Day Seven: Hanoi

I wake up, stiff, cramped and disorientated. My face is pressed against the cold window of the the 'sleeper bus' and as I pry my eyelids open I see the aircon vent just inches from my nose. We're in a 36-person bus, packed like sardines into cots. Except at the back, where it's a five person squash. D is sleeping butt cheek to butt cheek with one of the Manchester guys and the knowledge makes him sleepless. The sun is rising and it's quite lovely, even through the grimy window as the bus hurtles and rattles its way -- a few hours late into Hanoi.

The incident of the dogs
Snapping photos through the grimy coach window, I tried to capture the lovely pinks and lavenders in the sky, but gave up after a while to just enjoy the sunrise. Soon we came to an unknown little town with roads that were little more than wide mud tracks and slush. When we hit tarmac again, the signs of urban civilisation soon made themselves clear: shopfronts and the ubiquitous sights and sounds of scooters. Then the coach passed a row of shops selling large roast ducks. These were the largest ducks I had ever seen. Their skins were roasted a deep teak brown and the sellers had hung them up in windows and on tables. Business was brisk as they chopped and promoted their wares. One seller set aside half a duck after wrapping the other half for a customer. Strangely, the duck had a long thin tail sticking up in the air like a flagpole.
Then it hit me. THEY WERE SELLING DOG! "Oh fuck! Dog! Dog!" I shrieked incoherently. Dazed with sleep but galvanised by my hysteria, D and the two English guys scrambled awake, grabbed their cameras and squished their way against the window on my side (not easy to do since there was all of one foot of head room in that cramped space). And there we had it. The famous dog meat Vietnam, sold complete with paws, scowling head and upright tail

A number of firsts
The moment we go off the bus, we were sieged by taxi drivers touting tours, rides and hotels. We had already booked our hotel, so we just hopped into a cab (but not before negotiating the price first) and were on our way. D wound down the window a bit and lit a cigarette. He fucking loves Vietnam.

Our first tour of the Old Quarter, we saw the tombstone makers and the craft shops and then stopped for a morning coffee at Green Tangerine, a wonderfully quaint French restaurant that offers a peaceful sanctuary from the tooting chorus of the streets.

Our first real meal in Hanoi is at Cha Ca La Vong, an institution. We were served tumeric-coated fish that came in a pan of boiling oil atop a charcoal brazier. Plates of soft thin rice noodles, a tangy sauce, a fishy one, lots of herbs, groundnuts, basil and chilli arrived as accompaniments. It was a wonderfully flavourful meal and despite the grease, was not too rich. Washed down with a cold beer, it was the perfect introduction to Hanoi.

D: You can't trust tourist guides. Our Luxe guide said she couldn't smile, but after a few kam ern's and xin loi's, the old auntie was smiling like money fell from the sky! Maybe it did, considering the fried fish cost a whopping vnd180,000 (sgd 17)!

Took a cyclo to the lake. It had the reassuring words "No Worries" on the front, so we felt quite safe even though a cyclo is a rollercoaster-like experience when you barrel straight-on into traffic sans seatbelt

The unhindered view of the street during our cyclo ride to the lake

A walk around the lake brought us face to face with a strange tale that we heard before coming here, that the Vietnamese love their weighing scales and there are peddlers who push large ancient scales around should you desire to ascertain your weight while on a stroll. Seeing as we just had our third session of face stuffing for the day (ice cream at Fanny's), we passed up on the chance.

Fanny's icecream. "Too cold and sweet" (D Shen, 2008)


A bit of fooling around


Love the hat bebe

Get weighed on the go!

Rainstorm in the Old Quarter

Our dinner plans are dashed when we head out in the evening. An earnest tropical rainstorm greets us as we enter the lobby of the hotel. Along the narrow street in front of the hotel , the headlights of cars and scooters reflect the rain turn the fat drops of water into a flurry of colours -- red, orange, yellow and gold. I spy a little sandwich stand across the road -- grilled meat bahn mi (baguettes/sandwiches)! My love, my desire, my obsession!

D goes into a pub for some beers as I order us two sandwiches for dinner. The lady, covered neatly with a large umbrella, grills the meat over a charcoal fire that defies the rain. The coals glow bright and give off a spirited sizzling sound as the fat from the roasting meat drip onto them. The smell is wonderful. She stuffs the fat loaves of bread with the freshly cooked meat and a generous heap of the herbs that I love so. Shredded greens and pickle and basil and cucumber. A dash of sauce (Maggi All Purpose Seasoning) and the piping hot buns are wrapped deftly in paper and slung in a bag. Back at the hotel room we gnaw ravenously at the loaves, the meat juicy and fragrant and tender. Halfway through, D suddenly asks: What if it's dog?!


Dog? Beef? Who cares! It was the best rainy day food