Vietnam The North

The Hang Dau water tower was built in 1894, on the intersection of six (6) streets. Since then, the population of Hanoi has increased to 7 million, and the number of motorbikes has gone from zero to 3.5 million. 

The window seat in the breakfast restaurant of our hotel was the thickness of glass away from the Hang Dau intersection. Over several rather nice coffees and a plate of dragon fruit & melon, we considered whether we’d be taken out by a Honda or a Suzuki, and really, what was the advantage of using a pedestrian crossing anyway? 

There were rules. We didn’t know them. Nobody seems to get hit. We had no idea how that could possibly happen. Everybody tooted their horn. Nobody got angry. Our guide, Thach, gave us the clue – “step out, walk steadily, do not stop, do not rush. Everyone will drive around you”. We lived to tell the tale. The bruises on Bill’s arm have nearly gone, so strong was his wife’s clutch.

You’d think parking would be a problem. It’s not. Walking down the footpath is a problem – impossible in the Old Quarter. Trying to get into a shop is a problem.















Best to just follow in the wake of the farmer’s wife, with her baskets of vegetables yoked across her shoulder.

 

Our small group (9) tour was run by Active Asia, so we shouldn’t have been surprised that the first wake up call was for 5.45 am. Yeah, yeah – good morning Vietnam! But what a brilliant time to hit the streets, as the stall keepers were just setting up, the motorbike riders were still on the highways, and the rest of the city was exercising in the parks around Hoan Kiem lake.

Tai chi for some, Zumba for others.  Brisk walking or meditation.  Breathe that autumn, post-monsoon air.

 
 








Two hours later, and we were back at the Galaxy hotel, ready for even more dragon fruit, melon and Vietnamese coffee.  Those of us who had been there a day early headed straight for rolled egg, giving the rice porridge a swerve.

Vietnam is a single party constitutional republic (Communist). The highway from Hanoi airport is lined with enormous billboards, acknowledging joint ventures with generous, not necessarily Communist, nations. Statues and portraits of Ho Chi Minh abound.

A visit to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum was a lesson in the many levels of uniformed authority. Just do what the green men say, look contrite and solemn before the boys in blue, and don’t even look at the chaps in white. Keep your hands by your side. Uncle Ho looked pretty relaxed, having been dead for 42 years, and only days back from his annual maintenance visit to Russia. The large numbers of Vietnamese groups paid their respect, and indeed, so did we.

Adjacent to the mausoleum is the Presidential Palace, gardens, pond and stilt house, where HCM received visitors and worked until his death.

Like many of the public buildings in Vietnam, the Palace is French, and Imperial Yellow. All the shrubs have been tinkered with, topiary being a compulsory skill for council workers throughout the country. 

Although some wag suggested the stilt house was more Freedom Furniture than Freedom Fighter, the atmosphere of the entire site was calm, peaceful, and on a stinking hot day, rather cool.

With our usual aversion to shopping, and armed with a map, a compass, and the pedometer to calculate beers earned at the end of the day, we found the National Museum of Vietnam History, the Museum of Vietnam Revolution and the Fine Arts Gallery. Oh, it’s been a lengthy struggle for this long, thin country on the bum of Asia.
We learned what the Mongols could do if they had their knickers in a twist, which probably gave the French some ideas for their parting gestures. Reference to the “American War” was just a taste of what was to come as we headed further south. The image of a suicide anti-tank bomber was as heroic as it came.





The museum buildings and gardens were quite lovely, the fan-cooled interiors were welcome, and we were two of a dozen people in each. The rest of the city was outside, trying to cross the street.

Next on the itinerary, for us and just about everybody who travels to the north of Vietnam, was Halong Bay. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, and appears on just about every Vietnam brochure ever printed, with good reason.

The area is stunning, with limestone karsts by the hundred, pushing out of the bay. It’s something to do with marine transgression, the Silurian period and stuff like that.  I prefer the story of jade-spitting dragons, myself. These dragons put obstacles in the way of invaders from China, which is rather nearby. The remaining American mines were not mentioned by our good guide – must have been an oversight.

Our sleeping boat was lovely, albeit at the modest end of the scale, judging by some of our neighbours. We were fed royally, our cabin was compact, and the en suite required certain adjustments if you wanted to have a shower and keep the toilet paper dry. The floor dried quite quickly though, thanks to its proximity to the boat’s engine.

This was not your sit-around programme. “Going to see a cave” involved some boat-to-boat leaping (anyone with bionic bits got special catching), and then climbing 100 steep, stone steps to the “grotte des surprises”.








The “grotte” was very well organized to take the throngs, and view the various formations in their best (unnatural) light. Bionic Biddy was so enthralled she forgot to worry how she was going to get down the 100 steep, stone steps.

 

“Catching the sunset” involved 472 steep, stone steps to the lookout on Titop Island. What a brilliant sunset, captured by both Him & Her on their respective cameras. Please vote with your preference. It’s an inhouse competition.

Her View

His View

The descent involved a little bit of swinging off the rope handrails, but was made the more enjoyable by a) being able to tell the overweight, overdressed Frenchmen that they were nearly there when they weren’t; and b) knowing that it would be nearly dark by the time they got there.  Bionic Biddy was bearing a grudge for colonial atrocities, recently witnessed.

 
Our morning treat was an early visit to Hang Luon cave/lagoon.

We were rowed through the cave entrance to come out into a caldera-like lagoon, in the middle of the limestone karst. Very steep, high sides made it all a teeny bit spooky. The tourist fleet was quite invisible. 

A couple of local fisherpersons, who just might have had something for sale in their dinghies, kept us company. And the very best news of all – it was too early in the day for the monkeys.

All that was left was a very relaxed cruise back to Halong City, and a bus ride back to Hanoi Airport. Thach wickedly reminded us that if a Vietnamese asks “have you been to Hanoi” it’s code for “have you eaten dog”.

It was probably one of his many, many leg pulls, but we had thoroughly enjoyed the food in our first few days, and we had not eaten dog, as far as we were aware. We were just not that important – or hungry.