Surmountable Barriers

Not everyone wants to start their morning alone in prison, but I went out of my way to do so.  On Thursday, my last day in Hanoi and last full day in Asia, I made my way to the Hoa Lo Prison just after it opened.  Given its claim to fame (or, rather, infamy), I had thought it would be full of tourists.  While a few did trickle in during my visit, it was rather hauntingly empty, instead.

Perhaps part of the reason that the museum was so empty is because not all of the exhibits are translated into English.  An entire second floor full of prisoners' poetry is available only in Vietnamese, making it inaccessible to many Western tourists.  Descriptions in English were usually brief and often poorly translated.  Where care had been taken with an English translation, it was full of so many self-righteous adjectives that the communist zeal was palpable in the room.  The French were "barbaric" and their "utter domination" and "complete repression" were the themes of the day.  

Indeed, the French treated Vietnamese prisoners quite poorly at Hoa Lo Prison.  The French demolished a prosperous village that specialized in portable stoves (Hoa Lo Village actually means "Village of Portable Earthen Stoves") in order to build the prison, one of the largest and most secure of its time in Indochina.  The "Central Maison", as it was labeled (apparently the French often call prisons "Central House") stood in the middle of the town that regrew around it.  As a result, though, people would often throw notes or supplies over the walls.  This made the prison a hotbed of revolutionary activity during the 1930s and 1940s.  Most of the Vietnamese revolutionary leadership had spent time there.  But back to the French treatment of prisoners.  They would keep them in tiger cages (underground pit with bamboo bars over the top), force them to wear unwieldy ladder-like devices around their necks, subject them to torture using canes or electricity, or execute them with a guillotine (one is still in the prison).  They also would shackle both feet in place, the prisoners parallel in long lines.

According to the museum, after the liberation from French rule in 1945, the prison was maintained as a historical site until it was used to house American pilots gunned down and arrested.  These pilots gave the place the tongue-in-cheek name of "Hanoi Hilton".  Though the government now uses this fact to say that the treatment of US prisoners was exemplary - it was practically a Hilton hotel - the accounts of US soldiers tell a story of extreme torture, extraction of false statements condemning the US military activity (to be used as propaganda by the North Vietnam government), and general poor treatment.  Like other Vietnamese tourist sites, the information provided had been carefully crafted to create an image of Vietnam as the persevering victim, attacked and oppressed by foreign powers but resilient to the end.  None of these sites - from the Hoa Lo Prison to the War Remnants Museum (previously called the American War Crimes Museum) - ever mentions poor conduct on the part of the Viet Cong or the government.  It is this constant need for scrutiny, for taking things with a grain of salt, that I find so exhausting about Vietnam tourism.

Fun facts about the prison, though: it is where John McCain spent a good portion of his time as a POW, and his flight suit is on display.

It is also where Douglas Peterson, an Air Captain in the army and future US Ambassador to Vietnam, was a POW.  I had heard about Peterson before; while in central Vietnam I learned that during or after his ambassadorship he started a charity that teaches Vietnamese children how to swim.  Despite the long coastline and numerous lakes and rivers, most Vietnamese cannot swim and drowning is a major cause of death.

After visiting the museum, I headed back to my hostel to check out.  While there, I met four Israeli girls and one Italian woman in the lobby.  They were just heading out to lunch and invited me along.  We didn't walk far; the girls wanted to stop at a Kebab house about a block away.  It want until about halfway through the meal that I realized this was, for them, like getting a burger would be for me.  It's a taste of home while abroad, and nothing feels more familiar than your comfort food.  Over lunch, I learned that the Israeli girls had just finished their army stints and were traveling until they started work or school.  They had spent two month in China and were spending about a month in SE Asia, hitting many of the same countries that I did.  It was amazing how many small things we had in common, from singing to medical interests.  They were quite excited that I will be visiting Israel this summer.  I asked if they thought they would live abroad, and all of them said they loved Israel and had no desire to live elsewhere.  The Italian woman at lunch with us, who was perhaps 30, was a complete free spirit.  I didn't get her whole story, but she had been traveling for quite some time, including a four-month stint in India.  She was a lovely person to spend an afternoon with.  I hope that I can go visit her in Italy at some point, but she doesn't plan on being back for several more years.

The rest of the afternoon was spent tying up loose ends, from paying my hostel bill to arranging a taxi to the airport and charging my various electronics (I needed about 30 hours of entertainment for the upcoming flights and layovers).  My last task was venturing out to find food that I could bring with me for dinner.  

