Vietnam resembles a flower if you look at it on a map. The stem curves upward bordering Laos and Cambodia to the west and the South China Sea to the east, ending with Northern Vietnam blooming into Southern China. On this flower, scenic views of rice fields, mountains, rolling hills, and beautiful bays are dotted with motorcycles jam-packed with goods from chicken carcasses to large potted trees.
With these images in mind, I embarked on a weekend trip to Hanoi, eager to engross myself in colonial French architecture and Vietnamese urbanites, not to mention a bowl of Phở. (Pronounced ‘fuh’ with a rising tone.)
My first task in planning a trip to Hanoi was assuring my admittance into the country. A simple application process can be found at myvietnamvisa.com. The wait wasn’t long or in vain. I joyously printed out my visa papers and moved onto the next step: buying a plane ticket. I cyber-traveled to the land of ticket price comparisons. Since four of my precious 48 weekend hours would be spent above the clouds, I wanted to make them count. After various encounters with Air Asia’s web site, I took a vow to avoid their aircrafts at all costs. (I have strong airline ethics and their nefarious online booking procedure equally angers and scares me.) I chose to fly Qatar Airways, and was thoroughly delighted with the experience.
Friday, 8:00 pm
By the time I landed at the airport, it was dark and raining. I grabbed my backpack and avoided the aggressive and loud men trying to cajole me into their overpriced taxis. Some prior research warned me that the cab ride should be 300,000 dong. Some other travelers were gathered around the ATM machines. “Heading into the city?” I asked, somewhat rhetorically. “Want to share a cab?”
9:00 pm
A light rain illuminated by the yellow street lamps gently fell on the windshield as the cab sped around curbs and over bridges. There seemed to be no driving rules other than “honk if you see any other vehicle on the road.” Motorbikes made up the majority of traffic, however I was delighted to see one-speed bikes whizzing down the highway. The riders’ bright green ponchos and wide, conical hats glowed in the yellow light, bouncing along the edge of the road like melting, oversized popsicles. Rice fields crept up to the edge of the highway until we crossed over the Red River and into the outliers of Hanoi City.
10:00 pm
I arrived at Hanoi Backpacker’s Hostel. It’s a great place to stay if you’re looking for other travelers with which to mingle and explore the city. I took up with a noisy group of Chileans, entertaining them with my broken, ghetto Puerto Rican Spanish and enthusiasm over 80’s football sensation Pele.
Midnight
Despite the crowd of noisy backpackers, I went to sleep with the room so quiet I could hear the onset of my tinnitus. Awaking to a room full of snoring Brits, I grabbed a complementary baguette and set off to explore the Old Quarter.
Saturday, 9:00 am
I haphazardly made my way to the Houn Kiem Lake in the middle of the Old Quarter. The air was brisk as I snapped pictures of old Vietnamese men squatting in the streets, swapping the day’s gossip. The snippets I could hear of their conversation intrigued me. Vietnamese is complex, with seven tones intertwining its neighboring languages of melodic Khmer and harsher, ancient Chinese sounds.
10:00 am
I had never seen so many motorbikes in my life. Whizzing down the streets, they resembled a school of fish darting around larger ocean creatures, the old sedans like friendly dolphins. Pedestrian crossings are rare as the streets are small and intersect in no particular order. Hence street-crossing protocol is to walk forward without stopping. By the grace of God, the bikes weave around you. Every time you step off the sidewalk it is an adrenaline rush. However, this is not to say I did not see motorcyclists crash into each other or objects such as trees on the side of the road. On one occasion I witnessed a man get up and chase another man into the oncoming traffic, swinging punches at him when he got close enough. Operating a motorbike in Hanoi is risky business.
11:00 am
My toes a bit cold, I stopped for some Vietnamese coffee at one of the sprawling sidewalk cafes. Around me, many men and a handful of women enjoyed hot coffee with condensed milk. Served in a tall glass with a long, metal stirrer, the coffee is sweet, aromatic and strong. I sat on a foot-high stool and balanced my glass on a metal tray. I tried to fit in. It didn’t quite work.
