A Week in North Vietnam - Part I

I initially submitted this piece of travel writing for publication but due to it's length I had toe greatly shorten it in order to be accepted for publication. Since it was not published in the magazine I am submitting it here in its entirety. 

Part I - Hanoi

The first thing that comes to mind when people think of when they hear Vietnam is the war with the US; but today Vietnam’s many charms, its culture, hospitality and cuisine, are becoming increasingly recognised thanks to Vietnam’s Communist government operating a system of Doi Moi; economic reforms with the intention of creating a socialist-orientated economy. This had led to foreign business operating in Vietnam as well as an ever-growing number of visitors discovering the country.

I chose to visit Vietnam for a week in April focusing on northern Vietnam. Travelling with my partner our itinerary began in Hanoi, from where we would take a night train to the Vietnamese-Chines border in order to reach Sa Pả. From there it would be one night in Ha Long Bay, before returning back home to Australia.

We made our journey into town from the airport and were greeted by a city shrouded in clouds.  Until we reached the densely populated city centre, neighbourhoods in the outskirts of town were surrounded by patches of green fields. The buildings were tall, multi-storey houses, (imagine narrow Dutch buildings), with ornate Vietnamese awnings, and the occasional few with Greek columns in the entrance.  They seemed fragile and hastily built as if a breeze could topple them. They reminded me of Lego. And then of Jenga.

Hanoi, or Hà Nội, as it is written in Vietnamese, means inside the river. I was not sure what to expect of Hanoi. Being the capital of a Southeast Asian country I thought it might be a mini-Bangkok. But nothing could be further from that image. Whereas Ho Chi Minh City is the economic capital of Vietnam, Hanoi is very much the spiritual heart of Vietnam. It was an authentic, bustling capital of a nation that had been through so much.

A little on Vietnam’s recent history: during the French colonisation of Vietnam, the Vietnamese fought to expel the French. The final battle was in the north and the French were successfully expelled. A Communist party emerged in the north while the south of the country was more capitalist. The north of Vietnam bore on the south and the US backed the south during the war. The US was defeated and Vietnam became Communist. To the Americans the war was their longest war. To the Vietnamese it was their shortest war, having fought the Chinese for longer periods throughout their history. All Vietnamese heroes became so for defeating the Chinese. And more recently, the Americans.

Hanoi is divided into various sections; there are modern suburbs, the a French quarter with neo-classical buildings and the Old Quarter with narrow streets and small restaurants and bars, which stands out from the more modern sections of the city. There are fewer international brands when compared to the West and other Asian countries. I noticed one KFC but no McDonald’s. There was a Lacoste, one H&M and one Zara. There was even… wait for it… a Prada. One shop in the French Quarter, opposite the Opera House was called Giovanni. It had the feel of an Italianate designer store, with sleek marble floors and bright spotlights.

For a Communist country I was surprised of the amount of expensive cars zooming boisterously through the city, and though there were many men and women on bicycles selling fruit or snacks, precariously perched on the back of their bikes, the majority of people commuted on motorbikes, honking at people and other motorcyclist as they weaved through the traffic and narrow city lanes.

It was while I was running across the road to avoid the oncoming traffic that I was kindly chastised by Minh, our Vietnamese guide. ‘You need to walk slowly across the street. The drivers will not see you if you run and you could be hurt.’ His comments were duly noted but that did not mean crossing the street was not a complicated process. I was told to ‘just cross the street and the traffic will avoid you, like water around a rock’.

‘Like water around a rock’ would become my mantra. I chanted it each time I stepped into the road with the intention of getting to the other side. By the time I left Vietnam, I was certain that if I crossed the road with my eyes closed I would still have made it safely across the street. If you visit Hanoi, try that. I dare you.

*****

On our first evening in Hanoi I met up with friends from Sydney at the Twilight Bar, a rooftop bar in the Old Quarter. We sipped cocktails while surveying Hanoi’s budding skyline and Hoàn Kiếm Lake. At night the Turtle Tower, an island in the middle of the lake, is lit up, and its golden reflection shimmer in the water. Cocktails consumed, it was a 10-minute walk to H20 Bar, a club on the top floor of an apartment building where, for a momentary high, you could inhale balloons of helium. We chose to abstain from inhaling anything dubious and stuck to drinks. Some of us discovered a little late in the night, and a little embarrassingly, that the men’s bathroom had a one-way mirror, allowing people in the lift a clear view into the bathroom.  

Though not as wild as Bangkok, Hanoi gives permission for bouts of nocturnal spontaneity. In Ha Long Bay I met Ross and Lala from New Yorker, and on our return to Hanoi we met up for dinner. Within the space of five hours, after returning to the city, I had typed up my notes for this piece and relaxed at the hotel while Ross had researched the best tattooist in Hanoi and decided to get a tattoo of the đồng, (the currency of Vietnam) on his shoulder; the joke being that he had a dong on his shoulder. His act of body-art inspired me to get a tattoo as well, of what I was not sure, but my intentions remained unfulfilled as the tattooist had already closed for the night.

On our second day in Hanoi the first stop on our tour was the Temple of Literature built in 1070 by the Emperor, and is home to the Temple of Confucius. It was a busy day and the area was overflowing with sweaty tourists who were dealing badly with the heat. More delightfully however were the groups of schoolkids who were there on a school trip. Kids walked with their arms around the shoulders of the best friends, smiling and laughing and needing no instructions from their teacher, who trusted that they would be well behaved.

