Ahoy Hanoi, Day 3

Hanoi, Vietnam, 7/23/11

I'm up early and wearing long sleeves and pants despite the 100-degree heart in order to enter the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. The complex houses the Vietnamese forefather ("Uncle Ho") who is embalmed and available for view. It's funny, Ho requested cremation but his disciples disobeyed and insisted on embalming. But he may have gotten his way anyways since rumor has it that the body is more Madame Tussauds than Six Feet Under. I take a photo outside the mausoleum (which is allowed, just not inside) which angers the security guard who refuses my admission. He points to the camera drop off, but even after I do so, continues to block my entry. This man needs to lighten up. He does not know I'm American, plus I'm about as threatening as Dora the Explorer. He must not have had his Bun Cha for breakfast. Oh well, at least I've lost five pounds wearing jeans in this weather.

One Pillar Pagoda

I grab a quick morning snack at Cam Chi Street, a small food alley a few minutes from the mausoleum. The street is narrow and hard to find, yet rewards travelers who make the quest. Small restaurants line both sides of the streets and locals sit outside reading the paper and eating spring rolls, pho, and bun cha. Several of the chefs sit right at your lunch table, preparing your food and acting as mealtime companions. As with most off-the-beaten-path street food destinations, I'm the only local in the alley. I get several flat noodle rolls, filled with beef and topped with fried onions. The discrete chef, who I thought was a patron due to his table location and casual checkered button-down shirt, delicately folds together the rolls almost like origami. As with most noodle dishes in Hanoi, they're served with a sweet, vinegary broth (almost like pickle brine) for dipping, raw minced garlic, and chilis. I enjoy it alongside a cup of potent Vietnamese coffee (Ca Phe Nau De). Two glasses arrive: One with a small amount of freshly brewed dark coffee, almost like espresso, with a thin layer of beige condensed milk at the bottom, and a separate cup filled with ice. Step 1): Combine. Step 2): Consume. Step 3): Feel hair stand on end.

Lunch is at Quon An Ngon, a large restaurant that takes modern Vietnamese street food and transports it to a comfortable, clean, upscale setting with waiters and wine. The restaurant is outdoors, under large yellow tarps that are practically buckling under the thunderstorm above. Large wooden communal tables are shared between Vietnamese locals and tourists. The perimeter of the restaurant is lined with several dozen small wooden food stalls. You start the experience by exploring the stalls, taking mental notes of what looks best. Each are staffed by around 1-3 smiling Hanoi locals, sauteing, frying, and chopping away. The smells of noodle soups, frying spring rolls and frog legs, roasting chickens. The giant menu reflects the diversity of the surrounding stalls and it takes me forever to decide what to order. I finally land on a large bowl of pho with roasted duck as its really hard to resist a comforting bowl of noodle soup in the pouring rain.

I leave the restaurant and head to the Museum of Ethnology, but forget to pre-negotiate the cab fare. Thus, the driver hits the hidden "foreigner button" so the meter sprints up like a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. Vietnam's cab drivers and motorbike taxi drivers are merciless in their desire to scam money off tourists. They've almost turned it into an art. For my ride to the museum, I'm paying roughly 237X what the locals do for everything. In hindsight, I should have just exited the cab. Nearly all prices in Vietnam are quoted in US dollar, which makes them seem cheap when compared to American prices, when in reality they are small Vietnamese fortunes. It's almost as if an American diner quoted a Japanese tourist 2300Yen ($30) for a burger, saying "it's so much cheaper than Japan!"

Scams aside, the Museum of Ethnology is brilliant - a sprawling center highlighting the religion, culture, dress, food, architecture, history, customs and rituals of all of Vietnam's ethnic tribes. It reminds me of NYC's Museum of Natural History, minus the animals. Plus this museum has a giant garden with recreations of the temples, homes, and meeting houses of all the tribes, some of which are three stories tall. The museum also features a horrifying exhibit on the history and current state of AIDS in Vietnam, with detailed first-person accounts and graphic photos. My neighbors and I leave the exhibit nauseous and practically in tears.

