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.

Rules of the road (Hà Nôi, Vietnam)

Hello again my dear reader. Today is day three in Hà Nôi. The weather has been relatively mild, top temperatures of around 27° and 70% humidity and the occasional light sprinkling of rain. It certainly hasn't stopped us getting out and about.

Breakfast this morning was in the main room, the one we weren't able to access yesterday. The offerings were the same and we double dosed our coffee today which provided a much better outcome.

The first part of today's expedition is to Uncle Ho's mausoleum and then to the Temple of Literature, via Train Street. Before we set out, Jayne decided to clarify the dress code for the a visit to the mausoleum and museum. She had three-quarter pants on and I was wearing shorts. Following the discussion we repaired to our room and changed into long pants. Jeans are not the fashion in this weather but must be endured lest we be locked out of the mausoleum. I don't understand what Uncle Ho has against knees and ankles. Unless you are some sort of fetishist, they can hardly be considered attractive or sexual.

Before taking our leave of the concierge, ever the optimist, Jayne inquired about changing her pillow for a firmer one from the hotel pillow menu. "Certainly, Madame. Which pillow would you like?" "The excel please and the my room number is...." "574, Madame. I remember your details from yesterday."  Clearly, the concierge staff quickly get to know who the trouble makers are.

Once again we stepped out into the rule-defying, death-defying, anarchic, chaotic Hà Nôi traffic. Even understanding how it works, it is not something to be trifled with or taken for granted. Motorbikes or scooters as they are referred to here, are in plague proportions, think food delivery drivers in Sydney. And they demonstrate as much respect for the road rules. One way streets are not. Scooters will come at you from any direction. Traffic lights appear to be mere suggestions only but have timers to show how long before the next change. The scooter riders pay no attention and weave in and out of cross traffic to continue their journey. The footpath or sidewalk is not either. It is a place to park your scooter or ride your scooter if the road is too crowded or a place to sit on stools and talk, drink and eat. And smoke. There are a lot of smokers beecause Uncle Ho was a smoker and "he is our father figure so we must follow his lead".

Yes, this is a footpath. At a major intersection.

Obviously the traffic inspired today's title. An absolute classic from 1962 by the late Tony Bennett, one of the best crooners in the industry. Enjoy. This is the sort of music I was brought up on. Cheers Dad.

Bravely we press on while attempting to ignore the persistent calls from the cyclo drivers and taxis that cruise beside you as you walk. Both make offers that remind you of paedophiles and kidnappers in B-grade movies. Side-stepping the fan and straw hat hawkers is also a thing.

Without warning, we arrive at Train Street. Literally without warning. It crosses a major road, maybe 6 lanes wide, no lights, no gates, no warning signs. Interesting. There is no such thing as WHS here and maybe that's not a bad thing - certainly the pendulum has swung too far the other way in Australia. However, I expected some sort of signage to say that a very large train passes across this major road.

WHS? Ah, not here.

The tourist area of Train Street is closed. There is a barricade which I assume is removed before the train arrives. It clearly states: STOP. NO ACCESS. In fact, the Train Street experience is actually banned by the government. Standing next to the sign is a woman who offers to take us to the other side of the barricade to enjoy a coffee and wait for the train. Yeah, nah. We push on.

Not too close to the bedroom.

The Mausoleum is located in an area that also contains the Botanic Gardens, the Presidential Palace, a museum and the one-pillar temple. It is quite vast and can be entered from a number of different streets. We arrived at one entrance to be pointed to another further down the street by a guard dressed in black. No worries, we continue on in the sun, agreeing to find a shady spot to sit for a while once inside the 'zone'.

Rather imposing.

As we arrive at the entry point, the couple in front of us, in shorts and ankle socks, is turned away. We exchanged glances, maybe our concierge gave us the good oil. Down to the security checkpoint. My backpack was x-rayed and we walked through the metal detector, safely into the park. The streets are decorated with flower boxes and are extremely wide. They need to be to cater for the military parades.

The sign in the background says no photos.

The Mausoleum stands out from its surrounds. I snapped a couple of photos under the watchful eye of a soldier in white dress uniform. Then we headed for the shade, avoiding the "no chewing gum" signs that are more prolific than the scavenging sparrows that inhabit every bush, shrub and tree.

Self-explanatory.

While Jayne read the map to get our orientation, I wandered around the immediate area. There was not a lot of signage. Indeed, there were not that many visitors. The souvenir shops were open and there were a few small tour groups being led by the nose, sorry flag, around the various sights. That will be us soon enough. Today we are enjoying our freedom.