While I had hoped to stop by a nearby Banh My place, the normal person wasn't there and the woman managing the store tried to rip me off.  This simple task turned into a wild goose chase all over the Old Quarter, with people pointing me to cafes and me ordering and waiting only to find out that they didn't serve sandwiches and had instead fixed me a non-portable specialty.  

It was exhausting running around, tackling language barriers (often with little success), and haggling away my last few VND.  But it was very Hanoi, and after my frustrations passed I realized that it was an appropriate end to my time in Vietnam.

My first flight, to Hong Kong, was uneventful.  I was seated with two other American college graduates traveling Asia before venturing into the real world, and it was fun sharing tips about Hong Kong for their upcoming stay there.  It made me crave Butao pesto ramen and laugh at memories of the giant rubber duck.  I hope they have a good time.

Upon reaching Hong Kong, David and I had a rather giddy reunion and celebrated with a western indulgence: Starbucks.  After all, we would be staying up all night and the whipped cream-topped drinks looked too delicious to resist.  With cheers, we downed our caffeine and headed to buy train tickets.  But lest you think that all was smooth sailing, adventure awaited.  We would catch the train out to Central to pick up our luggage, but the train wouldn't resume service until 6 am, too late to make our 7:30 flight.  We would need to research other options.  But for the time being, we enjoyed our fancy drinks and giggled deliriously all the way to Hong Kong Island.  My time traveling alone was wonderful, but the best time is shared with friends.

We reached the apartment and our luggage with ease.  But since there had been no hiccups - no delays or taxi breakdowns or apartment lock-outs - we had several hours to burn before returning to the airport.  We considered going out, given that it was a Thursday night and we were well-caffeinated, but our host had to prepare lesson plans for his tutee and it wouldn't be the same without him and his droll commentary on the Hong Kong party scene.  Instead, David and I decided to climb a mountain.  We were already halfway up Victoria's peak, and there was little traffic at this hour on either the road or the pathway up. A bit delirious, we packed a backpack with cookies and a headlamp and set off.  We had been warned about fist-sized banana spiders and their enormous webs, but nothing crossed our path during the ascent.  We did, however, stop at a playground and make good use of the slides, rings, and spring animals.

Continuing to the peak, we were unable to see the other islands due to an incredibly thick fog.  When we went to the traditional tourist lookout point, though, we could see the city glimmering beneath us.  We lingered as long as we could, soaking up the city lights, the hazy pre-dawn, and the last vestiges of our amazing Asian adventure.

And don't worry, we made it to the airport with time to spare.

Spotted: monochrome outfits.  These are quite popular in Vietnam, especially among the older generation.  They are often in bright prints and the individual pieces would be rather difficult to wear in comination with anything else.  But hey, they always make an outfit, which is more than I can say of my own poor fashion choices.

Also spotted: shoe shiners.  I would get stopped on the street everyday that I wore sneakers by shoe shiners offering to buff them up a bit.  My muddy, grungy, stinky sneakers were headed for the trash can and no shoe shining could return the bounce to their soles.  It was a shock to me that they would even think to polish them.  I wonder exactly what they would do.

Crouching Kayaker, Descending Dragon

After arriving from Sapa at 4:30 AM, I heard a sharp rap at my window and looked out to see my overenthusiastic guide, smiling and waving a printed sign with my name on it.  It was equal parts endearing and terrifying, but since he saved me from the mobs of drivers and got me safely back to my hostel I was forever grateful.  While there is much to complain about after cookie cutter tours, the arranged transportation is certainly a nice perk.

My rest at the hostel was both welcome (Breakfast! Shower! Early check-in!) and productive, and soon enough it was 8 am and time for another adventure.  I was picked up on another Maydeville Hostel-arranged tour, this one a day trip to the beautiful Ha Long Bay.  I walked onto a bus packed with an international crowd, choosing a seat by the window from which I could enjoy the views.  One of my favorite aspects of long drives is watching the countryside pass by outside, as well as the chance to nap leaning on the windows.  This trip, which turned out to be about four hours (not the advertised 2-3) included both naps and a good bit of countryside-watching.  Unfortunately, I was woken up at the halfway point for a tourist-trap stop.  As in China, there were large jade statues everywhere, 700 kg monsters that only the rich and impractical can purchase on a whim at a rest stop.  Inside, on the way to the small and overpriced food court, was an open area where we could watch women stitch pictures of tigers, puppies, or everyday scenes from Vietnamese life.  The next room housed silk scarves and ties, the neat rip-off bags, and the last a series of snacks.  We were given a full half hour, which nobody wanted to spend at this rest stop.

