Ho ho ho, it's magic (Hà Nôi, Vietnam)

A warning dear reader, this day was jam-packed and it is, therefore, a long read. It is also our 400th post. Grab a glass and settle in. I acknowledge the gratuitous use of photographs to break up the text. So sue me.

The next day was the first fully organised day. We gathered in the foyer prior to boarding the bus at 8am. First stop was Uncle Ho’s Mausoleum. Déjà vu, except today it was open. Then to the Temple of Literature and cyclo ride back to the hotel via the old quarter. We opted out of the Temple tour and ride because we spent plenty of time at the former on Monday and the latter, well, just no. Instead, we would explore the Women’s Museum.

The now open museum in the background.

The way in to the mausoleum was long and circuitous. I imagine this is to help with crowd control as much as it is to replicate the concept of pilgrimage. Jayne referred to it as Vietnam’s version of the Hajj. Apparently, every citizen makes the journey to visit Uncle Ho at least once in life.

Imposing and a little ostentatious.

And lo, there was Ho. Lying in state. He looks remarkably well for someone who has been dead for 54 years. Much better than the corpse of St Bernadette in Lourdes, but then she has been dead a lot longer and hasn’t been afforded the luxury of returning to Russia for frequent embalming touch ups. We all filed past in respectful silence, some locals bowing as they reached Uncle Ho’s feet. The soft, muted light on the body gives it a kind of glow and makes the skin look waxy almost, like a … oh, no, I’m sure he’s real. Although it is magic. Hence today's title all the way from 1974, Ho ho ho it's magic by Pilot.

Out into the sunshine and humidity, well, haze and humidity, we walked towards Ho’s house. There were many more people here today now that the mausoleum was open. Including many troops in training, visiting from Cambodia and Laos.

More training required.

Tea related many amusing anecdotes as we wandered the grounds, but this post is already long enough. At one point, we picked up a stray tourist. An Englishman with “England forever” tattooed on his forearm and IQ equivalent to his shoe size. “What is this place?” he asked Tea. Seriously? Who just wanders aimlessly off the street into a major tourist attraction and doesn’t know where they are and why they are there? He did. And then tried to hang with us to get the benefit of Tea’s knowledge. Tea outsmarted him, well it wasn’t difficult, and dropped to the rear of the group and slowed our progress until he went away.

The Presidential palace.

The Temple of Literature was the next stop and we stayed on the bus to be delivered to the Women’s Museum. No long-distance treks for us today, although we would walk home from the museum.

The museum is four stories tall. The first level was the entry foyer which displayed a statue of Vietnamese womanhood and some photo portraits by a famous French photographer to set the theme of the exhibition.

Daughters read this closely to ensure the re-writing of the will.

Level 2 focussed on marriage and childbirth. It had representations of the marriage process and ceremonies from each different ethnic group in Vietnam. Some were differentiated by matrilineal as opposed to patrilineal customs. It was quite fascinating, even if the differences between some groups weren’t that major. At the entrance to this exhibit was the statement: ‘Wife and husband are as inseparable as a pair of chopsticks.’ No further comment.

The wedding party. The bride is under the canopy.

Level 3 covered the role of women in the workforce which was combined with their role in the resistance and/or revolutionary forces. This section of the exhibition was particularly interesting as it conveyed the North Vietnamese perspective of the various acts of “possession” and the people’s (women’s) determination to refuse to be possessed. It provided additional layers to the reading we have already done to try to overcome the educational censorship we experienced back in the 1960’s and 1970’s.

The marital chamber used to divide the room.

The final level was women’s fashion, through which we passed pretty quickly so we could ensure we were back at the hotel in plenty of time to re-join the tour group for the afternoon programme.

After a bite to eat and beers by the pool, we gathered to walk around the lake again to the water puppet extravaganza in the afternoon.

The water puppet stage.

Water puppets! I’m not really sure how to describe them or even where to begin. As the title suggests there were puppets and water. There were also musicians, singers and a narrative that emanated from behind the temple façade. We were in the second row so we had an excellent view. Perhaps too close because beneath the surface of the water we could see the rods on which the puppets were impaled. 

Some of the musicians and singers.

