A Journey into Vietnam’s Clinic Expansion 1 - By Chance or by Fate?

Discovering unexpected possibilities on a trip taken with no particular purpose.

'From time to time, I think that a small beginning—started without any purpose or specific plan—can unexpectedly become the spark that changes a much larger course.

My connection with Vietnam was like that, and the same was true of my later connection with Mongolia, which I will write about in a future post.'

Let’s go back three years.

At the suggestion of a high school classmate who had long been known to boast about Vietnam whenever we met, I set off on my very first trip to Ho Chi Minh City.

That friend was spending half the year in Vietnam—one month in Vietnam and one month in Korea.

His family was in Seoul, and during the month he stayed in Vietnam he would sometimes feel bored, so he was very much looking forward to meeting his Korean friends there.

The two of us—along with another high school classmate who has been my friend for nearly 40 years and is still walking the same path as I am—boarded a flight to Ho Chi Minh City to meet the friend waiting for us.

After more than five hours, we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City close to midnight.

Full of excitement, we were the first passengers out of the airport, and in the humid, muggy weather unique to Ho Chi Minh City, we spotted our friend smiling warmly at us.

First things first—we had to go somewhere and have a drink to wet our throats!

Our friend, who speaks Vietnamese like a local, took us to a restaurant specializing in Singaporean food.

“At this hour, this is the best place to grab a bite.”

We ordered some rather unusual dishes.

“Frog porridge is this place’s signature dish!”

Me: “Frog porridge???”

I’m not really the type to challenge myself with unfamiliar food like frog porridge ㅠㅠㅠ

Anyway, with frog porridge and a few other dishes as snacks, we kept downing beer served in small glasses with the distinctive Vietnamese ice cubes. The ice-cold beer in that hot, muggy weather was simply excellent.

Before long, it was well past 2 a.m.

While we were heading from the airport into the city, I had noticed a pedestrian street with a broad open area in front of the restaurants, lined with sidewalks. The scene of people drinking beer while seated on low stools that looked like bathhouse chairs felt so warm and charming that I asked my friend if we could go somewhere like that.

My friend beamed and said,

“Sure~~~Actually, that’s exactly the kind of place I wanted to take you to. I was just worried it might be a little shabby and uncomfortable...”

He skillfully found exactly the kind of restaurant specializing in local Vietnamese food.

With morning glory and various delicious stir-fried vegetables as snacks, we sat on bathhouse-style chairs and once again drank cold beer.

Amid the sounds of people passing by and scooters rumbling through the streets,

an ordinary night street scene in Saigon. We became part of that scene, too.

Such familiar, welcoming scenery... Maybe this is the true charm of travel.

For someone like me, who works until 4 p.m. on Saturday and can only rest for one day on Sunday, the freedom of ‘not having to go to work the next day’ gives me the courage and opportunity to fully enjoy the late-night hours.

Looking at my watch, it was already 4 a.m.

Considering the time difference, that meant it was 6 a.m. in Korea.

We headed to the accommodation we had reserved in advance.

We checked into the residence my friend had booked for us.

My goodness!!! The room in the residence was so large it easily felt like a 70-pyeong apartment. Four bedrooms and one living room. Three bathrooms and three shower rooms.

After a quick shower, I felt clear-headed again. We took our seats at the large table in the living room.

I opened the Dalmore single malt whisky I had bought at the airport duty-free shop before boarding.

The smooth aroma of single malt whisky moistening the back of my throat gently softened the first night in this unfamiliar place.

The sorrow of war and Miss Saigon...

The first morning in Saigon

At 8 a.m., I woke up naturally.

It was 10 a.m. in Korea, so even though I had slept only three hours, my body clock was pointing to late morning and urging me to start the day.

The residence’s breakfast buffet offered everything I needed, without any unnecessary frills.

I brought back omelets, banh mi, and, of course, rice noodles, and welcomed the morning by the Saigon River.

Among the few options my friend suggested, I chose the Mekong River tour.

Ho Chi Minh City contains all the fifty years of life and time I have lived in Korea.

The glittering, bustling streets that resemble the center of Seoul at this very moment, and, just a little farther away, scenes of people cutting hair right on the street...

Riding in the SUV my friend had reserved in advance, we slowly traveled for three or four hours.

We boarded a boat that looked like a small canoe and made our way through coconut plantations and the Mekong River’s tributaries, stopping here and there.

It reminds me a lot of the amusement parks in the countryside from my childhood.

The ao dai worn by the woman rowing the small boat evokes emotions that are impossible to put into words—comfort, beauty, exoticness, traces of long time, and a deep sense of wistfulness.

We rode the small boat and stopped here and there.

For a moment, I thought of Vietnamese writer Bao Ninh’s autobiographical novel The Sorrow of War.

And so, a day on the Mekong passed.

Once again, I slipped into the evening of a living, breathing Saigon. The disorderly procession of scooters filling the streets, Saigon was moving nonstop, 24 hours a day.

I felt as if my own time, which had been stuck in slow motion, was being reset by their energy.

My breathing quickened, as if I were receiving energy...

I had come on a trip with no purpose at all, just to rest comfortably, yet it was unexpectedly full of vitality.

I felt as though I was becoming one with their time and passion.

Suddenly, it felt as if the clock of my heart had been rewound 30 years.

Excitement, anticipation, passion for the new tomorrow...