But at long last we arrived at Ha Long City, a cluster of industrial buildings bordering a tourist office by the docks.  Hundreds of boats were visible; apparently there are 300 day boats and an additional 200 overnight boats (for passengers taking multi-day trips).  Since I was taking a day trip, our boat consisted of a downstairs restaurant and an upstairs empty deck.  We started downstairs, enduring a tutorial on how to use a life vest and enjoying a lunch of mostly seafood (grilled whole fish, steamed prawns, and sliced squid).  As we ate, the boat chugged its way from the port to the base of the beautiful craggy rocks that make Ha Long Bay a beautiful tourist attraction and a UNESCO site (one of the "Seven New Wonders of the World," despite being 500 million years old).

Ha Long Bay is a series of giant limestone rocks that have been worn away over time by the salt water surrounding them.  

The name "Ha Long" is a Sino-Vietnamese mash-up meaning "descending dragon".  It refers to the myth that dragons descended on the bay to protect the Vietnamese from invaders (probably Chinese).  The pearls and emeralds that spilled from their mouths became the islands.  The dragons then decided to settle in the bay, and descended into the water.  And then there is the scientific explanation: 500 million years ago, the entire area was submerged, but as the after receded and the rocks emerged, their shape was continuously changed by the water around them.  The type of weathering that the limestone endured has turned it into a "karst landscape", the best example of this in the world.  Today, the rocks stand about 50-100 meters high and have a general 6:1 ratio of height to width.  The sides are almost completely vertical, yet resilient vegetation somehow survives on the stone surface.

Driving through the rocks, the scene was just as breathtaking as I had hoped.  Ha Long Bay did not disappoint, and was not diminished in my imagination by prior exposure to pictures and stories of other travelers.  As David mentioned to me earlier on this trip, people now express excitement and emotion through the number of photos they feel obligated to snap, and I was a perfect example of this principle throughout the day.

Once we were nestled among the rocks, we docked at a floating tourist office and clambered into kayaks.  I love kayaking normally, but in such an incredible setting it was a real treat.  My partner and I paddled around the outside of the various rocks, as well as through the cave-like openings into the hollow centers of two of them.  Sadly, the picturesque scene was a bit ruined up-close by dirty, murky water and floating trash, but the rocks were as majestic as ever.

See how tiny thekayakers are in comparison?

Our next stop on the boat was a cave within one of the rocks through which we could hike.  

Like the caves in central Vietnam, it was the result of water trickling in through limestone rock, creating similar dripping stalagmites and irregular indentations in the walls.  This cave, being far more unique in this region, had been given the full star treatment and the significance of each feature had been blown out of proportion.  Meaning is in the eye of the beholder.  The entire cave was lift up with colorful party lighting, casting purple, pink, orange, and green shadows on the rock formations and making the whole event feel like Adventure Prom.  

Then, our guide began to point out various "shapes" with a laser pointer.  Clearly the four important animals - dragon, phoenix, turtle, and elephant - were present.  There was also a woman reclining in a sexy pose, a couple showering together, monkey heads, Ho Chi Minh's face (convenient, eh?), and a pool in the shape of modern-day Vietnam.  There were four openings in the cave, termed the four gates of heaven though one leading down was said to be more of a gate to hell (nobody had explored it). Romeo and Juliet showed up as shadows cast by one of the carefully-positioned lights.  But the crowning jewel of finding shapes was the Original Boob.  Apparently a dragon and a fairy (I think he meant more of an angel, because he said she resided in heaven) had 100 babies but couldn't live together so they each took 50.  One of the one's following the father dragon split off and was the first king of Vietnam.  But all of the children that went with the father had the same problem: how could they survive without a mother's milk?  Enter the Original Boob, a giant semicircle with a little pokey point on top, which has spawned a large mythical history since the cave was discovered less than 20 years ago.  On the way out we passed a random, cylindrical stalagmite and our guide made more lewd jokes about it.  We had had enough.  We walked out and got back on the boat.

Back on the boat, we faced the ubiquitous Vietnamese scene: people trying to sell us crafts as soon as we sat down.  This time, it was pearl jewelry.  While it's quite possible there are plentiful pearls here (there is a large variety of sea life in the bay), none of us were quite comfortable with $1 pearls or the feeling that they were trying to suck every penny possible out of us before we left Ha Long Bay.

And then, a mere four hours after we had embarked, we were back and being loaded onto another bus for the long journey home.  It was a lot of travel for just a little time at Ha Long Bay (twice as much travel time as bay time) but I'm glad that I got to see the rocks rising up out of the water.  Even Ho Chi Minh said of Ha Long Bay, "It is the wonder one cannot impart to others."  My favorite quote, though, is from Xuan Dieu:

"Here is the unfinished works of the Beings.  Here is the stones which the Giants played and threw away."

