Hanoi is Hardcore

To be fair, we weren’t set up well to love Hanoi. Our flight attendant from Siem Reap was an abrupt change from the genial folks of Cambodia. She bitched out a guy who put his bare feet on a menu that was on the plane floor and made him pick it up and put it in the garbage bag she was holding while wearing a look of abject disgust. When we landed and everyone jumped up she yelled “Sit down!” repeatedly and to no avail and almost snapped off the hand of an Eastern European woman by slamming shut the overhead bin she had opened while the plane was still moving. She was done with flyers and fit to kill.

Our taxi acquisition was a bit fraught and when we arrived at our hotel we discovered they were charging us triple the rate what we initially booked and only had a single bed room available, so we had to separate beds and make them up ourselves. K was in scrapping shape so she broke the financial wackiness down and got it fixed.  

On the drive to our Old Quarter hotel, we noticed that Hanoi seemed dark and deserted, until we got to our area. It was all neon and tourists. Basically, it was Hanoi’s version of Delhi’s Pahar Ganj. Loud, crowded, smoggy, dirty, with honking aggressive drivers. It feels like anything authentic is long gone and everything is set up to take advantage of tourists. We lived through our first night of relative grumpiness and decided to re-assess in the morning. 

Rolled out of bed to find the hotel was refunding all the extra money to us in cash, and there’s a lovely vegan café across the street. Score all around. We got the last free table at the café as we learned that the one month anniversary of the lunar new year is a celebration where Buddhists are meant to eat vegan. The place was fully booked. Not long after we ordered, two Hanoian women came in and were told there were no more tables. The hostess asked if they could sit with us and the next hour, maybe hour and a half, was spent in rapid fire, joyous conversation. We got to ask one another questions, make recommendations, take photos, trade some food, and it all ended in hugs. Ok, maybe Hanoi deserves some love.

We headed out into the misty, atmospheric Old Quarter of Hanoi. This time of year it is either raining lightly, has just rained or is threatening rain. Every day has been grey and 12-15 degrees cooler than Siem Reap.

K needed a raincoat so we went to one of a vast number of knockoff hiking gear shops to get her a $10 “North Face” jacket. Hanoi is knockoff goods central. You need a suspiciously light scented Le Labo that retails for $600 in Canada? $15 for a massive bottle.  You want a Gucci bag? They have it with one or two Cs, as you prefer.

The street hawking ladies have a tough life and they have no hesitation to take it out on tourists who accept a “just try” sweet and then don’t buy. They will chase you down and cuss you out. Stakes are high for them as they are often supporting families with these tiny earnings. You know the stereotype of the Vietnamese lady in the conical leaf hat with a pole over her shoulder supporting a tray of fruit or nuts on either end? Those ladies are everywhere and give the chaotic streets a touch of charm.

Also everywhere are chihuahuas or small white dogs with dyed ears and tails in cute outfits. It seems to be a thing. Last night a cute pup with pink ears and tail wearing a red tutu walked past me down the street like she had an appointment somewhere. I encountered her again today at a roadside coffee bar, but this time she was wearing a yellow raincoat. We settled in for a session of petting since her human was otherwise entertained.

I also saw a woman walking a pink dog in a pink dog stroller. Truly.

The ladies of Hanoi who aren’t dressed for selling souvenirs or making food tend to dress up. There are roughly 2 styles of dressing up: super elegant or warm top with panty flashing short skirt. The short skirt trend isn’t just for the youngsters and it’s quite revealing in scooter culture. It’s also means they are unable to visit temples, pagodas or government monuments. If shoulders and knees aren’t covered, you will be turned away to find appropriate cover ups. Those were also the posted rules in Cambodia but no one policed the tourists on it there. We saw security kick people out of a monument line up here. 

There is a temple on the lake near our hotel and ladies show up there dressed to the nines in traditional clothes to hire the roving photographers. The temple is scenic, as is the lake and everyone comes for photoshoots, wedding shots, etc. Wedding photos here happen a month before the actual event to avoid making the day more stressful. I guess you just hope that the proposed marriage doesn’t fall apart between the photos and the actual wedding.