Though the Temples and architecture were wonderful, the focus of my attention were the university students, who wearing their graduation robes, posed for their graduation photo (and by default also posed for the groups of tourists who amassed around them). Counting backwards from three, the new graduates threw up their hats in the air in celebration. It was my favourite moment of the day and like everyone there, I wished them all, all the best on their new adventure ahead.

The Temple of Literature was a stone-throw away from the Fine Arts Museum, which was in an affluent central neighbourhood of Hanoi; home to restaurants, cultural centres and embassies, one of which flew the flag we had mostly seen on the news but rarely anywhere else. It was the flag of North Korea and we were standing opposite its embassy. The shutters of the embassy were all closed and on the roof loomed a large antenna.

Across the road from the embassy was the UN office where parked outside and on the pavement were, not one, but two Rolls Royces. On the same street was the Goethe Institute, Germany’s cultural centre. In the entrance of the Institute was a food cart of Döner Kebabs that was made by a Vietnamese man. It was either the perfect case of integration; Turkish food now having become part of German cuisine; or it was a case of cultural appropriation.

We went inside for lunch. In the men’s restrooms was a large map of the German Bundesland. Returning to my table I ordered Vietnamese Phở (instead of Bratwurst) from the young Vietnamese waiter who wore Louboutin-inspired shoes; sneakers of silver plastic, adorned with silver spikes. ‘I love your shoes’ I said as we both admired them for a moment.

Wherever I travel I enjoy observing what people wear. Tourists could be spotted a mile off and you can tell who comes from where by what they wear.  Australians wear flip-flops, shorts and vests no matter the weather. North Europeans wear hiking boots, no matter the terrain. South Europeans also seem to wear trendy jeans and sunglasses, no matter how uncomfortable long trousers may be in the humidity. Chinese tourists wear anoraks.  American men wear baggy trousers, no matter the occasion.

Though Vietnam is a Communist country, there is a high level of individuality with young people are pushing for their own style. In Loading Café, Vietnamese hipsters sat sipping Egg Coffee (try it!) wearing clothes of prints on couches with prints, their wrists adorned with delicate bangles of their horoscope’s element. Others wore designer knock-offs, with designs that were too funny not to appreciate and could be bought in stores called Trendy Man or Tram Beauty.

In Sa Pả three old ladies wearing traditionally colourful clothes adorned with beads sat weaving and chatting while less than 100 metres away two teenage girls, seated on a motorbike, were wearing jeans and t-shirts and were taking selfies. One of the girls’ t-shirts was a designer copy of two interconnecting Gs surrounded by blue and green stripes. Below that was the face of a cat made of sequins.

In one H’Mong village, the men there wore leather jackets as they rode their bikes or played pool. One man was dressed completely in red; red trousers and a red vest and wore a gold chain. Others patriotically wore a red t-shirt with the yellow five-pointed star of the Vietnamese flag. And for roughly US$5 you could too.

Regardless the country, whether Capitalist or Communist, young people are the same everywhere. Young Vietnamese flirted by text, posed for selfies or created their own mini-fashion shoots for their social media accounts, which in turn would be used to flirt on social media, thereby coming full circle.

After lunch we walked to a park with a large statue of Lenin as teenage boys skateboarded right in front of him. Across the road was the Flag Tower, which was next to the Military Museum. There, the Vietnamese displayed the destroyed American aircrafts and exhibited their own military artillery. We circled the site along with school groups and tourists before walking up a long, leafy avenue called Điện Biên Phủ, passing the Romanian and German embassies and the Foreign Ministry, painted boldly and rather beautifully in yellow. It is located opposite Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum. In the mornings you have the chance to see his embalmed body and for certain months of the year it is flown from Vietnam to Russia for maintenance. As it was afternoon we bought tickets for the lush grounds of the Presidential Palace and saw the One Pillar Pagoda and a Buddhist Temple.

Other notable sites in Hanoi include Tran Quoc Pagoda, located by the lake, which was beautiful in the sun’s diminishing light. Not to be missed is the Citadel as well as Hanoi’s many museums. But two sites stand out in my memory more so for being unique off-the-beaten-track places to visit.

Our guide Minh took us to the rail tracks of Long Bien Bridge. It was a rattly old bridge that traversed the Red River. We walked from plank to plank as the Hanoi traffic zoomed below us. By sidestepping through the large metal frame we walked on the footpath opposite as motorbikes sped towards us. Their roar and speed was intimidating and as it was raining heavily we left and made out way to a Taoist Temple, Đền Quán Thánh, meaning Restaurant of the Gods. Minh explained the four Taoist pillars and the animals that represent them. The Azure Dragon represents the east; the Vermillion Bird, the south; the White Tiger, the west; and the Black Turtle and Serpent represent the north. At the altar in the north of the Temple was a large statue of Trấn Vũ, the god of water and guardian of the north.

After seeing the Temple, Minh took us for lunch to what seemed like someone’s storeroom but was in fact a small family-run restaurant.

‘They close at 2pm’ said Minh.

‘That early?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Because they run out of food’ he explained.

They served us Bun Ca, fried fish soup. After removing out the prawns from my soup, I devoured it. It was the perfect meal for a cold day. The restaurant is frequented by locals, which meant that it was delicious. It was no coincidence that it was on the street named after the Temple: Restaurant of the Gods.