What a way to end a trip.  Only 53 more hours and I'll be home.

Tips for the future Ha Long Bay traveler:

Make sure your boat has AC.  It gets swelteringly hot out on the water midday and you will be glad to have it.

You cannot swim at Ha Long Bay.  Due to poor water quality and several accidents in recent years (drownings, ships sinking), swimming was recently prohibited.  Once you see the water, you won't want to.

Ha Long Bay must be incredible at sunrise and sunset, as well as by moonlight.  Sadly, I did not get to witness any of these.  Know that if you are there overnight, your boat will dock in a special place for the night.  I don't think that there is any kayaking at night, but if you could do that it would be incredible.

Spotted: Driver discounts.  As we noted in Cambodia, bus drivers and tour guides (probably through their companies) have agreements with rest stations like the one we stopped at.  In return for bringing hungry tourists to their site, the driver and tour guides receive free, or at least discounted, food.  We suspected this, and it was confirmed when we saw our staff in a secret back room of the complex kicking back and slurping noodles.

Pint-Sized

Our group awoke in waves, depending both on how much they had consumed the night before and when they had stumbled into bed.  As the sober girl with the grandma bedtime, my body naturally woke me up at around 5:30 and it was a struggle to stay in bed much longer.  Still, the very things that I enjoy about the morning in the United States were the same as the things that are wonderful about the morning in Sapa: it is mine, it's peaceful and orderly and settled, and I love to watch the world wake up.

We finally left at around ten AM, the troops fully roused and revived by a simple breakfast of crepes, sliced banana, and honey.  The concept of a pancake or crepe, depending on the country, seems to be rather ubiquitous in my travels in SE Asia.  And then we were off, thrust suddenly on to a path of steep climbs and descents and then, of course, a path that was at least calf-deep in slippery mud.  To avoid slogging along this well-worn path, we took a route about three feet to the right of the path, a perilously slanted strip of turf with little purchase for our feet.  In order to remain standing, we had to grip bamboo stalks that had been bent out of place to provide handholds.  At times, it was the only thing securing us to the hillside.  While the bamboo thatch on the other side would have broken our fall down the mountainside, it wouldn't be comfortable.

Given how steep and physically taxing the hike was, we stopped at several places.  The front porch of a home atop a mountain, the hillside falling away at your feet.  A waterfall where the white froth spilled out on two sides of a dry perch, where we sat and tried not to lose our belongings.  I can only imagine what is is like to roll out of bed every morning, peek outside, and behold the terraced valley rippling out between mountains.

Hands dyed blue from indigo

Embroidering a new belt for Hmong New Year

And then, as suddenly as it began, the hike ended.  It had been about two hours including our breaks, making it time for lunch.  We were then given about an hour and a half to eat our bowl of instant noodles with a fried egg floating in the broth, the strangely leisurely meal style that we have come to expect of Sapa tours.  I wonder if this is what they think we want or whether it is merely a way of killing time.  Anyway, we suited up for the rest of our hike and were told that the bus back was meeting us in ten minutes. What?  We were all surprised. The itinerary had called for about five hours of hiking.  When we reread the description, we realized that we had made all of the mentioned stops, but the timing was definitely off.  Almost everyone was a bit frustrated that our "two full days of hiking" had been reduced to two morning constitutionals.  Between the home stay without interaction with an actual family and the curtailed hiking, I was certainly angry.  But if Vietnam has taught me anything, it is that most tours are designed for most tourists, not action-happy exercise junkies like me (Tulan Caves being the notable exception).

We were driven back to Sapa town and had several free hours to kill before our bus to the train station.  Still frustrated, I went for a walk around the village.  Despite being the most densely populated part of the nearby mountains, the walk from end to end was quite short. The stores were completely tourist-oriented as I mentioned before: trekking gear, hotels, restaurants offering Western fare, and massage parlors for the sore hiker.  The same bag-and-bracelet women wandered the streets like small craft-selling gangs, calling out the familiar refrain "Yu name? Whereyufrum? Howoldyuare?" to try and establish a connection with potential buyers.  To this was added the conspiratorial "Motobike?" offer of Western-dressed men.  At the other extreme of town was the market, with a variety of fried, baked, and fresh offerings.  

I haggled a bit for donuts (sugar always being a worthy foe for grumpiness) and returned to the hotel lobby.  I heard from other travelers that the motorbike rentals are pretty marvelous, since you get to go far out of town.  There are no tourists in sight, just views that seem to extend forever.  To anyone thinking to visit Sapa in the future, do a day hike or two and then take out bikes.  Save the honestly for Thailand (trekking up by Chiang Mai), where your hosts will be excited about your arrival and will interact with you.