Get a room.

After the fake meter took all my cash, I leave the museum penniless and am thrilled to find six broken ATMs in a row. On my way to the bus station, I strike up a rapport with a young Austrian couple. As I cannot seem to find a working bank, I meekly explain my situation and ask them if I can borrow the 3,000dong for bus fare ($0.15). I feel bad asking, but it's the amount of money I may not even bother picking up off the ground if it fell out of my pocket. I tell them I will pay them back quadruple when we arrive back in town and/or buy them a round of drinks. The tall boyfriend looks and me and says, without a shred of irony, "sorry, but we're leaving tonight and may not see you." Their ancestors clearly sided with the Nazis during WWII. Luckily I find a working ATM right before the bus arrives as these two wouldn't give a hand to a drowning child.

I really wanted to spend the evening visiting Hanoi's Snake Farm, but not enough people signed up, and the tour was canceled. My fellow backpackers don't know what they're missing. I mean where else do you get to rip out a live snake's beating heart, consume it as the still-beating python muscle pulsates down your throat and stomach, take shots of freshly killed snake blood and bile, and finish with a seven-course snake feast including snake baby-back ribs and snake meatballs?! Well this week's crop of hostel guests clearly have broken backbones. I head for noodle soup instead, which is delicious, yet does not beat inside one's esophagus upon ingestion.

Dinner is around the corner from the hostel with Katie from San Francisco. We both grab large, piping hot bowls of Pho. The scalding broth cooks the raw beef and I add in onions, scallions, cilantro, basil, and fresh lime juice. The broth is light yet eternally complex, tasting of ginger, garlic, pork and beef. We both sit there, loudly slurping our noodles and washing down the hot soup with ice cold beer.

 

Dessert is at Fanny's Ice Cream right in the center of the old quarter. The large French ice cream parlor is bright pink in color and offers about 100 different kinds of sundaes. One looks like Everest, another like sushi, yet another like a flamingo, plus a plethora of alcoholic sundaes. One sundae is a 40-scoop behemoth that resembles a Vermonster on steroids. I'm a purist, so I just go try several scoops: Mocha, sweet rice (which tastes like a condensed milk-fueled rice pudding), green tea, and blueberry sorbet.

Ahoy Hanoi, Day 2

Hanoi, Vietnam, 7/22/11

Breakfast is a large array on Bun Cha, a cold noodle dish assembled oneself. I love how Vietnam encourages immaturity as playing with my food has always been a pastime of mine. It definitely leads to a better dining experience. Five bowls are scattered in front of me, in the five-story, crowded restaurant whose omnipresent fluorescent lights are a bit harsh for 9am. There is a big plate of fresh herbs including basil, mint, cilantro plus many varieties of lettuces; a bowl of sweetened vinegar brine filled with pickled daikon; a bowl of chopped chilis; another filled with raw minced garlic; a bowl of rice noodles; and lastly, a large platter of barbequed pork loin and pork patties. Take a little of everything and you've got nearly all the food groups plus a toothsome, bright, spicy, and sour answer to the most important meal of the day. Around me, patrons celebrate this breakfast of kings by drinking beer with their Bun Cha despite the early hour.

The morning is spent exploring the Temple of Literature, Vietnam's first university. The grounds are decorated with five large courtyards plus multiple pagodas and bright red wooden temples with detailed gold carvings. Throughout the campus, there are large altars with statues of Confucius, dragons, and oddly, storks. Women in conical Vietnamese hats and long sheers tend to the meticulously manicured gardens.

I make a quick stop to pick up antibiotics at the pharmacy as I've run out. I simply tell them the medication I desire and am provided instantly with a double prescription, no questions asked, for $1. That should clear things up for the next few weeks. Said Ciprofloxacin is best taken as a chaser to questionable street foods, the varieties not properly cooked and/or washed in contaminated water.

