HELLO, HANOI

Socialism! High five!

Every once in a while, you go on a trip that just doesn't resonate.  Maybe you were incapacitated by food poisoning, or a sudden workers strike ruined your plans, or the weather was so abysmal that you couldn't enjoy any of the sights.  In the end you are relieved to finally depart for your next destination, and when your friends and family politely ask about your vacation, you don't want to get into it for fear you'll rant to them for half an hour.  That pretty much sums up my time in Hanoi and its surroundings.  

The fault for this malcontentment may lie mostly with me; maybe I went at the wrong time of year or chose the wrong activities.  Caveat: I'll also admit that I'm not in a position to write authoritatively about northern Vietnam.  So frenetic was my pace that I really only spent two full days in Hanoi, two days in the mountains at Sapa, and another two in Ha Long Bay.  That's too little time to draw any conclusions or to get a real sense of these places.  That said, I did walk away with a definite impression, and unfortunately, it was not favorable.  

There's a lot to find charming about northern Vietnam: the vestiges of French colonial architecture, the vivid green of mountains so high they crowd out the sky, the colorful clothing of the hill tribes, the surreal beauty of limestone cliffs rising out of Ha Long Bay.  Hanoi teems with motorcycle scooters and bikes and men lounging about clapping or making catcalls in order to get your attention and entice you to hire them to give you a ride.  There are little restaurants that open up onto the sidewalk with low tables and baby stools, so that people sit with their knees pulled up to their chests as they slurp noodles or iced coffees with condensed milk.  And then there are the tourists, everywhere the tourists, trying to make sense of the streets with their maps and avoiding being killed when crossing the road (forget pedestrian crosswalks or traffic signals- they mean nothing in this chaos).  Even Ha Long Bay, a 4 hour drive from Hanoi, swarms with foreign visitors, feeling like a school field trip, the kind where your mom packed you a lunch and you had a buddy you held hands with the whole time.  

Lest anyone forget by whose beneficence the Republic of Vietnam exists, there are socialist symbols everywhere, such as the hammer and sickle, as well as tributes to Ho Chi Minh.  You can also visit Uncle Ho (as he is called by his countrymen) in person in Hanoi.  The Ho Chi Minh complex includes the presidential palace, HCM's house, and the garage for his 3 cars (one French, the others Soviet-made).  At the heart of the complex is the mausoleum itself, where HCM lies preserved like a wax dummy, save for the intervals when he is sent to Russia for touch ups.  This for the man who wanted to a simple cremation performed.  But the myth must live on, I suppose, even after the man dies. 

Uncle Ho (underneath the flag) oversees a lesson at the local school in Sapa

BFF Lenin

For me, the romance (real or imagined) wore thin very quickly.  Maybe it was the taxi driver who tried to stick his hand in my wallet to see if I had smaller bills when I was paying my fare, or being manhandled for no reason by guards at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum.  There are the shopkeepers and restaurant owners who ignore you when you're trying to purchase something or order food (the vendors were a real shock after Cambodia, where if your gaze lingers on an object for more than 5 seconds, the seller will immediately insist that you to buy it).  There were a lot of nos: No walking on this sidewalk; No cameras; No, you can't sit at that table in the empty restaurant; No, you can't use this public bathroom without paying; No, you can't hike today at this getaway for hiking; No, you can't open the windows when the A/C breaks an hour into a 4 hour bus ride. 

The most alarming incident was being picked up at my hotel for the journey to Ha Long Bay.  An hour into the trip, the bus pulled over on the highway, and the guide told me get off.  "Why?" I asked, shocked.  The other passengers looked nervous as well.  The guide didn't answer for a minute, and instead started to swing my luggage off the bus, before telling me to leave again.  I told him I wasn't going anywhere until he told me why.  "This isn't your boat," he said curtly, "You have to wait for another bus."  I looked out onto the shoulder of the highway, where there was nothing in sight- no phones, no store to duck into and wait.  When I asked when the bus was coming, he shrugged.  Things could have gotten uglier; there was no way I was leaving the bus to be abandoned in the middle of nowhere.  Fortunately, the second bus showed up after a few minutes, and I was able to transfer.  

Hazy Ha Long Bay

Vietnam has all the requisites for being a prime tourist destination: infrastructure, an abundant workforce, a wide array of historic and natural attractions.  What's more, tourism is an important component in sustaining the Vietnamese economy (contributing to 4.3% of its GDP and 3.7% of its jobs).  Yet there is a big disconnect between tolerance and hospitality.  Having traveled and lived abroad, I'm accustomed to a sense of foreigner alienation, particularly in countries where I don't blend in with the rest of the populace.  Vietnam, however, was something more.  There I was just a number, a meal ticket to be punched.  And while that's understandable in a sense in places like the hill tribe territory where people are exploited and disadvantaged and rely mostly on tourist dollars to survive, it's surprising in urban areas.    

Rice fields, Sapa

With the Red Dao women in Sapa.  We stopped for a break on the hike, and they all pulled out their embroidery and started working. 

If this sounds like a lot of kvetching by a hoity-toity foreigner, I don't mean for it to.  I met some interesting and kind people, though they were tourists like myself.  I had (one) excellent meal.  I got away from my safe and comfortable life in Japan for a short time, a true luxury.  I even had my faith in humanity restored on my way back to The Land of the Rising Sun.  I returned on a red eye flight that included a 4 hour layover in Seoul.  I passed out in the airport at Incheon, only to wake a short time later to find that the businessman lounging in the recliner next to me was leaving to board his flight...but not before he covered me with his airline blanket.  

Vietnam has enthralled many people over the years, and I'm sure it will continue to do so.  But for me, as the Japanese say, I was "kiteru ureshi, kaite ureshi," or "Glad to come, glad to leave."    

The goods: bun cha in Hanoi. My favorite meal of the trip.