Later that night, I shared my sleeper train cabin with three girls from Belgium just starting a month-long Vietnam adventure.  Their excitement reminded me not to be so jaded, and to look around each day with fresh eyes.  I hope I can keep that going for the next three days.

Spotted: Families backpacking together.  This is something that I have noticed more in Vietnam than in Thailand or Cambodia.  Families are bringing along children, often 8, into an environment filled with partying university students and scams.  And beautiful countryside, modest budgets, fantastic culture, and elicits street food.  There have also been couples backpacking on their honeymoon.  It's made me reconsider a lot of my assumptions about travel as I age.  While I don't think I will backpack the way that I do now when I'm 50 or have children, I do think it will forever influence how I travel.

Black or Flowers, It's All Hmong to Me

Arriving in Sapa was a bit like being slapped in the face.  I awoke just as the train was pulling into the station and was hustled out into the bright morning sun, only to be mobbed by hundreds of drivers asking "Sapa? Sapa??"  This has become a familiar scene after overnight transportation, particularly in Vietnam, but it never ceases to amaze me how many people gather and bid for the chance to transport people and large quantities of luggage.  One of the perks of being on a tour was having per-arranged transportation, so I was able to push through the crowd to a man wielding my typed-out name like a beacon.

Sadly, I was in that parking lot for over an hour more.  The not-so-peachy part of joining a tour group is that you have to wait for all the group members - even the ones on the next train.  But at last we were on our way and the hour drive to Sapa flew by as we chatted and anticipated the adventures of the next few days.  I used the time to read up on Sapa and the Hmong tribes and other minorities that live there.  It turns out that the name Sapa is from the Chinese name for the place, Xa Pa, meaning "sandy place".  I didn't see any sand; Sapa is a mountainous region, but perhaps the soil was sandy to those in the know.  Sapa has become a popular tourist destination because of the breathtaking views and the opportunity to visit with the local ethnic minorities, the largest of which is the Hmong.  These minorities each have a distinctive dress and often have very different languages (they communicate amongst themselves in Vietnamese).

We arrived in Sapa, marveling at the brilliantly terraced mountainside, tamed into rice paddies.  Equally shocking was the transition back to the town, which was bustling and well-developed.  Storefronts advertised free wifi, massage services, and Western or Indian or authentic Vietnamese cuisine.  The place was a regular hive of backpackers, outfitted in their trekking gear, perhaps from one of the many trekking gear shops.  I don't know if I mentioned it before, but knock-off backpacking gear stores are quite common in Vietnam.

You can get a new North Face backpack for about 10 USD with a little bit of haggling. Hmong women lined the sides of the street - denser now than on the side of the highway but offering the same goods - selling corn and rice wrapped in banana leaves, fresh loaves of bread, a variety of fruit, sugared donuts appeared like kebabs.  And then there were the roving merchants, the ones with dozens of shoulder bags in different colors and with different embroidery, all slung across their bodies.  Pockets were filled with neatly knotted friendship bracelets, safety-pinned together and fanned out for display.  These women would become a fixture of our trip.

But, as is usually the case, I'm getting ahead of myself.  We disembarked outside of the Auberge Hotel, the home base for our tours, and treated ourselves to a shower and breakfast.  Then it was back out the door, suited up, hiking Sapa! Or so we thought.  The general disorder and confusion resulted in three of us following the wrong guide, twice.  We were shepherded along each time, only to be rescued at the border of the village and carefully led back to the herd.  

At last, we set out with our proper group and our guide, Mon.  The group was cheery as we wound our way down the mountainside, carefully avoided the slippery patches resulting from the light drizzle.  Tiny women with wizened faces followed alongside, catching tourists as they lost their footing and supporting people down big steps.  Most of us tried to be independent, as the women were about 3/4 our height and three times our age, making it a bit embarrassing to receive assistance.

As you'll notice above, the Hmong outfit is mostly black.  Or rather, this Hmong outfit is.  We were being guided by members of the Black Hmong tribe, so-called because their basic dress involved a lot of black or indigo-dyed cloth.  This was in contrast with the Flower Hmong, who dressed in vibrant colors and flowers.  These two Hmong groups speak the same language and make up the majority of the (nearby) Sapa population.

A Black Hmong traditional outfit involves several layers and is worn year-round despite the fluctuations in temperature.  