Lunch is at KOTO, a non-profit restaurant completely staffed by underprivileged Vietnamese youth. The bi-level space is modern with comfortable seats and black leather banquettes. The sunny weather floods the restaurant with light. The restaurant's name is an acronym for "Know One, Teach One," and has a mission to get kids off the streets. The comprehensive vocational program can last a few months or even years and students graduate more mature, bi-lingual, with placed jobs in the hospitality industry. The young wait staff is beyond friendly, talking about their lives, hometown, Koto's education system, why they prefer front-of-house, and their favorite dishes. The fact that my meal supports these students only sweetens an already scrumptious meal.

I start with a sweet and sour fruit shake of pineapple, mango, and lime. After last night, I definitely need more Cha Ca. This time it's not a stew, but still retains the exciting cook-it-yourself qualities. Today's lunch will be make-your-own fresh (read: not fried) spring rolls:

1. Take a sheet of transparent rice paper
2. Add freshly grilled cha ca fish (yellow in color due to the turmeric with thick grill marks)
3. Add a pinch of fresh herbs including basil, mint, and coriander
4. Add julienned pineapple and cucumber
5. Top with chilis and peanuts
6. Using water as the binding agent, form into a tight roll
7. Dip into vinegar sauce
8. Consume
9. Smile

Getting kids off the streets never tastes so good.

***

I spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Highlights include the majestic Saint Joseph Cathedral that harkens back to when Vietnam was a French colony. Surrounding the cathedral are small bars where teenagers drink green tea mixed with water and snack on sunflower seeds.

Continuing on, I head to Hoan Kiem Lake, a beautiful oval-shaped body of water in the heart of Vietnam's capital. In the south of the lake, on a small grassy island, is Turtle Temple (Thap Rua), a three-story gray pagoda which is often the symbol of Hanoi and found on the city's flag. Hoan Kiem translates to "Lake of the Restored Sword" or "Lake of the Returned Sword." According to legend:

When Vietnam was occupied by forces of the Chinese Ming [Dynasty] in the 15th century, Le Loi, a resistance leader, netted a magnificent sword while fishing on the Lake. The power of the sword led Le Loi to victory and the expulsion of the Chinese. Later, as Emperor Le Thai To, he rowed out on the lake once more to return the sword from whence it came in gratitude for his success. A sudden clap of thunder rent the air, whereupon a golden ‘tortoise’ emerged from water to take the sword from his hand and return it to the depths. Like the Knights of the Round Table, legend has it that the turtles will be on hand to assist in times of national peril (source).

Supposedly giant golden sea turtle descendants still swim through the lake today, carefully guarding the powerful weapon. In the Temple of the Jade Mountain, found in the northern section of the lake across the beautiful crimson red Huc Bridge, lies one such amphibian. It's roughly 2.5 ft x 4ft, with razor sharp claws, and is entirely embalmed in gold. It's unproven whether it is an actual giant turtle rescued from the river or an elaborate sculpture. But either way, it's quite impressive and I'm all for keeping the legend alive.

Locals playing board games on the temple grounds

I grab dinner with two friends from Hanoi Backpackers at a local restaurant. We order a lavish family-style seven course feast including egg drop soup, spring rolls, pork patties, roasted duck with orange sauce, sauteed morning glory, and mixed seafood in a brown sauce with shiitaki mushrooms and peppers. The restaurant is modest with simple decor, mostly of large bottles of Vietnam infused whiskey. Next to me is a giant bottle the size of an office cooler, filled with whiskey and a whole monitor lizard. He's so close he may as well be my dinner date. The top of the monitor lizard whiskey has a taxidermied scaled creature, which looks like a miniature Komodo dragon. He stares down all the customers with black beady eyes, hissing at them to tip generously. Others bottles are filled with geckos, snakes, lizards, and seahorses. A sign proudly exclaims the reptile whiskey is "good for man sex." It's a bit of a tease however, since they won't give us a taste.

