Vietnam - Hanoi

In February of 1966, I was four months away from birth, and a lot of young men in the United States were hoping to stay out of Vietnam.  Fast forward fifty years, and I was standing in the airport in Bangkok with my family holding up the boarding line worried that I wouldn’t get into Vietnam.  We were bound for Hanoi, the capital city of a reunited Vietnam and home to seven million people in the metropolitan area, and the airport employees were concerned about the status of our visas.  

In the late 1970’s, my home state of North Carolina received a large number of Vietnamese refugees known back then as “boat people” because of their method of escape from Vietnam.  Most were political refugees who were forced out of the country in the turmoil following the fall of Saigon after the United States military evacuated and the North Vietnamese prevailed.  I knew very little about the complicated Vietnam War back then, but I was curious about the sudden appearance of Asian people in my school speaking a strange language looking completely bewildered.  

A few years later, I was a junior in high school sitting in an Algebra II class hopelessly, miserably lost as the numbers and equations swam on the page in front of me, and I wanted so badly to be anywhere but there.  I cowered in my chair hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible so the teacher wouldn’t notice me and call me to the board to work a problem that I had no idea how to solve.  Looking back now, I realize that he knew my ineptitude and called me up to the board more than anyone else in the class to use me as some sort of example.  I don’t know where that dude is now, but I hope he has a case of world-class toenail fungus.  I didn’t have any friends in the class, and I shared my corner of despair with two Vietnamese guys who spoke no English but were capable of solving algebraic equations with lightning speed and probably should have been placed in higher level classes where all the cool, college-bound kids were hanging out.  

They sized me up pretty quickly and then made it their mission to help me understand the intricacies of the equations and alleviate my suffering.  I was ashamed of my failure and too embarrassed to ask anyone else for help, but I readily accepted their honest compassion even though I was a lost mathematical cause.  Those two young men with quick smiles and warmth in their eyes have come to my mind many times over the years, and I hope they went on to have rich lives full of blessings.  Getting to know them piqued my curiosity about Vietnam even more, and I wondered about life in this mysterious country forever linked to the United States in uncertainty, misery, and hope.

The AirAsia employees in the Bangkok airport let Deveny and me pass the gate and board the bus on the tarmac, and when I looked back, I could see Deena and Joseph in the other line in a state of consternation as they were being heatedly questioned.  Eventually another employee ran out to the bus and removed my daughter and me, and we all stood at the desk pulling out documents as the passengers behind us rolled their travel weary eyes.  We had applied for and received letters of invitation from the Vietnamese Department of Immigration, filled out visa applications, and had extra passport photos taken all in preparation for the visa-on-arrival process at the Hanoi airport—about the only way to properly enter Vietnam without lengthy embassy visits.  For some reason, the Thai airline officials were hesitant to allow us to leave their soil, but after inspecting each page of our documents, they finally allowed us on the bus to board the plane on the tarmac.

The flight to Hanoi was our second leg of air travel that day, and we were weary and anxious about the visa process upon landing, but we still maintained mostly positive attitudes as we crossed over into the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.  Our fears were unwarranted as the officials at the airport in Hanoi were efficient and friendly, and our documents were accepted as correct and complete. After about an hour of waiting with a throng of visa hopefuls from all over the world, we finally had our colorful Vietnam visas firmly affixed in our passports.  Our host, Son, met us at our apartment after a forty-five minute taxi ride. After a brief tour of the space and a quick question-and-answer session about the neighborhood, he left us to fall into bed at midnight.  One of the most difficult aspects of our trip has been relocating to a new area after finally getting the hang of the last one and going to bed after a long travel day knowing there’s no food in the house and having no firm plan about acquiring some.  We’ve had to start completely over thirty-two times so far, mostly in places where English is not the primary language, and while the process can be a burden, the payoff has been worth it.

On our first morning in Hanoi, Deena and I let the kids sleep while we walked down the street in search of a grocery store, and we found a good one about three blocks away.  We enjoyed shopping for breakfast items and a few basic staples. After a brief struggle to understand the currency, we walked home carrying 250,000 Vietnamese Dong worth of supplies equivalent to about twelve US dollars.  We had a nice, slow morning while cooking breakfast and enjoying the views of Hanoi from our eighth-floor balcony and eventually felt rested enough to venture out into the city.  We snagged an Uber in about thirty seconds and made our way to the old quarter of the city and the famous Thang Long Water Puppet Theater, where we bought tickets for the 4:00 show and were quickly seated in the last row.  

