An interesting observation, though not entirely surprising I suppose, is the number of French passengers and families aboard the plane from Bangkok to Hanoi. Families out enjoying their obligatory month-long August vacation. I am pleased to report that contrary to some mistaken reports, Hanoi still has that unmistakable French feel to it with everything from the beautiful opera house, public squares, broad avenue to many of the architecture in the French quarter. The really good news is that I have seen a number of patisseries which leads me to conclude that some cultural icons not only refuse to die but flourished.
I had decided to forgo the sumptuous luxuries of a plush hotel having all the excess trappings of Americana aka my hotel in Hyderabad where my room was remote controlled everything to an over stocked mini bar filled with Toblerone chocolate bars, cookies, and a selection of imported ales. Instead I went with a nicely appointed little boutique hotel right smack in the middle of Hanoi’s Old Quarter. It’s a little bit like staying in the casba. You walk out your door make a right and for the life of you, unless you dropped crumbs along the way, getting back is a challenge. The hotel is at max capacity and mostly Westerners from what I can tell, tourist of one sort or another and a lot of backpacks in evidence. The torrential monsoon rains had stopped so I decided to venture out into this labyrinth, this maze of twisting streets each one splitting off into one or more streets with unrecognizable names.
As I said earlier, clearly the game here was not to get completely lost less than twenty-four hours into my stay. I was given a card with the hotel name and address and phone numbers in case this crazy round eye got himself lost somehow. No sooner do you past through the front doors you are in old Hanoi, tiny stores build on other tiny stores, men and women crouching in front of whatever they are trying to sell, one lady is methodically chopping up some sort of meat that she will skewer and sell to passersby while another is arranging a panoply of fruit and vegetables. Little stores are out on the sidewalk, one does not go in a store and close a door and proceed to shop. Everything is done on the sidewalk. You walk by, people watch you some smile, some just look at you with a vacant stare and others hawk their wares beckoning you over because it’s worth a try. It’s a vibrant environment, a 24/7 open air market.
After a few more twists and turns, I’m dripping wet in the humidity I returned to my home base on Nguyen Quang Bich street and decided it was high time for a cold something. I went to the little hotel restaurant billing itself as “Delightful moments with Viet Cuisine” and had a couple of Tiger beers, the local brews which were nice and chilled. I ordered a traditional Vietnamese sampler of spring rolls, fried spring rolls with pork, Lot lot leaf-wrapped beef, and a small seafood salad with green mango and fresh shrimp. I then ordered the Beef “Luc Lac” which is a traditional dish of stir fried tenderloin beef with bell pepper, onion, tomato, garlic on Box Choy and of course steamed sticky rice. Chopsticks were provided but I told the server after my last escapade in China, I missed more than I ate. She laughed and said she could never figure out how to use a fork. Point well made. Where in the hell was Kissinger when I needed him on such matters of high diplomacy?
Sunday AM and the sun is shining. Half the hotel residents are piling into tour buses headed off to Ha Long Bay a world famous site to be seen and about three hours away from Hanoi. I can remember from the movie Indochine with Catherine Deneuve, they end up in a hideaway (I can think of worse fates) somewhere on Ha Long Bay hiding from the French colonial police. I had a perfect breakfast because the coffee was delicious so were the little croissants and the pain-aux-chocolat...yes they were calling out my name. Later, as I waited for my appointment from the vantage point of a small sofa on the second floor of the hotel near the Heavenly Spa, I observed our neighbors across the street. It was a busy family seafood operation engaged in both the buying and selling of all sorts of God’s creatures from the sea. Delivery boys would arrive on motorbikes and empty their wares from Styrofoam boxes and Madame who was clearly the no-nonsense director of operations and logistics would pull out a thick roll of bills and complete the transaction. Buyers from restaurants and other hotels would stop by and in one particular case, the buyer awaited the last rights of a large (Frisbee size in diameter) turtle. After some discussion on the creature’s last rights, father giving son some helpful hints on using an over-sized nasty looking cleaver, the cut was made sure and final. No further bobbing and twisting as the head was separated. Father was there with a bottle and the turtle was held upside down and the precious liquids drained to the last drop. The nectar was then shaken carefully several times then some water added. Cultural wet chemistry Hanoi-style. The bottle was then handed over to the son who was carefully washing and scrubbing the turtle; half the contents were poured over the turtle and into the large white tin bowl the other half in safe keeping. Call it a Vietnamese marinade if you will. Next time you think about delightful moments in Viet cuisine remember the turtle who once was.
After a successful meeting with my contact, Army major X attached to the state’s Central Bureau of Foreign Affairs (or CBFA) for Sino-Viet Affairs (II Branch) located on Trang Hung Dao (just kidding…seeing who’s awake.) Anyway I found my contact very pleasant and spoke English quite well in a measured and thoughtful manner. We chatted for about an hour in the little restaurant under the the hotel. He represents a number of companies across several business lines Of course he would very much like to be our sole distributor. Maybe three years, yes? I hated to rain on his parade.
My student escort interpreter never showed up and in large part that’s due to the university still being out and the opportunity to sharpen one’s English skills, while laudable, does not come close to screaming around Hanoi on a motorbike and generally hanging out. I had to come to terms with that and decided to brave the heat for as long as I could. After a 24hr monsoon rain, to say that it’s hot and heavy and humid is the understatement. I found that strolling around with this imaginary rug of humidity wrapped around me allowed me to go just so far. I walked past the endless rows of little open stores with everyone out on the sidewalk selling just about anything from plastic chairs, to laundry hangers, to partly assembled plastic chest of drawers, to rows upon rows of hanging bird cages with small birds chirping away. You find most people assume the Viet position – i.e., squatting while some prefer lying back in chairs half asleep, and others are busy cleaning food and washing away the remains into the gutter. Every so often I would past a grizzled old man wearing some military-type hat who would always smile and greet me with “hello.” I came to an intersection and after foolishly waiting for traffic to come to a stop for an imaginary light, I decided I had to risk it and dodge bikes whizzing and beeping past me, a few lumbering cars and trucks and more bikes coming at all speeds in four directions. Sure I’ll cross and pray to God in the process not to get creamed! The humidity and the heat took its toll and I retreated back to the hotel. The giggling young ladies behind the hotel counter, ever eager to practice their English, all agreed “yes very hot now after rain.” This only confirmed my lingering suspicion, only mad dogs and Englishman (an Americans too) go out walking in this weather. The Ho Chi Minh museum will have to wait another visit.