From the Beach to the Street
DAY: 25
LOCATION: Phu Quoc, Hanoi
My flight wasn’t until 1:50pm, so I had plenty of time to enjoy the morning. I took my cup of coffee down to the beach, ate a hearty breakfast, and got packed before heading out for one more massage.
I wanted to visit the women at the end of the beach again, the ones I’d told I’d come back, but unfortunately I didn’t have that much time. I opted for a masseuse nearer to my hotel, who was just finishing setting up her table. If I ever get another car accident settlement, maybe I’ll invest it in a lifetime of massages next time instead of travel, I thought as she worked on my back.*
Relaxed and happy, I got to the airport at noon. This was about an hour early for such a small and efficient airport, but I was taking no chances after HCMC. Anyway, I’d rather be reading Propaganda by Jacques Ellul and munching on dried mango then tearing my hair out in a security line because I wanted 20 extra minutes on the beach.
The flight was uneventful, exactly the way I like it, and we arrived in Hanoi just in time for rush hour. I had my uber driver call my Airbnb hostess Hang, as she instructed, and we set off into the Vietnamese traffic madness. I watched the motorbikes swerving about with their orange trees, ladders, furniture, and other implausible cargo. The deeper we got into the heart of the city, the more colorful and chaotic it became. My heart pounded with excitement.
“Here,” the driver stopped next to a narrow street. He helped me with my luggage and pulled away. I checked my phone for the instructions.
Walk down XOM Ha Hoi for about 40 metres to the first corner (hair salon on left) and turn right. Walk for about 45 metres and you will see a low white tiled wall. Turn left into narrow alley. My door is the first on the left made from glass and wood.
Seemed easy enough. Except there were at least four different hair salons, and several spas, because this was clearly the neighborhood for grooming. I took a right and a left and ended up on a main road.
After getting wifi from a restaurant and calling my hostess, I located my home for the next three nights. Hang greeted me with a huge smile, and her two tiny pups smothered me in kisses. She instructed me to take off my shoes and sit on the couch. Settling into my room could wait – first came a welcome drink and introductions.
Hang spoke quite good English, which she had learned mostly from conversing with foreigners. She was obsessed with American politics, and asked me a million questions about Trump. She seemed to find it amusing more than anything that we could’ve elected such a caricature to the highest office in the world.
I finished my tea and was ready to change and go in search of food, but Hang had other plans.
“Vegan? No fish, no eggs? Hmm…” She rummaged through her fridge and pulled out several containers. She said something in Vietnamese to a young woman, whom I assumed to be her housekeeper and cook. Within ten minutes the table was set with sweet potatoes, sticky rice, peanuts and some unknown vegetable. While not the most flavorful meal, I felt incredibly grateful for the hospitality. And the two puppies staring at me from the couch made it that much sweeter.
When I was done with dinner Hang showed me to my room on the third floor. It was large and clean and had its own bathroom – all I needed. I put on jeans, grabbed my only jacket and scarf, and headed out into the chilly evening.
The streets near my place were eerily quiet, almost haunting, with tungsten streetlamps casting an orange glow over the empty public spaces. As soon as I reached the Notre Dame Cathedral, however, everything sprang to life. People wandered in and out of the tiny shops selling artwork, coffee beans, shoes, you name it. Lines formed for takeaway restaurants and spa owners tried to reel in customers with their good deals.
As I got closer to the Old Quarter, the energy increased. Music wafted from all directions, more and more people filled the streets, the air felt alive. I turned a corner and there was Ho Hoan Kiem, the lake I’d kept hearing about. And for good reason – it was magical. It didn’t look real, with an illuminated temple floating on a little island, accessible by a bright red glowing bridge. No wonder people loved Hanoi.
I walked slowly around the perimeter of the lake, the path landscaped with flowers and trees bowing to the water. I stopped several times – to listen to an elderly Vietnamese man playing the saddest guitar song you’ve ever heard, to buy guava and mango with chili-spiced sugar, to watch couples dance. I paused at the bridge for a moment of tranquility before strolling on to the main street.
Like popular tourist centers everywhere, the street was filled with performers and activities. Singers, dancers, children racing in miniature cars. A group of girls in two rows beat out a rhythm with sticks in a version of hopscotch as pedestrians jumped their way across. A crowd cheered them on. The game looked pretty boring, to be honest, but I loved seeing everyone bonding together over it.
I ducked onto a side street in the Old Quarter, where tourists crowded the night market. Stalls hawked their wares, from Hello Kitty merchandise to socks to dried fruits and nuts. It was thrilling and overwhelming at the same time. A tiny temple provided a momentary respite before I landed on the most claustrophobic part of all – Beer Corner. I watched in amazement as a motorbike managed to push its way through the throngs of inebriated foreigners.
The party scene was my cue to call it a night. In the past it would’ve been just the beginning, but nothing about the blaring pop music and musty beer smell appealed to me anymore. I returned to the lake and its comparative peacefulness and searched for the guitar player. He was gone, but the magic of the night remained.
*I just realized I hadn’t mentioned this before – a lot of people have wondered how I can afford to just take off and travel for so long. Part of it is frugality and a wicked ability to save money, but I also got a decent chunk of change from my car accident on the 101 freeway which I wanted to do something meaningful with. Hence, world tour.