Water puppetry in Vietnam dates back to the eleventh century, and these days it’s performed in small venues with a house band providing accompaniment for the richly decorated and lacquered puppets that dance on top of waist-deep water under a red pagoda.   The figures are controlled by puppeteers using long bamboo rods, and the whole thing was one of the freakiest spectacles I’ve ever witnessed.  Fire breathing dragons, villagers chasing fish, and battling serpents were just a few of the scenes played out to music layered with percussion and warbling strings that made the hour-long presentation seem like a colorful Asian dream.  At the end of the show, no less than fifteen puppeteers emerged from behind their screens to vigorous applause, and we left the theater feeling like we had viewed something special.

We had booked a 6:00 tour with Hanoi Kids and filled the hour in between walking around the historic lake nearby and enjoyed the displays of flowers and red-lacquered pagodas.  Our tour was to be focused on the inexpensive and amazing street food available everywhere in Vietnam, but I wanted a quick education so as not to eat an eel or weird mushroom by mistake.  The Hanoi Kids organization is made up of college-aged young people who give all kinds of tours for free in order to improve their English skills and promote Vietnamese goodwill to visitors.  We were met by Bach and Em, a young man and woman eighteen years of age and mature and enthusiastic in their demeanor.  We agreed on the foods we wanted to try, and then we set off to tackle the wild and intimidating streets of Hanoi.  

On one of our trips to Florida years ago, we stopped at the University of Florida to walk around the school for a bit, and I was amazed by the presence of hundreds of multicolored scooters and motorbikes piloted by students as they made their way around campus.  In Hanoi, there are hundreds of thousands of these motorbikes weaving in and out of traffic in a constant stream of forward motion, and it takes the skills of a Jedi to cross the street.  Before we met Bach and Em, we stood on the side of the road waiting for a break in traffic that never came while elderly people didn’t even bother looking before stepping off the curb and walking slowly and steadily to the other side, never once looking at oncoming vehicles.  Bach and Em began to teach us this skill as we walked to our restaurant and enjoyed looking at the French colonial buildings painted bright yellow with jungle green shutters. Most of the buildings were surrounded by huge ficus trees growing out of the undulating sidewalks.  The French left Vietnam in 1954, but their influence is still very visible in the form of architecture and the love of cafes that serve good food and superb coffee—my kind of place.

We stopped at a popular restaurant where the chef was stationed by the side of the road at his multi-faceted station with small tables and chairs in an open-air space behind him.  Bach and Em ordered sliced beef salad with noodles, crispy fermented pork, glass noodle dumplings filled with chicken and chopped vegetables, and plates of spring rolls stuffed with cabbage, shrimp, and spring onions served with a fiery chili sauce.  We could not stop praising the freshness of the food and its rich, compelling taste. When we finally stopped eating, there were only three spring rolls left to take home. Our two young guides tried to find a place where we could sample Pho, the traditional Vietnamese dish of beef, noodles, and herbs, but all of the restaurants were packed, and we settled on some dessert drinks.  Bach and Em took us to Cong Caphe, a wildly popular coffee chain started by a teenager and sporting a Viet Cong theme complete with a 1960’s military motif. A specialty was coconut coffee, one of the most flavorful and sumptuous beverages I’ve had the pleasure of consuming.

We sat around a table outside for over an hour and talked with these two delightful young people about Vietnamese and American politics, economics, and social trends.  We were amazed at their knowledge of American history, and they were very candid when speaking about the communist government in Vietnam, the French occupation, and the war with the United States.  They said that some members of the older generation have “flashbacks” concerning the war and bouts of anger, but for the most part, the citizens of a unified Vietnam have placed all feelings of animosity in the past and and have goodwill toward Americans.  We thanked our young hosts for a wonderful evening and bid them farewell as we used our new Jedi warrior skills to navigate the streets and head into the eccentric nightscape of Hanoi.

Hanoi Kids

Next day, Deena and I decided to further the kids’ education by taking them to prison; so after a leisurely morning and late lunch, we summoned an Uber and made our way back to the old town and the infamous Hoa Lo Prison, also known as the Hanoi Hilton.  The majority of the prison was demolished by the communists, but the main entrance is still there along with the guard house and a long wing of the original building which has been converted to a museum.  Hoa Lo sits in the middle of a busy residential district and if not for the six-meter-high walls capped with broken glass embedded in concrete, most passers-by would disregard the structure as ordinary and remain unaware of the past horrors that took place within its confines.  The prison was built by the French in the late 19th century for the purpose of restraining local malcontents and political upstarts whose voices of dissent against the foreign government grew louder as the years progressed.  In the early 20th century, Hoa Lo was full of future communist party leaders, and many were successful in escaping through tight sewers packed with waste and roaches.  Many others were sent to the guillotine for their political efforts, and one of the two original machines of death is on display outside a cell block.