Dessert is at Pappa Roti, a small bakery with the hyperbolic claim that they are "the father of all buns." I'm not sure if they are claiming they invented the bun, if they are saying theirs are best, or both. The menu only has one item on it: Baked buns. No water, drinks, side dishes. Have celiac's disease? Get the hell out. Either way, if they are going to make such audacious claims about their buns, I guess it's smart that they are sticking to one item and perfecting it. Although I'm never one for hype, I must say the buns are heavenly. You can smell the fresh buns from blocks away, the sweet aroma alerting your nostrils and pulling your body closer. Right after I order, my fat bun is freshly pulled out of the steaming hot oven. The bun is encased in a crunchy maple/coffee sugar (after checking online it seems the bakers pipe a frosting on top prior to baking). The dough itself is cloud-like -- beyond light, buttery, slightly salty and yeasty, almost like a brioche. The bun is sweet, but not cloyingly so. It could really use a coffee which I wish they sold.

Pappa Roti's tagline is "One bite, different expressions" which is certain relevant as my friends and I each exhibit altered states of bliss as we quietly each our buns. It's as if we've stumbled upon some hidden treasure. Maybe Pappa Roti are in fact the best buns in the world and our current coordinates are the one rare location where they can be sampled. Like the Easter Island of baked confections. Well, then imagine my surprise when I found out that Pappa is a Malaysian chain found all throughout Asia, Dubai and Australia. Nevertheless, that is one damn good bun.



Note: Some images from Becky and Elaine

Shedding

A blond, a brunette, and a red head are trespassing on a farm late one evening when the farmer returns home. They all quickly disperse, finding different hiding places throughout the grounds. The brunette hides behind a large group of cows; the redhead kneels behind a gathering of pigs; the blond ducks behind a large pile of potato sacks. Hearing noises, the farmer grabs his rifle and begins searching for farm for intruders. He first enters the cow stable, shouting out "is anyone in here?", to which the brunette replies "moo". Convinced it's just cows, he moved on to the pig pen. "Is anyone in here?" he shouts, to which the redhead replies, "oink, oink". No worries, the farmer thinks, just my pigs. He finally moves to the vegetable room, where sacks of potatoes are piled high. "Is anyone in here?" the farmer calls out, to which the blond replies, "potatoes."

Hanoi, Vietnam, 7/22/11

There is more stray fake hair lying around our hotel room than a salon floor. It's all platinum blond, like gold leaf decorating the linoleum tile underneath. It's on the counters, in the bathroom, hidden throughout my bed, clogging the drain. It looks like Cousin It's whole family went on vacation and went Charlie Sheen on the room. There is so much faux hair in the brushes lying around that it wouldn't be a stretch to think of the room as a special facility for grooming purebred golden retrievers.


We've been following the same route for weeks -- shimmied down the Vang Vieng slide together, cruised down the Mekong River for two days on the same slowboat, and partied together like felons in Chiang Mai. However, we had never officially met until I introduce myself when we land in Vientiane's airport.

Harriet, Lauren, and Becky are three early twentysomethings from Hallifax, England. They are all quite beautiful with long, striking radiant blond hair. Although it's absurd that they've brought duffel bags on a backpacking trip that requires endless ascents up stairs, buses, and ferries, it's even more ridiculous that they've brought enough fake hair extensions between them to clog an Olympic-sized pool.

Harriet is the tallest of the three and, despite being Caucasian, is actively trying to make a transformation. Currently, she has reached Native American classification. Part of Harriet's height is due to her enormous Snookie-like poof, which towers a foot over her head like a golden chinchilla. It's easily viewable above chairbacks and can even be seen from Google Earth. Becky is my height and possesses Harriet's same affinity for fake hair. She has a bubbly personality and the ability to drink vodka like water. Becky insists on arching her back, bending her knees, and contorting her arm into some uncomfortable position in each and every photo, no matter how candid. Her Facebook profile page looks like one image was cropped and photoshopped over 1,000 different backgrounds. She really should lay off those Britain's Top Model marathons. Lauren is the only naturally-coiffed of the trifecta, with strawberry blond hair and limitless freckles like stars at night. She speaks in a long, slow drawl and I have decided that her family must have migrated to England from rural Mississippi. Her drawl makes trivial sentences like, "I'm allergic to vodka yet still drink it" seem of the utmost importance.

