Niall Clerkin

November 4th, 2009

So the title may be a bit unfair but I had to work bloody hard to disprove it. After our relaxed time on Koh Tao it could have come as a shock to go straight to Hanoi, but we had 4 days in Bangkok as a buffer, and BK is not a very quiet place. Still it was a big surprise to discover that Hanoi is suffering the after effects of a bomb. A big devastating scooter bomb. 3 million scooters flew out of this agent of destruction (they’re not orange though) and wreak continuous havoc upon the french colonial outpost. Once the greatest city in Indochina, it now appears to be a dirty hole of a city where you can’t cross the road and all you want to do is get out. Beep -beep beeep beep beeep beeeep and not a friggin’ indicator in sight. The traffic is relentless. There are no rules except he who dares wins. There appears to be no manners involved, in fact a mannerly upbringing might well prevent you from getting anywhere. Beep beep beeep, Left right, duck weave, float like a butterfly sting like a bee, why’d the chicken cross the road?  close your eyes and hope you told someone who your next of kin is. Narrow narrow streets, dirty kitchens, dirty bathrooms, hawkers who wont give up, who start at 100,000 Vnd for a bag of fruit, when the real price is 2 or 3ooo Vnd. That’s because you’re a tourist and it is presumed you wont understand the currency. How could you? You’re too dumb to cross the road…….

We looked for the heart of this place, I wouldn’t leave until I had something to write but the search was not bearing fruit. Everywhere was a bad experience waiting to happen. I couldn’t find the fabled french influence. Sure they had bread, good on them, they had bread in the Gulags. I thought if I learned something about the country I might understand the place and then I could leave. So I went to the National Museum of Vietnamese History, which sounds damn impressive. My Frommers Guide writes it up as an “exhaustive collection of Vietnamese artifacts with detailed explanation of Vietnamese History”, and this sounds like the place for me. It could have been, if I was 6 years old. Hands down this is the worst Museum I have ever been in (and I went to one in Manchester). They have some arrowheads, a silk robe and a lot of copies. They have a single line of information about the ruling dynasties of the past. They have almost nothing about the revolt against France and sod all about the Viet Nam war. In Viet Nam they do not want to teach history, and clearly my guide book hadn’t gone to the trouble of discovering this.

In Hanoi we were willing to believe our lack of feeling for the place may have been our own fault. We stayed at the party hostel and they do party well, but they don’t take the traveler to the right parts of the city, they take you where they have no competition. Having said that there are great pictures of my hallowe’en pirate and Elaine’s delectable little angel partying the night away……….

Two things the hostel did do for us though was allow us to meet so many different folks, the enthusiastic Canadians, well traveled Brits, loud Aussies and even louder Kiwis, the learned Israeli who when asked on hallowe’en night what he came as answered “a terrorist! no costume needed”, how we laughed. …. And the Bia Hoi. This is fresh beer, drank as its brewed, drunk as its drank. There is no telling how strong it is, but it is sour like old youghurt and takes more than a little getting used to. It costs 12cent a glass and is bought at random places on the side of the street. One crossroads has 4, 1 on each corner, where you pull up tiny toytown kindergarden chair, scrach your ears with your knees and gulp it down (it’s not one for savouring). A fantastic experience. I have brothers who’d love it.

We sodded off to Halong Bay. Halong is the fallen dragon. A big limestone dragon fell out of the sky (wouldn’t you if you were that heavy) and sprawled itself into the bay area, only partially submerging, and leaving spikes and protruding broken limbs everywhere. The result of dragon carcass on landscape is dramatic, the giants causeway my ass, in fact the causeway couldn’t wipe this dragons ass, sprawling as it does for hundreds of kilometers with over 3000 “karsts” in total. Its sunny, its misty, its quiet, its mystical, it’s a foggy dew and a galway girl of a tour, if there weren’t a million wooden junks vying for your trade and sea space. I’m not knocking this one, it was amazing, what a place…. 

 Elaine & I went kayaking into some hidden lagoons where there was only us, the rock and the eagles soaring overhead, so many eagles. It was so so quiet. We liked it. We toured a magnificent cave, with great rock formations, only discovered by a stranded fisherman in 1994. We ate squid and fish on the boat. We visited a little floating fishing village. We took photos to beat the band.

 

But the boats, so many boats, and the scooters, so many scooters, and the hawkers, I think you’re getting the gist of it…… Viet Nam is the land of plenty.

Back in Hanoi we were detetermined. Bolstered with a few more details we scrounged from myriad guidebooks and titbits from every traveler who had anything good to say, we set off again into the unknown (after breakfast though).

Feeling oddly comfortable with the traffic din,  I was staring down scooters as I crossed the roads dragging Elaine along behind me, we began to negotiate our way out of the old city and into the boulevards (a stretch maybe but this is the part where I go easy on the city). Where the roads are wider and the people richer, the shops are high end and the traffic lights obeyed. What? People are actually stopped at red lights. Clearly the local cops care what happens around here.

So there are restaurants and bars here (above our traveler budget but very pleasant on a holiday budget), a fine opera house and fine houses too. An altogether different place. Still not we were looking for though. We want good food on a budget, interesting bars & cafes, accessible culture and a smile wouldn’t go astray either.

We visited Hoa Lo Prison, where the French kept communist “insurgents” and subsequently where the Vietnamese kept American Pilots including the notable John McCain for 6 years (they should have kept him longer). I enjoyed this. It was so over the top comrade, there can be no doubt about the victors writing history but enjoyable all the same. Some of the stories here are quite good and the conditions, particularly when it was French were utterly inhumane. The Hanoi Hilton as it became known in the VN war is worth a tour.

The happy medium exists in Hanoi. It is hard to find and no one wants to show you. North of the central lake, at Hang Be there is an area of the old city with some little hotels, restaurants and bars. It is cute and cramped but fair and friendly. They food is so fresh you can taste the forest floor. Elaine ordered a dish based on aubergine and they went to market to buy the ingredients. We sat on balconies and watched the nighttime pass below with a Hanoi beer and a smile. People thanked us for our custom. (now that was a culture shock) There is Bao Khanh/Ha Hanh street, just off the Hoan Kiem central lake, a hidden gem that the locals called Old street. With cafes & bars & no traffic though it is slap bang in the middle of the city. Try Polite Pub or Le Cafe des Artes for some artisan baking. It takes days to find these areas but they utterly changed our minds about the city. Fueled by their food and rested by their quiet you are recharged to face the city and enjoy it. They are oasis’.

The hostels don’t tell you and tourist maps don’t point them out. Unless you are lucky enough to discover them or be stationed in one of their little boutique hostels (by chance) you might never know, and like so many travelers I met, just decide to get to hell out of Hanoi. There is way more money being poured into the trips beyond Hanoi (Sapa for trekking & hill tribes, Halong for being awestruck) than is staying in Hanoi and its the city’s attitude that does it. Visitors here are overwhelmed and almost scared to ask for help (who would answer?)  and I guess that’s what culture shock is. But we didn’t give in and the city didn’t swallow us up and you know what?

I want to go back.

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