Hoa Lo Prison - Hanoi Hilton

After the French were defeated and left the country, Hoa Lo was used as a center for government activity and political indoctrination. When the Vietnam War heated up in the 1960’s, it once again became a prison in which POWs were held including American pilots John McCain and James Stockdale.  A whole wing of the Hanoi Hilton is dedicated to the American pilots, and the flight suit that McCain was wearing when he was shot down and arrested is on display along with many pictures of the men smiling and having a grand old time in confinement.  The placards describe the respectful treatment bestowed upon the Americans despite their crimes, and many examples are given showing how the men led fun, fulfilling lives together until the end of the war.  

Hanoi Hilton

Embedded glass

The Vietnam War has been a major interest of mine over the years, and I’ve read countless books, watched numerous documentaries, and talked to many veterans that strongly and completely contradict the Vietnamese presentation in the Hanoi Hilton museum, but I guess with victory comes the right to spin the story from the homeland perspective, but it’s difficult to swallow.  One of the most chilling films clips from the war is from a propaganda interview of Commander Jeremiah Denton by his North Vietnamese captors.  Under the guise of having difficulty with the bright lights on the set, Denton used Morse code to blink out a harrowing one-word message while talking about the adequate conditions in captivity—torture.  That’s all I have to say about that.

After leaving the historical but depressing ocher walls of the Hanoi Hilton, we needed a coconut coffee boost, so we pulled up Google Maps for the closest Cong Caphe and found one a short distance away.  Our brief walk turned out to be serendipitous as this shop was located on the corner of the square surrounding the Saint Joseph’s Cathedral, also known as the Notre Dame of Hanoi.  The cathedral was one of the first structures built by the French in the late 1880’s, and today it serves as a place of worship for the large Catholic community in Hanoi.  We walked inside and sat quietly for a while on the mahogany pews and listened to a few hymns played through speakers around the altar before scoring a good table at the Cong Caphe and ordering an array of iced treats.  We enjoyed looking out to the vibrant square full of young people strolling and motorbikes whizzing by.  Old burly trees with thick green canopies stood in front of lime-washed French-style buildings creating a rich scene unlike any I’ve witnessed so far on our trip, and I contemplated how the passage of time, forgiveness, and healing allowed my little family to be a part of it on a sunny afternoon in February.

Cong Caphe

Notre Dame of Hanoi

We secured another Uber to take us home, but after a time of rest, we ventured back out to the streets where we located a vendor serving large portions of Pho. We ordered meals and sat around a low plastic table near the road.  Our bowls arrived a few minutes later full of steaming broth and packed with thick rice noodles, sliced beef, and an array of fresh herbs and spices.  It was delicious, and we savored every spoonful while we talked about the unforgettable things we saw in this multi-layered capital city.  We have one more full day here before heading south, and we’re hoping to explore the area around our neighborhood a bit more.

Pho real

Deena and I left the kids snoozing in the apartment the next morning while we walked down the street and secured a two-dollar sackful of omelet sandwiches for breakfast and some strong chocolate coffee to wash them down.  A cold front passed through north Vietnam during the night, and there was a leftover stiff breeze swirling through the streets with temperatures in the low sixties.  Deena wore a light jacket while I was sporting only a t-shirt, which provoked numerous stares from the locals who were bundled up in their down coats.  We spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon on school work and began to develop a plan for finishing the curriculum by the end of our trip, and by 3:00, we were ready to get back outside.  There is a large park with a lake just around the block from our apartment which proved to be the perfect remedy for cabin fever, and we spent a couple of hours walking several kilometers around this pretty place, which was popular with dog owners, fitness buffs, and fishermen.  

We were glad to get another perspective on our neighborhood, and we’re altogether pleased with our time in this busy capital city.  We have one more round of street food scheduled on the itinerary tonight; then it’s time to start packing for an early, four-hour bus trip to Halong Bay and the scenic wonders of Cat Ba Island, our home for the next three days.  A few nights ago, Bach and Em, our two young tour guides, asked us if Hanoi was anything like we had imagined, and we answered, “No, it’s been way more incredible than we expected” much to their tremendous pleasure.