Hanoi Day 2
I've crammed a lot into the last few days here in
Hanoi, even though I was supposed to be attending a conference Monday through
today. But I've been putting the research I'm doing, as well as some
sightseeing, ahead of the conference, which has been a little disappointing. So
in this post I'll describe a little bit about what I've been up to.
On Monday I walked down the street from the hotel
to a travel agency that said it could handle getting the extension to my visa
for me. Just out the door from the 5-star hotel is a long, narrow, corrugated
tin roofed market known as 12-19 Market (I'm not sure why). Inside were stalls
selling everything from clothing to roasted dogs. Here is where the picture was
taken in the previous post of the live fish on the mat. I left my passport with
the travel agent who said she could get me my passport by Thursday, or by the
next day for $10 more than the $50 the regular service would cost. I opted for
the rapid service, not wanting to be without my passport. Streets in Hanoi are
kind of themed, especially in the Old Quarter. Even though I was now walking
through the French Quarter, I discovered a street full of knife sellers and
sharpeners.
I was on my way to the 1,000-year old Temple of Literature, an interesting temple where 82 huge stone stelae on stone turtles tell the biographies of men who passed the rigorous national exams (largely the study of Confucian and related texts) between the 1400s and 1700s.
Next I headed over to the part of town that includes the Military History Museum, a museum of Ho Chi Minh's life, and of course, his mausoleum. Since it was Monday, it turned out all of this things were closed. I did get to see the One Pillar Pagoda, however.
In Hanoi, white people are constantly pestered by xe om (motorbike taxi) drivers. I wanted to go to the office of one of the people I was trying to meet, so I hired a driver, named Doan, to take me there. Doan was quite a professional. He wore Ray Ban sunglasses and had a little notebook with the English names of places written down and asked where I wanted to go. He knew what was open and what was closed. He grew up in Hanoi. His father was killed in the American War, and his brother lost a leg. Doan was too young to fight.
I found all of this out when I asked him to take me to a good local restaurant and he became comfortable enough with me that he sat and ate with me. We had Bia Noi, local Hanoi beer, which probably wasn't such a good idea since I was getting on the back of his motorbike with him after lunch. The beer proved to be pretty weak, in terms of alcohol content, but quite good (and CHEAP). After lunch he took me to his barber to get my haircut. As I was walking around later, I began seeing all kinds of barbers and salons, ranging from the little hole-on-the-wall place Doan took me, to fancier places where women were getting hair and nails done. Then it struck me, Vietnamese in the U.S., at least women, are stereotyped as being hair stylists and manicurists, so of course there would be plenty of places to get your haircut in Hanoi.
Later in the afternoon I got a call from the person I had stopped in to see. He wasn't there when I stopped, but I left him my mobile number (I swapped out the India SIM card for a Vietnam one when I arrived for a cost of less than $10). He called back and asked if I wanted to meet him for dinner along with another person, a photojournalist who had contributed to a New York Times story on the lawsuit Vietnamese victims of Agent Orange filed against the manufactuers of A.O. in New York.
I got back on another xe om and headed to the Old Quarter for dinner. Dinner stretched over four hours, during which we drank much bia noi. We had steampot, a meal where a super-efficient hotplate (the surface of which somehow does not get hot to the touch) is brought to your table with a lot of raw ingredients. You put the stuff in the steampot to cook as you like. The conversation began with discussion of the lawsuit by A.O. victims, then naturally moved on to the war more generally, and eventually moved back to contemporary issues like the differences between our cultures. It was a great experience, but left me pretty exhausted and probably contributed to the cold I have now.
I was on my way to the 1,000-year old Temple of Literature, an interesting temple where 82 huge stone stelae on stone turtles tell the biographies of men who passed the rigorous national exams (largely the study of Confucian and related texts) between the 1400s and 1700s.
Next I headed over to the part of town that includes the Military History Museum, a museum of Ho Chi Minh's life, and of course, his mausoleum. Since it was Monday, it turned out all of this things were closed. I did get to see the One Pillar Pagoda, however.
In Hanoi, white people are constantly pestered by xe om (motorbike taxi) drivers. I wanted to go to the office of one of the people I was trying to meet, so I hired a driver, named Doan, to take me there. Doan was quite a professional. He wore Ray Ban sunglasses and had a little notebook with the English names of places written down and asked where I wanted to go. He knew what was open and what was closed. He grew up in Hanoi. His father was killed in the American War, and his brother lost a leg. Doan was too young to fight.
I found all of this out when I asked him to take me to a good local restaurant and he became comfortable enough with me that he sat and ate with me. We had Bia Noi, local Hanoi beer, which probably wasn't such a good idea since I was getting on the back of his motorbike with him after lunch. The beer proved to be pretty weak, in terms of alcohol content, but quite good (and CHEAP). After lunch he took me to his barber to get my haircut. As I was walking around later, I began seeing all kinds of barbers and salons, ranging from the little hole-on-the-wall place Doan took me, to fancier places where women were getting hair and nails done. Then it struck me, Vietnamese in the U.S., at least women, are stereotyped as being hair stylists and manicurists, so of course there would be plenty of places to get your haircut in Hanoi.
Later in the afternoon I got a call from the person I had stopped in to see. He wasn't there when I stopped, but I left him my mobile number (I swapped out the India SIM card for a Vietnam one when I arrived for a cost of less than $10). He called back and asked if I wanted to meet him for dinner along with another person, a photojournalist who had contributed to a New York Times story on the lawsuit Vietnamese victims of Agent Orange filed against the manufactuers of A.O. in New York.
I got back on another xe om and headed to the Old Quarter for dinner. Dinner stretched over four hours, during which we drank much bia noi. We had steampot, a meal where a super-efficient hotplate (the surface of which somehow does not get hot to the touch) is brought to your table with a lot of raw ingredients. You put the stuff in the steampot to cook as you like. The conversation began with discussion of the lawsuit by A.O. victims, then naturally moved on to the war more generally, and eventually moved back to contemporary issues like the differences between our cultures. It was a great experience, but left me pretty exhausted and probably contributed to the cold I have now.
Posted: Wed - January 11, 2006 at 02:05 AM
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Published On: Jul 15, 2006 12:54 AM
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Published On: Jul 15, 2006 12:54 AM