The base appear to be a bright green shirt with embroidered sleeve edges, often decorated with red thread.  This is covered, especially in adults, by a large dark tunic with heavily embroidered wide bands on the sleeves.  The tunic falls down onto the legs, where another flap lies on top of it.  The middle is wrapped with another wide, embroidered band in a similar pattern to that on the sleeves.  On the legs are worn long black shorts that reach to the knee and appear to be in a velvet-like fabric.  Where these end, the calves are wrapped in a black fabric and then tied in place with a thin embroidered band in contrasting colors around the top of the calf.  This creates the Hmong equivalent of leg warmers.  On their feet, the Hmong seem to wear what they please.  White plastic sandals are common, but so are rain bot in jewel tones.  Some girls were sporting ballet flats and one or two sneakers, but these were a distinct footwear minority.  But lest you think the outfit is complete, there is more to discuss,  the hair is worn long and wrapped in a thick rope once around the circumference of the head.  At the forehead, it is secured with a comb and parallel bands of silver barrettes.  Earrings are worn, usually large hoops with flattened, worked metal at the bottom of the circle.  These large earrings pull on the ears and someone gauge the holes, though the effect is not large since the huge hoops soon hit the shoulders.  One last mark, seen on several women? A dark red circle on the forehead, looking like some sort of bruise or stain.  It turns out that the Hmong do a version of fire cupping (a Chinese technique often accompanying acupuncture), but they use the hollow inside of a buffalo horn.  They apply the pressure directly to the forehead for about 15 minutes in order to reduce headache.

In short, the Black Hmong stand out, but they are also a very cohesively-dressed group.  They wear their outfits with ease and carry whatever belongings they need in large woven basket backpacks as they trek up and down the mountainside. As we were attended by women, we did not see what Hmong men wear but hear that it is similar.

We spent the morning hiking through the gorgeous scenery, snapping pictures and learning from our companions about the life and language of the Hmong.  

For example, primary education (which we were told may last until children are 17) is in the village and is free.  

Secondary education is conducted in Sapa village and is expensive, about 1 million dong per month (the equivalent of 50 USD, which is a lot for the people here).  English is taught only in secondary school, so all of our very-proficient guides had learned just from talking to tourists.  We were very impressed.  Youth marry early (18-20) but not as early as before (15-16) and produce large families, since farming is the major industry and many children die in infancy.  If they survive childhood, most people live to about 50-60, according to Mon.

It was a beautiful place, but also a difficult one in which to live.  These women has done our hike in reverse to come and pick us up in the morning.  While that would be manageable for a fit person, it was certainly not convenient.  But these women were quite tough, and greeted everything with a smile.

Admittedly, mealtime were a bit of a pain.  As soon as we would grab seats, the women who had accompanied us down the mountain and their village companions would swarm the table hawking the ubiquitous bags and bracelets.  Every hand held down a step, word exchanged, or smile bestowed was rehashed with desperation and aggression, each woman trying to guilt the travelers into making a purchase.  It was horribly uncomfortable, knowing that the friendship had been a mean to an end, and it cast a pall on the easy conviviality of the morning hike, at least for me.  I had enjoyed the company of our companions but it wasn't worth the harassment I received in return.

We were all a bit relieved when we started hiking agin, though it ended up being a short walk up to our home stay.  At 2:30 pm, immediately following a long lunch break, we were done for the day.  There was also little to do but look at the scenery, read a book, or socialize.  We employed a mixture of the three to pass the many hours until nightfall, though sadly we didn't get to interact with our hostess.  She didn't speak English (a rarity, it seemed, and therefore an odd choice for hostess) and avoide dour company in favor of her family space.  It was less of a home stay and more of a middle-of-nowhere hostel.  Still, the food was delicious, the company was good, and the "happy water" (rice wine) began to flow at about 5 pm.  Mon was secretly an expert at drinking peer pressure and had all of my companions on their fifteenth half-filled shot before they knew what hit them.  The clear liquor apparently went down easy, but after several aquafina bottles of "happy water" has been consumed, we thought that was it for the night.  How silly of us.  The bottles were refilled from a large container, resembling the office building Poland Spring jugs.  We were escorted next door to join two other tour groups and the drinking games and toasts began in earnest.  It wasn't the highlight of my sober evening to watch people sit around and take shots, but the conversation was pretty hilarious.  And people seemed to really enjoy themselves.

Spotted: Smoking.  It is one of the things I always forget about when planning trips, and is the bane of my existence until I return home.  It is so unpleasant to take a seat next to someone and have them light up.  But everyone seems to smoke here, as if all backpackers have secret nicotine habits.  Every time I think someone might be the exception, a cigarette is bummed or a pack is dragged out.  I think my anti-smoking sentiment are the closest thing I will ever feel to homesickness.