Memories of youth, when I would grow restless and excited, eager for the night to pass quickly so I could meet a new tomorrow...

A night felt too precious, dawn was something to look forward to...

That was the breath of a living, youthful Saigon.

In some ways, it may seem complex and chaotic,

but to me, that chaos felt like diversity and passion.

I think about it carefully.

'Why do I feel energy in such disorder???'

Saigon’s heart is young.

Youth can sometimes be immature and incomplete, but I believe it is precisely that unique passion that lets it move forward without hesitation.

If I go to the post office, can I find a lost love....

Is my trace somewhere in Saigon a sign of fate, like a coin tossed into the Trevi Fountain, that will one day bring me back to Saigon, just as Rome does?

The second morning in Saigon

The second morning dawned.

Unable to contain my excitement, I had slept only two hours after arriving in Ho Chi Minh City, then spent the whole day on the Mekong River tour and drank late into the night, so my body was heavy and I had some hangover, too.

For the first time in a while, I tried to sleep in. It seems my body clock has already been reset by two hours.

My friend took me to a local noodle shop for a late breakfast.

The deep, rich flavor of the Vietnamese noodle soup broth instantly felt like it cleared everything out inside me!

To be honest, until then I had not really agreed that rice noodle soup was good for hangovers.

In Saigon’s muggy weather, after eating a bowl of rice noodle soup loaded with hot sauce and fresh chilies, wiping away sweat that poured down like rain, I felt as if the very tianzhong point I had seen in martial arts novels had suddenly opened up and the world had burst into light.

Now that my condition had been reset, I decided to enjoy Saigon to the fullest.

Saigon Post Office and the Presidential Palace.

At the Presidential Palace, I pieced together the small fragments of the Vietnam War’s history that I vaguely knew, one by one.

Looking at the helicopter displayed on the rooftop of the Presidential Palace,

I thought of a scene from the musical Miss Saigon.

As I moved around various parts of downtown Saigon, I used taxis to get from place to place. Saigon taxis do not accept credit card payments; you have no choice but to pay in cash.

Thanks to Vietnam’s affordable prices, even taxi fares are very economical. My friend gave me the difficult task of handling the change and paying the taxi fare so that I could get used to the value and units of Vietnamese currency.

I was completely flustered by the unfamiliar currency units and by trying to count the change and pay.

When I looked in front of the post office,

'Oh no~~~I left my smartphone in the taxiㅠㅠㅠ'

I even called my phone several times from my friends’ phones, but there was no answer.

'If I go to the post office, can I find a lost love (no~~~my phone)~~~?'

I recalled an old chanson lyric.

And just like that, I ended up leaving behind my phone, which held many of my memories and stories, somewhere in Saigon.

With the lost smartphone went the memories and traces of the past year that I had shared with it, all of them slipping away at once.

To comfort my gloomy heart, I tried to console myself.

'If you sit with your back to the Trevi Fountain and toss a coin over your shoulder, you will one day return to Rome....'

like that story,

I left behind my precious memories and traces in Saigon, so I’ll probably find myself returning to Saigon one day~~~:))

At the Mekong River tour, it was the sorrow of war by Bao Ninh. At the Presidential Palace, it was a scene from the musical Miss Saigon. They invite me, no longer a stranger, into their language.

Looking back, I think it was a great fortune for me to have spent my childhood and youth during Korea’s period of development and growth.

For me,

it was an experience like a surprise gift that brought back the excitement hidden behind deep nostalgia and memories,

a feeling of thrill and passion that I might have otherwise lost.

Saigon’s healthy spirit contains the healthy Korea of long ago, when my own passion was alive and breathing, when excitement and anticipation overflowed everywhere, and when faces of pride and exhilaration after working through the night filled the streets.

In the evening, I spent time with a cold beer at a hotel rooftop bar overlooking Saigon’s night view.

The third day,

The time to board the night flight home was approaching.

I had contacted the only Vietnamese doctor I knew in advance.

He had spent about six months at Seoul National University Hospital for a fellowship course five or six years earlier, and at that time he had visited my hospital and observed contouring surgery for several days.

Because of that connection, he had always treated me with great respect, calling me teacher. He was a young Vietnamese plastic surgeon.

He was the only Vietnamese person and the only Vietnamese doctor I knew at the time.

He, who had seemed like a student to me, was now running two clinics of his own, almost like a seasoned local notable.

When I met him in Saigon, he had grown into a very skilled and confident plastic surgeon.

I said to him,

"I hope I am not your teacher, but your brother."

Later, he generously supported me with great help in various parts related to Vietnam that I will write about in future posts, like a true brother.

The planned three nights and four days felt as if they passed too quickly.

It was time to return to my home, which would quietly remain in the same place as always.

The vague excitement that I might be able to dream new dreams from my home was, in a sense, a souvenir from the Saigon trip.

As soon as I arrived back in Korea,

with no plan and no solution whatsoever,

I posted a job opening for Vietnamese staff.....

Addendum

As I will mention in a future post,

after that short first trip to Saigon, within just six months,

the number of full-time Vietnamese employees at our hospital increased to four.

Colleagues in the same industry, or sometimes our hospital’s management staff, ask me:

“How were you able to set up a Vietnam-related business so quickly?”

I answer without hesitation, and very honestly:

“The most important part is love. Try sincerely loving and respecting Vietnam’s culture, its people, and their passion.”