Rested and re-hydrated, we turned our attention to the museum. Again, a building that dominates the immediate area. After being momentarily distracted by a squirrel (what a fluffy tail), we headed for the walkway around the building. We followed the signs that directed us to the main door and ticket office. Curiously we ended up right back where we started. The ticket office was closed. As was the museum. We later learned, it, like most museums in Hà Nôi, is closed on Monday and Friday, which is not what the notice board stated in the tourist shop area. 

Cute and fluffy.

Ah well, another Mont Saint Michel moment. Do you remember that, dear reader? Does your memory stretch back to 2011? May 1, in fact. Mont Saint Michel in France is closed for ONE day of the year. May 1. The day we visited. Much like today it had its benefits, there were no crowds. Although we have both suffered the stupidity of wearing long pants for no purpose. The concierge has failed. She should have told us the museum was closed. Instead, ill-informed, we trudged way across the city. As it turns out, we will be able to see the museum and mausoleum with our tour group later in the week, so all is not lost.

We checked out the (unimpressive) single pillar temple. Jayne described it as a one-beam temple. Not really said I. Checks notes, oh, one-pillar. Whatever.

The one-pillar temple. Buzz buzz.

Despite our unsuccessful attempt to see the monuments to the founding father, we continued onto the Temple of Literature which happily was open. The temple, built in the 11th century, is actually dedicated to Confucius, and housed Vietnam's first national university until the 18th century. Located in the middle of a busy quarter of Hà Nôi, the gardens, pools, pavilions and shrines are set out behind high stone walls, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and contemplation that celebrates wisdom, virtue and intellectual pursuits.

Arty shot from one area of the Temple gardens to another.

There are halls of stelae, stone slabs that record the Doctors and their academic achievements as well as shrines where offerings are made to scholars and sages. The stelae looked remarkably like headstones and were set atop stone turtles - the symbol of wisdom and knowledge in many Asian countries. The turtle not the headstone.

I wonder if ACU is planning to do this?

After this oasis of calm had been explored, we re-entered the chaos of Hà Nôi's streets to wander through the craft area with its array of shops, all selling similarly garish artworks, as we made our way back to our hotel in the heat and humidity. Time for a rest before tonight's food tour with Sinh. He was recommended by Glenn - cheers, excellent recommendation.

The king's walkway to the main gate. Students and common people to the left and right please.

We met Sinh in the foyer of the historic part of the hotel and set off at 4:30. We had been warned by Sinh (and Glenn) not to eat lunch. Good advice. We wandered down to the lake and across to the old town, Sinh providing commentary on the way about various sights and linking them with the history of Hà Nôi.

The food was divine. Small shops that sell the one dish. No booking. Turn up and eat the speciality, the recipe of which has been passed down through the family. We began with fried rice flour pancake. It was wrapped in rice paper with green salad leaves and dipped in a mixture of fish sauce and lemon juice spiced with chilli. Absolutely delicious.

Bánh Xèo (I think)

The next dish, as you can see from the photo, was also delicious. Probably too much, which is why one plate is completely empty. Two dishes, one pork, the other chicken, mixed with wood ear mushroom wrapped in rice paper and steamed. Again a dipping sauce based around fish sauce.

Bánh Cûon

Then it was time for pho. No need for an explanation. Noodles, meat, green leaves, carrot, papaya and crunchy onion and garlic. And the soup of course. Yum.

Pho.

The 'main course' was charred pork belly, noodles, leaves, green mango in a broth. By this time we were both struggling to finish what was in front of us, despite not having eaten since breakfast. This was the dish that was famously enjoyed by former US President Barack Obama when he visited Hà Nôi. Good choice, there was nothing to fault here and it was washed down with the local Hà Nôi beer.

Bún Cha

The next stop was dessert. Well, two actually. The first was sticky rice balls stuffed with mung bean in ginger syrup, topped with peanuts. Interesting and probably not for me. The texture is very glutinous and chewy. The syrup is refreshing. It is certainly a collision of flavours and textures.  The second dessert (sorry, no picture) was ice cream with rice that had been cooked with pandanus leaves to make it green, topped with fresh coconut and fried coconut flakes. This was more to my liking but I had already eaten way too much.

Ché Nuoc.

There was one more stop to make to sample the "best spring rolls in Hà Nôi" but neither Jayne nor I could eat another bite. They are just small spring rolls, assured Sinh, but when I saw the size the answer was obvious. No thank you. We turned toward the hotel and waddled home to bed. 

What an excellent experience. We saw the old city after dark and it is a very different experience. The roads are still deadly, but the night changes the feel. There are more tourists out wandering around looking for food or shopping and the cleaners appear after a particular time when the shopkeepers are permitted to put the rubbish out for daily collection.

Back home in our room I checked my watch to see that we had walked over 15 km. And it felt like it. Time for a shower, lots of water and some blogging before bed.

Until tomorrow.