Many photographs were taken because I couldn’t believe (a) that this was a thing, (b) the theatre was sold out, (c) the performance lasted for almost an hour, and (d) I was there despite being warned not to go.

In brief: puppets were on rods and were whisked around the pool of water. There were numerous scenes utilising different puppets and portraying cameos of Vietnamese life. The musicians accompanied the performances with music. The entire narrative, was, as expected, in Vietnamese. One female puppet had totally exposed breasts. I did not understand the reason for this. The puppeteers work behind a screen in waist deep water, five performances peer day, 365 days per year. Female puppeteers were only a recent addition because they could wear trout waders and not get their bits wet. Apparently it was OK for the males to get their bits wet, although they now wear waterproof pants too. If you can explain this piece of latter-day sexism, please let me know.

A scene depicting ... I have no idea.

Puppet torture complete, we walked back to the hotel to change for dinner. In a moment of separatism, Jayne and I were the only one’s dining at Koto. Every other member of the group had chosen another restaurant, the same restaurant. A taxi was ordered and instructions provided to the driver. I was given 200,000 VND and a card that instructed the driver to return us to the hotel after we had eaten. So far so good.

It went on.

We drove through the chaotic traffic with sharp intakes of breath every time there was a near miss. It’s a wonder we didn’t hyperventilate. The driver was much bemused by us and made an attempt to joke about the Hà Nôi traffic. We chatted to each other until I realised the taxi had stopped and I began fishing in my pocket for the money. Our destination, Koto, was clearly visible on the other side of the street. Something wasn’t right and there were several failed attempts at discussion. He then resorted to Google translator and kept coming up with the name of another restaurant further down the street. No, I reinforced, Koto.

Not content, he crawled the car further along, horns blaring behind us. Koto I kept repeating. Finally, he relented when I handed him the cash. Then, “Oh, oh!” Back to Google, no change. Card? I inquired. No. A lot more circular discussion. Like Sydney trains, we were going nowhere. A spark, he phoned the hotel concierge, a brief chat, and then hands the ear piece to me. “We are at the restaurant,” say I. “He has no change.” I pass the phone back. We crawl further along the street. The driver gets out and approaches shopkeepers and people on the street to get the required change. We pay. We are finally allowed out of the taxi and walk back to restaurant, breathing a sigh of relief. The scene has movie potential from comedy through to horror.

Two of the puppeteers.

Into the restaurant. The comedy continues. Please use the lift. The doors open and the lift is full of trolleys and trays. So, sorry, please take the stairs. Onward and upward. Literally. It wasn’t a spiral staircase but it could have been. First floor were the toilets. On we climb. The doors open on the second floor and we go to walk in. No, no, please up again. Jayne is looking for oxygen as the atmosphere gets thin. We reach the next floor and the doors open. Please, says our host. We step forward and are beckoned to a table. As we move, no, she says and calls through two men from behind us.

Sorry, sorry, she says, this way. We commence the climb back down from the lofty heights of the 3rd floor back to the 2nd floor. Hmm. Déjà vu. We are seated. It is a set menu and it looks like too much food, and it is, but it is very good. Jayne orders a glass of wine, (for some reason - they serve by the bottle in many places) and says, you know one glass won’t cut it tonight? Agreed.

The wine is French and passable. There was De Bortoli on the list. Travel to Vietnam and drink wine from Victoria (probably the Riverina)? No thank you.

Interesting wiring.

Koto is a restaurant that trains disadvantaged Vietnamese teens in all levels of hospitality. They are at varying stages of their training and some are more comfortable than others. The dishes arrived and one was fish wrapped in banana leaf. I asked the young server whether the leaf is also eaten. “No.” he assured me and then as he turned to walk away, he paused and turned back and pointed to the clam dish. “You should eat the clams but not the shells.” he counselled. Good advice.

The taxi trip back to the hotel was uneventful. We contacted Daisy and asked could she deliver the last dress to the hotel as we weren’t going to get to the dress shop. “No worries.” came the reply. The dress arrived at 9:30 pm.

We repacked the bags ready for our departure to Ha Long Bay in the morning and called it a day.

Until tomorrow, assuming there in internet.