Noon
Later I emerged myself in antiquity at the pickled body of Ho Chi Minh and the tortoise tablets in the Temple of Literature. The eerie memorial housing Ho Chi Minh’s corpse was monumental and out of place amongst the imperial French palaces. Surrounded by blooming gardens, many Vietnamese were at the Temple of Literature to pay their respects to a deified Confucius, a tradition passed on from the Chinese.
4:00 pm
As I ambled back to the Old Quarter, I peeked into a store filled with vintage stereo equipment, tape recorders, record players and amps, all dating from the 60’s and stacked to the ceiling. Sensing my intrigue, Song, the shop-owner’s son, sprung up and invited me inside. Before I knew it, I was drinking Jasmine tea with his parents, brother, and family friends, huddled over a small table pulled into the center of the floor. Song, my new friend, studied journalism and choreographed dances for his hip-hop troupe. I asked him what Communications Studies was like in a Communist country. Everyone looked at me, and an awkward silence ensued, before Song continued translating our conversation back to the group. We parted ways when Song had dance practice, his father presenting me with a hand-rolled cigarette and his mother giving me a kind smile.
6:00 pm
One of the best things about Hanoi is the food. A cluster of people huddle around street vendors and even produce is sold straight off the sidewalk. (See the street lettuce below.) Settling down to my third bowl of Phở bò (beef noodle soup), I realized this dish is all about the noodle – the delicious, thick yet tender rice noodle which practically melts in your mouth. Beef, orange slices, herbs and sauces are all for adding flavor to this uniquely tasty experience.
9:00 pm
Whiffs of buttered popcorn and bright lights lured me to the night market, where one can find vibrant silk and embroidered goods as well as the perennial Angry Birds balloons, T-shirts and clocks. Hanoi nightlife consists of a few bars and dance clubs, yet everything wraps up around midnight. For those weekenders looking to party, Hanoi is not your city.
Sunday, 7:00 am
Due to the nonexistent nightlife, I awoke early and explored the local morning markets, watching locals inhale bowls of steaming noodles. When the sun came out, the cafe drink of choice switched from jet-fuel coffee to a strong, sweet, lime juice that left me with my lips puckered. People politely chewed sunflower seeds and read or, more often laughed and chatted with friends. As the café filled up, the owner would grab a stack of stools and adeptly pack people into rows along the sidewalk.
10:00 am
Church bells rang throughout the old city. Time for mass at St. Joseph’s Cathedral, a true colonial relic, and people spilled outside of the gates, standing in the church square. Sunday, noon
My trip to Vietnam would not be complete without bún chả. The meal consists of a basic peppered meat broth flavored with julienned carrots and daikon, a root similar to ginger. A thin vermicelli rice noodle is added to the soup along with miniature grilled pork meat patties and fried pork rolls. Greens are served along with it, such as coriander, mint, and butter-head lettuce. I liked to put some noodles, beef and carrot in the butter-head lettuce to make a little wrap. There is so much flavor in this dish, from the smoky meat to the tart daikon and buttery, tender noodles.
1:00 pm
I opted for a pricier coffee at a café with tables and chairs and sat back to read and write postcards. An old man with thick spectacles and some venerable black hairs protruding from a mole on his chin came and sat down next to me.
He appeared to be the owner and asked, with a wide smile, “Parlez-vous français?”
Although I was delighted to be mistaken as a French woman, I informed him, “No, no.”
He happily picked up my book, ironically entitled “Freedom,” and ascertained I spoke English.
“Are you from the UK or Australia?” he asked.
Now I was smiling, excited to talk to another local.
“Actually, I’m from America,” I said.
His grin vanished as he put down my book and got up from the table. I suppose that was the wrong answer.
3:00 pm
After mailing some postcards and a last minute purchase of an antique, hand-painted tea set, it was time to head back out to the airport. I caught a cab with two Dutch girls from my hostel, and waved good-bye to the pho lady at the end of my street. I smiled, happy to be heading home after two stimulating days in the cultural smorgasbord of Hanoi.
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Sometimes you gotta get out of the city. Weekender is Coconuts Bangkok’s travel feature series on destinations that can be enjoyed on a weekend trip from Bangkok.
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