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“In the eyes of those children, anyone with white skin and blond hair was Russian because they only knew about the Russian experts who came to help Vietnam rebuild after the war,” recalls about his earlier visits to Vietnam starting in 1984.

That year the 29-year-old reporter for Danish Newspaper Land og Folk left Copenhagen for Hanoi, and wrote about postwar life and the lingering effects of Agent Orange on children. He was among the first western journalists to be stationed in the former North Vietnam.

“I only planned to stay for two or three years at first, but my love for Vietnam has kept me here for more than 40 years.”

He remembered Hanoi then as poor and quiet as a rural village. Noi Bai Airport was tiny, with two single-story buildings and one runway. Most people walked or rode bicycles, while cars were rare and mostly old government vehicles.

After sunset power shortages left the city in complete darkness. Oil lamps were common, but fuel was costly so many families used a single dim light before going to bed early.

The war left scars everywhere. Many houses had stained walls and broken tile roofs. People queued outside state-run stores with ration books to buy rice, cloth and kerosene. Children went barefoot or wore sandals made from old tires, and meals often consisted of boiled morning glory, a few slices of tofu and some fish sauce.

Some 80% of Vietnamese lived below the UN poverty line of 1 USD a day. Pedersen himself struggled, especially in winter, trying to stay warm.

“Even the country’s top leaders led very frugal lives.”

He remembered interviewing the late Foreign Minister Nguyen Co Thach, who paused mid-interview to borrow a suit from the ministry for a UN meeting. The young Danish reporter assumed the incident was a joke at the time, only to realize years later that it was true.

Pedersen considers himself fortunate to have met people who played key roles in the country’s development. They all displayed courage beneath the humility typical of Vietnamese, he says.

He met many wartime leaders such as Prime Minister Pham Van Dong, General Vo Nguyen Giap, General Mai Chi Tho, Foreign Minister Nguyen Co Thach, and Dr. Nguyen Thi Ngoc Phuong, who made significant contributions to healthcare.

“They helped me see the potential strength of this nation,” he says

He returned to Vietnam a few years later and witnessed the society preparing for Doi Moi (Renovation). The reforms that followed moved the country toward a market economy.

He saw that the government encouraged people to start small businesses and gave farmers full control over their rice, fruit and coffee crops.

In a few years Vietnam went from importing rice to becoming one of the world’s largest exporters of the grain, and the story was repeated in pepper, seafood and coffee.

“Vietnam’s leap in productivity came from the country’s own capabilities, not foreign aid,” he says. Pedersen believed that the hard work of the Vietnamese people was crucial to its progress. He remembered a Vietnamese friend saying: “Rice fields are only beautiful with people working on them.”

Within a single generation Vietnam transformed from one of Southeast Asia’s poorest nations to a middle-income country.

In 2002 he left journalism and joined Denmark’s diplomatic service as head of the trade section at the embassy. When his term ended and he was assigned to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, he accepted the role of company director for a firm investing in Vietnam to stay in the country he had grown to love.

Working in three different roles for over 40 years provided Pedersen with unique experiences and a deep connection to Vietnam.

As a journalist, he captured the dramatic moments of postwar life. In diplomacy, he saw the openness and candor of Vietnamese leaders in discussions. As a business executive, he interacted with Vietnamese colleagues, observed their daily life and learned from ordinary people.

Pedersen lives in an apartment in Tay Ho Ward where he continues to photograph Hanoi. He has built an archive of over 50,000 images.

When he first arrived he would often perch atop an old military tower on Dien Bien Phu Street, built during the French colonial period, to survey the city. That view is now blocked by high-rise buildings, a symbol of the rapid infrastructure development.

Many historical values stand the test of time, such as traditional villages and the Temple of Literature, which he has visited hundreds of times. “Hanoi today is a blend of history and modernity.”

For decades the Vietnamese have maintained respect for past generations and their contributions.

Pedersen’s close friend and violinist, Trinh Minh Hien, recently released an album called “Lap Lanh Vang Sao” (Twinkling Golden Stars) as a tribute to the people and the country on the 80^th anniversary of National Day, September 2.

Pedersen is impressed by the energy of the country’s youths, including those shaped by the war and the effects of Agent Orange, such as disabled painter Le Minh Chau.

With his limbs weakened, Chau holds a brush with his mouth. He dreamed of becoming an artist, much to people’s disbelief. When Pedersen met him, he watched Chau’s every stroke, his focus and expression, and the paintings came alive. Pedersen kept a painting Chau made of his youngest daughter and was surprised that many bought his paintings out of admiration, not pity.

Most of Pedersen’s staff are in their 20s and 30s. They are confident, energetic, fluent in English, and open to sharing ideas. This National Day, they led much of the street decorations, hanging flags and banners and wearing shirts in the likeness of the national flag.

This year Pedersen regretted having to return to Denmark. His whole family had “become Vietnamese.” His youngest daughter, Anna, says she feels at home every time she boards a plane to Hanoi.

“The only regret I have is that I am getting older; otherwise I will spend another 40 years in Vietnam.”