The Western Frontier

I started out the morning right, with a run along the Long Bien Bridge.  Another important cultural site, the bridge was bombed heavily during the Vietnam War because it connects Hanoi to the nearest port.  Now, the bridge is in constant use by commuters crossing between the two sections of Hanoi.  Beneath the bridge are the run-down boats of about forty families, some of the poorest in Hanoi, who have come to the city from the countryside.  The strange thing about the bridge is that, on the side of the city center, the city abruptly ends and merges with dense forest. On the water's edge edge are square plots carved out for farming, but otherwise the forest goes untamed.

After my run, the sunny weather ended and the rain began to pour down.  Undeterred, I set out to see Ho Ci Minh's mausoleum, a significant walk from my hostel.  By the time I arrived, I was soaked but had enjoyed seeing the city adjust to its wet season weather.  The motorbike drivers pulled out ponchos, often with two head-holes and hoods.  Walkers embraced the rain by taking off their shoes.

The mausoleum was quite large and the entire area around it was blocked off from vehicle traffic, but people weren't allowed inside the building.  I didn't particularly want to see Ho Chi Minh's dried-up corpse, so it was completely fine.

I also attempted to find the One Pillar Pagoda, but failed miserably.  The only directions that I obtained fromm an English-speaking passerby led me in circles, and I eventually gave up.  I hailed a motorbike and headed to West Lake.

West Lake has a completely different vibe from the Old Quarter.  It is home to many ex-pats and otherwise filled with residential areas.  There are few people selling goods on the street, and fewer tourists like myself wandering about with maps.  I ended up at Saint Honore, a French cafe with lovely little tables.  Upon entering, you are greeted by an entire wall of delicious-looking pastries.  It was just what I was looking for.  It was time to embrace the vestiges of French colonialism.  I got a crepe and a cup of hot chocolate and settled in for a relaxing afternoon of reading and writing.

I met a fascinating man next to me, an Australian who works as a health care consultant and is currently helping to create regulations for the doctors and other health care professionals.  There is little centralized licensing or organizations in Vietnam, one of three countries in that state along with Qatar and Belize.  The man was actually heading to Qatar next, to implement a similar system.

After enjoying a lovely afternoon, I searched for the TET Cafe, a project run by a friend of a friend who I was trying to visit.  Sadly, I found nothing.  But I did get to have a lovely walk around the lake!

The evening ended with a night train to Sapa.  As I waited to be picked up, people milled about the hostel lobby, furiously rebooking tours to Halong Bay for after the approaching typhoon, or rebooking into the hostel because they couldn't motorbike south in the pelting rain.  Luckily, Sapa is north and inland, so I wouldn't be bothered.

I was picked up by an incredibly over eager tour manager, who micromanaged every move and was clearly under the assumption that all foreign tourists are inept.  I eventually ditched him at the train after assuring him I knew how to read a ticket and had taken an overnight train before.  I settled into my car, a four-bunk room that I shared with two Singaporean college graduates who were quite nice.  And then the fourth occupant arrived.  Or rather, the fourth, fifth, and sixth.  It was a family of three - mother, father, and baby - all planning to cram onto a bunk that barely fit little old me.  They were using their smartphones to take pictures as their baby fiddled with a souped-up DSLR.  But the splurge for a second ticket wasn't worth it.  When I woke up in the middle of the night, the mother was sitting against the corner of the bunk, trying to sleep upright.  I managed to sleep 8 of the 8.5 hours of the ride.  I guess my talents at falling asleep anywhere continue to improve.

Spotted: Old people at hostels.  And by old, I mean in their 70s.  I'm sure that I'll love to travel at that age and perhaps stay in hostels, but this is the first time that I have seen people that old in a budget ($5/night) hostel.  (See the back of the picture. Apologies for the low quality)

Fairest of Them All

One of the other backpackers at the Farm Stay, a North to South traveler, had said that he loe Hanoi because the city was so alive.  And alive it was as I stepped off the train and into the streets.  Dozens of taxi and motorbike drivers clamored at the exit for my business.  I had been warned by a friend to avoid all but two taxi companies, since others use rigged meters or no meter at all, so I fumbled about in a grumpy daze trying to find an appropriate vehicle.  Half-asleep, all of the people trying to rip me off just made me grumpier.  All the while, drivers that I had ignored were tugging on my bags and sleeves, shouting to get my attention.  After just a few days in the country, the city was a foreign place.

Soon enough, I was pulling up to my new hostel, which features a swanky lobby but is otherwise just a normal hostel.  The dorm beds are still bunked with little unused space, the towels are for rent, and the rooms are only $5 a night.  I had arrived just before 10, though, so only the lobby was available to me. With a weak wifi signal and a free map, I managed to orient myself and plot out the day's destinations. Food blogs provided landmarks for sustenance.  Trip Advisor alerted me to the "must see" sights.  The map kindly highlighted the location of the hostel and had "Please take me to the hotel" translated at the top.  It was time to get lost.