The Women’s Museum was a worthy visit. There were sections on marriage and childbirth customs based on ethnic group, Mother Goddess religions, professions, ethnic fashions and a whole floor on the roles of women during the wars. The language of the plaques was reminiscent of exhibits I’ve seen in Cuba. “Martyr so and so wrote of her love of the revolution to her mother from the battlefield….” These women were impressive and dedicated. They ran complex campaigns and some were captured and endured in the torturous tiger cages I saw back in Ho Chi Minh City. We saw a scarf that all the women in one section of a prison took turns using as a menstrual pad. They would sneak it to whomever was responsible for taking out the urine bucket in the morning and she would risk surreptitiously washing it out in the urine to be reused by the next woman who needed it. Those are seriously grim circumstances. 

Since we were in a grim mood already, I dragged K to Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum because I read that he is preserved and you can see him and I’m weird for that shit. Turns out it isn’t true and Hanoi taxis are stupid expensive. Oops. We did find the most amazing restaurant our first day friends recommended - Sadhu, a served vegetarian buffet. Works much like a sushi all-you-can-eat but very upscale. I have never tasted those flavour combinations before. It was incredible. We are debating whether to return before we leave or to keep it as a perfect crystalline food memory. 

I mentioned before that in Vietnam, eating outside on the street while sitting on a low seat is the normal social convention. We didn’t do any of that in Ho Chi Minh City but we have been doing it plenty in Hanoi - pho, bun, coffee and bahn mi have all been had on sidewalks watching the people go by. Interestingly, many of these establishments have no kitchens of their own on site. You order your food and either someone runs to get it or someone texts someone in a kitchen somewhere to send your food by runner or by scooter. 

Everyone here is on a scooter, as in all the other places on this trip, except their scooter drivers have zero reservations around running you down. Nor do the guys pushing the tourist rickshaws. Or the tourist buses. Actually, everyone in Hanoi, minus our brunch friends, is fine to kill us. You hear tempers flare a lot here. After the sweet disposition of Siem Reap, it feels like a bit of a letdown, although it’s probably just back to normal. All the other tourists we talk to tell us how much they love Hanoi and how nice they find Vietnamese people.

Evenings in the Old Quarter are loud and lively. There’s ballroom or line dancing by the lake, kids and adults riding glowing go-karts and tanks, street markets, a lo-fi hi-volume beer road being worked by a sleight of hand magician, the Water Puppets Theatre has showings all day & evening and there are sometimes musicians. We saw a filming of some kind of Amazing Race show. One random weekday night there were 30 or so women line dancing to “Rasputin.” Go figure.

The Water Puppets are a big draw. They are a traditional art form originating from the Red River Delta during the rainy season. Sounds like what you would think, puppeteers behind a screen in water to their waists with puppet characters dancing and moving in and above the water, although the final effect is more than it sounds. This theatre has a gorgeous stage set with live musicians on either side. One woman was playing a monochord which sounded like a harp and a theremin had a baby. It was spooky, otherworldly and utterly cool. 

Our first night we had dinner at a vegan restaurant down a long narrow alley. The dinner was unremarkable, but when I wanted to hand wash, I had to leave and go up some rickety stairs that clearly led through homes and other businesses. When I found a bathroom, it was obviously a personal bathroom that everyone used. It was filthy and someone’s personal products were in there. I didn’t want to touch any surface and wasn’t convinced my hands would come away cleaner after being there. We followed our dinner with a  drink at Peacheys, a craft beer establishment on the second floor of a building. Once again, there was a narrow alley some North Americans would not fit through, and seriously structurally compromised and filthy stairs leading to homes and other establishments. Thinking about it feels like it adds a layer of grime to my brain, it was so icky. You would never want to touch the railings. We didn’t even want to see the bathroom here. Cambodia had immaculate bathrooms but Hanoi has the opposite.

There is a commuter train that runs basically down an alley between houses and businesses a couple times a day. Like, reeeeeally close to the houses and businesses. There’s maybe 4 feet or less clearance from rail to wall - just enough for a little chair and a tv tray table. So we are all lined up along the tracks, maybe 2 feet from knees to rail, waiting for a train to ruffle our hair. If you choose not to sit at a café and order something, you are stuck at the road crossing where a serious policeman will 100% hit you with a truncheon and maybe shove you as well, to put you behind the car barrier, which is way further away than the café chairs. There are pretty lights decorating all the businesses. It’s a pretty frantic atmosphere with hawkers, tourists, selfie takers, table and chair proprietors trying to seat and serve everyone, the police blowing whistles and wailing on tourists, and then there is the train. We are made to turn our knees sideways and sit up straight. No leaning forward! Even then, the train roars by literal inches from us. It’s exhilarating but also terrifying. You understand why no one is allowed to stand, lest they slip. There’s no forgiveness in this alley. Hanoi is hardcore.