Pride in every kilometer

A ride through Hanoi - and through the history of a country.

Today I was sitting on the back of a motorcycle. In front of me was my guide - young, friendly, full of energy. We rode through the lively streets of Hanoi. Past steaming cookshops, honking mopeds, children playing and fragrant markets.

But what made this tour special wasn't just what I saw. It was what I heard.

He kept saying phrases like: “In my country...” or “We have learned that...”, “We...”

He didn't speak like someone who recites information. He spoke like someone who feels what he is telling.

He talked about the history of Vietnam - about difficult times, about the courage of the people, about change and new beginnings. He knew the details, knew the dates. But it wasn't the accuracy that impressed. It was his attitude. His pride in being part of this history. His respect for his ancestors. His love for what makes this country what it is - with all its contradictions, scars and hopes.

As we glided through the chaotic but flowing traffic, I realized:

For him, Vietnam is not a place on the map. It is home. Responsibility. Feeling. Pride.

And he doesn't carry it on a flag in front of him. He carries it in his voice.

I sat in the back, held on loosely and let myself be carried along - not only through the streets, but also through his “we”.

Sometimes you don't meet a country in the big squares or in famous temples.

But on a scooter, in the breeze, in the words of a young person who says “my country” - and shines.

You don't hear true homeland in big speeches. You hear it in small, honest moments.