But first, I needed breakfast.  I tried to get the "best" beef pho (according to some of my favorite foodies) at 49 Bat Dan Street, but sadly they had stopped serving breakfast and I had to get my pho fix elsewhere.  In Hanoi, that meant stopping at one of the dozen vendors on the same street, squatting on tiny red plastic stools at a child-sized table and slurping to my heart's content.  I made sure to get an order of dau chao quay, or fried donut sticks, to dunk in my pho bo.  They soak up the beef and lime juice broth and it is heaven.

The next stop was a step outside of my comfort zone: coffee.  I do NOT like coffee that has not even diluted to about 90% milk and sugar, but so many people had raved about Vietnamese coffee that I decided to try a sip.  But on my terms.  And mine are terms of adventure.  So it was off to Cafe Pho Co for a cup of ca phe trung, or raw egg coffee.  The egg is whipped into a frothy meringue and poured atop a small serving of black Vietnamese coffee.  Cafe Pho Co is tucked on the fourth floor of a building, with the entrance squeezed behind a souvenir shop and a tailor shop.  The sign was more prominent than the one I had seen in picture, evidence that this gem has grown in popularity since its discovery by food bloggers a few years ago.  But half the fun is scaling the many steps that wind up through the floors of the building, peering into each new space.  I pass through an open courtyard, a shrine, and some residences.  Finally, the stairs open onto a wonderful view of Hoan Kiem Lake.  The coffee, ordered before the ascent, arrives promptly.  

The meringue topping is delicious, and a little mixing brings in just enough coffee flavor.  The coffee alone, I discover, is definitely not up my alley. But I am happy to have dessert in the guise of an American morning essential.  And even happier to follow it up with one of the sugary confections sold on the street, another lingering sign of French colonialism.

And then it is off to see the sights!  I stopped by the Temple of Literature first, a beautiful former school dedicated to studying Confucianism.  

It was quite a prominent university for hundreds of years until a new royal academy was opened in central Vietnam and it only drew regionally.  Still, it is pretty incredible to imagine the university occupying this space for nearly a thousand years.  If you ever go, Wikipedia provides quite a good guide to each courtyard and the meaning behind each one.  Each gate and courtyard has a fancy name, like "The Gate of Great Synthesis".  They took this naming process quite seriously.  The other thing they took seriously? Plant art.

These turtles were inscribed with the names of excellent scholars and also praised the king for founding and supporting the university.  The turtle is one of the four national animals and is a symbol of longevity.

Next I stopped by Hoan Kiem Lake to walk the beautiful park around the edge.  

Since it was the weekend, tons of locals relaxed on the benches and by the water's edge. The lake is known for its participation in an old folk tale.  The sword of Emperor Le Loi was grabbed by a giant turtle while he was out on a boat on the lake.  Neither the turtle nor the sword could be recovered.  The king eventually concluded that the Golden Turtle God, who had lent him the sword for an important battle, was merely taking back what belonged to him.  Le Loi even got a species of turtle, one that exclusively lives in this lake, named after him.  As a result of this tale, a monument in the center of the lake was erected to the turtles, appropriately titled Turtle Tower.  Along the north edge of the lake is another monument, this one the Ngoc Son Temple.  

While it has represented different things since it was built in the 13th century, since the 18th century it has honored a 13th century Vietnamese military hero.  Again, each part of the structure has meaning.  I love it when so much thought goes into a building.

Another fun fact? The bats depicted flying around symbolize happiness, because the Chinese word for bat (phuc) means happiness in Vietnamese.

Mostly, though, I spent the day wandering the small streets of the Old Quarter, soaking up the everyday life in Hanoi.

For dinner: Banh cuon, thin rice rolls stuffed with ground pork and woodear mushrooms.

Spotted: the strangest raincoat things in the world.  All of the women wear raincoat-like outerwear while riding on motorbike.  The hood is pulled over the head and drawn tight.  The sleeves extend to the wrist, and then a long oval flap covers the tops of the hands.  I can only imagine that this is a part of the obsession with white skin,  since these are not used as raincoats.  In the rain, a giant poncho is worn instead.  And, as in other part of SE Asia, all of the skin products (soap, lotion, etc) have whitening agents in them and promise a fairer complexion.  It was difficult to snap a picture, but I did my best!  The girl on the right is wearing a perfect example of the ubiquitous female motorbike coat.