regime.  This is a wonderful place to watch the locals, to exercise, to see dozens of the cutest dogs and to meditate.  Different parts of the park and different times have different activities, but you can always find something to suit your mood.  I have a great time watching a group of men and women of varied ages kicking a shuttlecock, impressed by how good they are. There's a great spot near the water where locals roller-skate to lively Vietnamese music.  Another group is doing aerobic exercises to pop American music.  I join the group sitting in a wide circle with their eyes closed, legs crossed and hands together on their lap.  A soft song with a rhythmic bell is playing in the center.  There are noises and activities around, but somehow they don't mix.  It feels like being in a bubble, aware of our surroundings but away from it all.  Night falls over the park, but for a while, the sky hangs blue and beautiful over the lake.  

After about half an hour I get up to leave, but stop to take a few pictures.  A man approaches me and points to the lamppost.  "Take a picture," he says.  I do.  "Do you see the circle of light near it?" I do.  "It's because of them," he says, pointing to the group still meditating.  I check the picture.  I take a few more shots.  The circle of light appears in every photo.  But does it have anything to do with the group meditating or is it just a regular reflection of the lamppost?  I don't know.   The next day, when I come to meditate with them for the second time I look up at the lamppost and a woman asks me if I can see the circle of light.  I tell her I can.  She tells me the same thing, that it's because of the energy the group emanates.  I still don't know.