Together, Lauren, Harriet, and Becky are like a hilarious untaped sitcom. Nearly everything they utter is pure comic gold. Some gems:
-"Other than the Indian and Pacific Ocean, are there any others? Are they all connected?"
-"How can anyone not like summer? It's the best season. [What's the best part?] I mean, you don't even need to pick out a matching jacket to wear with your outfit!"
-[Upon learning one of the rides at the water park is named "The Tsunami"]: "That ride must be new as the tsunami just happened in Japan"

The four of us are fast friends by the time the plane lands in Hanoi and journey into Vietnam together.

Do the Cha Ca

Hanoi, 7/22/11

Vietnam's lack of any recognizably legitimate copyright laws is quite frustrating. Especially when I go to find "Cha Ca La Vong," one of Hanoi's famed restaurants, and find four restaurants with identical names and decorations adjacent to one another. I think I find the right one as it's the most popular with the locals and only serves its eponymous dish. Plus unlike the neighboring copycat restaurants, the wait staff is so busy that they do not have time to try to pull me into their establishment.

The restaurant is quite small. Two stories with ugly teal walls, worn brown wooden chairs, and long communal tables that have seen better days. Patrons are sat shoulder-to-shoulder by hurried wait staff. Instead of menu, guests are given small laminated signs that read, "One dish: Cha Ca, 150,000dong" [$7.50].

Cha Ca is a famous Northern Vietnamese fish stew cooked in front of you on small propane grills. Once the metal frying pan is hot, servers place diced fresh fish filets in the pan along with chilis, peanuts, fish sauce, lime, vinegar, shrimp paste, dill, and lastly, noodles. The ingredients are tossed together with metal spoons for a few minutes to concentrate the flavor. The whole thing makes a rich oily fish stew that is herbaceous and spicy. A cold Bia 333 beer is the perfect compliment, only bested by my friendly, attractive tall Irish neighbors (lower images from Google).

New Irish friends and I continue to local Bia Hoi stands after dinner. "Bia Hoi" translates to "draft beer" and hundreds of small, narrow storefronts dot Hanoi selling homemade draft beer nightly until the kegs are kicked. Patrons sit outside on the sidewalk on small blue plastic chairs with equally low tables. We share the remnants of the keg and are eventually joined by Ashley and Yom.

***

There are multiple signs around my hostel telling travelers to avoid motorbike taxis in general, but especially at night. It's really unfortunate I didn't read these prior to going out. The friendly-at-first driver is parked outside my bar and agrees to the price (10,000dong = $0.50). We're a block from the hostel when I pay him the agreed tariff. He is less than content, however, and aggressively demands more money. I double the fare and try to exit the bike, but the additional money does little to quell his now enraged red face. He throws me aside and violently grabs my wallet and helps himself to a bill. I snatch it back and sprint off to my hostel, hoping he isn't carrying a gun. Or Vietnamese ninja stars. I'm not sure the bill he took, but even if it was the largest (500,000dong) that's only $25 and I still have my wallet and beating heart. When reciting this story at the hostel, bunk mates say their group of seven was held up my gun point and robbed blind by a motorbike taxi driver. Maybe chock it up to insecurity; some people have such unique ways of making new friends.

Hoa Lo Prison

Hanoi, 7/22/11

Hanoi's Hoa Lo Prison has had a century-long history as a barbaric torture center, first when the French colonized Vietnam in the first half of the twentieth century and secondly during the Vietnam War. From the museum's outrageously biased propagandist tone, however, you would think that its Vietnam War nickname of the "Hanoi Hilton" was quite literal. The museum shows hundreds of photos of American POWs playing cards, basketball, volleyball plus cooking, celebrating Christmas, and exchanging presents with security guards. Captions describe the terrific living conditions within the prison walls, making it almost seem like summer camp.

Despite the biased tone, the museum is fascinating and horrifying. All the original cells, torture equipment, and guillotine are still intact. As the exhibits mostly focus on French colonization, it paints a bleak picture of the struggles of the Vietnamese to gain some semblance of sovereignty over a period of 100 years.

John McCain flight suit

Note: Images from Elaine and Google