The Universal Language of Chicken (the dance, that is)

We headed to the lake after a breakfast of fruit and pho. As we began to stroll around the lake, if I looked to the right, my eyes were met with a calm, peaceful lake lined with trees, rumor of a magic turtle residing there. If I looked to my left, motorbikes and cars whizzed by, honking loudly. We walked leisurely, occasionally stopping to take pictures, thrilled by the fact that we were in Hanoi. Hanoi! We came upon what appeared to be a dance class of elderly Vietnamese ladies. Morning exercises, perhaps? We stood and watched as they gracefully performed somewhat synchronous moves, shuffling feet and waving arms in their mismatched velour leisure suits and baseball caps.

The music stopped, someone shouted, and they quickly formed a circle. We watched in utter surprise as the chicken dance blared from their makeshift boombox. And that meant one thing. When the chicken dance starts playing, how can you not join? We started dancing from our watching place, and once the ladies saw us, they pulled us into the circle with them. We laughed hysterically as we performed the quacking moves, then swung each other around. At the end of the dance, they motioned for us to stay. And the familiar tune repeated! From the top, ladies!

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Photo credit to the fabulous Michelle Weber

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