hello hanoi.
We easily entered the country so many people
from home once desperately avoided to go to. Vietnam, a country brimming with
paradoxes and motorbikes, was to be home for the next three weeks.
Two flights, one sleep, and a reunion with Laura
and Brittany later we arrived in the capital, Hanoi. We spent four days
wandering, relaxing, and catching up on travel stories before we were to set
off to northern Vietnam for some excursions. Whilst in Hanoi the calls of Bia Hoi did not go unanswered.
Playschool sized tables and chairs lined the streets and an endless pour of “live”
20 cent beers made rounds. This daily happy hour is Hanoi’s primary attraction,
with its appeal in its uniqueness and affordability.
In small attempts to not let laziness completely
take over, the four of us strolled through the bustling streets to view the
city’s museums and attractions. The amount of motorbikes, and their
accompanying beeping, is unfathomable. Like schools of fish, they navigate the
sea of narrow and dirty streets with ease, naturally parting around pedestrian
obstacles to unite the fleet once more. There are few stop lights, and they are
simply a suggestion, not a rule. In order to cross the street you simply start
walking and do not stumble nor hesitate; the aggressive drivers will flow
around you. Doubt from this game of Frogger
soon vanquishes after the fourth or fifth street crossing.
Making a wide, counterclockwise loop, we
explored the city highlights in one day. The tour began with the Ho Chi Minh
museum and One-Pillar Pagoda. Field trips of countless children, all who never
fail to show shock and awe at seeing a foreigner, greeted us with smiles,
kisses, and waves. The braver ones called out ‘Hello! You beautiful!’, and we
couldn’t help but fall for their charm.
As we strolled through the streets, passing
women balancing two baskets of fruit hanging from either ends of a pole over
their shoulders, the French influence was screamingly obvious. In the wealthier
parts of town, wide boulevards were lined with towering trees and the facades
of neighborhoods resembled France’s ostentatious design of intricate arches and
balconies. Baguettes were sold on every corner, albeit the additional fillings
to the baguette are quite Vietnamese.
We carried on to the Temple of Literature, the
first national university for the elite. Tokens to the turtle, a symbol of
longevity and wisdom, were scattered throughout the grounds. Groups of recent
graduates stood to take pictures in this Confucius temple, connecting scholarly
life from one thousand years ago to today in a simple photograph.
As we walked on to our next attraction we
stopped at a restaurant filled with locals, knowing we would find good food.
There we feasted on bun cha as the
owner gazed and smiled at us, clearly pleased foreigners were enjoying her
cooking.
I navigated, as a master of direction, our troop
to Hoa Lo Prison, an unchosen home to Vietnamese political prisoners during
French Imperialism and later to Prisoners of War from the Vietnam War. In
silence we toured the prison and learned about the horrendous conditions,
torture, and treatment found there. The place was cloaked in death’s despair, a
somber stench that will never be lifted.
I knew coming to Vietnam I would find myself
faced with the hidden truths of America’s aggression in the Cold War. So as I
made my way through the cells and communal rooms of Hoa Lo Prison, I unearthed
the history of Hanoi Hilton. During the Vietnam War, American captives were
sent to this prison for detaining. Rather than be treated with spite, revenge,
and cruelty by their enemy, most Americans found themselves quite well off
while incarcerated. Inmates were treated extremely well – clothed properly, fed
amply, celebrated Christmas, and enjoyed leisure games. The photographs strewn
across the walls gave truth to the prison’s nickname. We left the prison and
immediately discussed the morality and choices made during the Vietnam War; one
conversation of many that was soon to come.
Every day the four of us would walk around Hoan
Kiem Lake in the old town of the capital.
I would run there in the mornings before crowds and humidity swallowed
the path. Our nightly ritual was a highlight as we finished off our walk with a
forty cent ice cream bar. The simple pleasure of walking without haste while
surrounded by close friends awakened the sweet memories of walking with my
family down at the beach after delicious meals prepared by my talented Aunt
Laurie.
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