By Lucy

“How foolish it is to wear oneself out in vain longing for warmth! Solitude is independence. It had been my wish and with the years I had attained it. It was cold. Oh, cold enough! But it was also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of space in which the stars revolve.”

Steppenwolf, Herman Hesse

The War continues to affect us in strange ways. The Thai government is encouraging people to ration AC and work from home when possible, although they are drawing on reserves to keep gas prices artificially low. Vietnam has issued the same recommendation, but they have no reserves to draw on. I’m now glad I booked my tickets in advance; the prices can’t go up on me.

Got up, had breakfast slowly in the common room. The passion burning in my chest wanted to get up and fling the lights on, and pack loudly, to punish the drunk people for carelessly disturbing my sleep by disturbing theirs. The side of me that wants to make myself small and quiet and to be left alone won out, and I slunk out of the room without a peep.

Around 9:30, I went back and packed my bags. Checked out of the hostel and ordered a Grab to the airport.

This marks the first time I had to check in at a desk. I waited in a line of other farang. I was glad I’d bought the “extra” hand luggage; allowed hand luggage is 7 kgs, and they were weighing everyone’s bags and making them check them, but mine was only 12 kilos, which is under the extended limit of 14 kgs. He spent a long time staring at the computer before I learned the problem was that I hadn’t bought my ticket with my middle name as well. He scrawled it on in pen, attached a label to my luggage, and gestured to the escalator for departures.

It was a long line. I shuffled along for over half an hour. At the last minute, it occurred to me that my bottle of sunscreen was probably too big, and I pitched it. I got through the scanner without a fuss.

It’s a small airport; people really only fly to Bangkok or Hanoi from here. There were limited options for lunch, so I bought some overpriced ramen.

A stroke of good luck here. I’m not willing to pay to choose my seat on a flight that’s a little more than an hour, so it randomly assigned me… A3, which also meant I was in loading zone one. Huh! I was the second person on the plane, which was novel.

I was excited to see Laos from the air. Once we took off and climbed to cruising altitude, it was quickly apparent how bad burning season was. It looked like a sea, with white-capped mountains, except that it was the thick layer of smoke with the fluffy white clouds poking out of it. I eventually gave up on trying to see the ground.

Then we landed.

There were lots of Qatar and Emirates planes parked in the grass. A visceral reminder of the war; they wouldn’t park them there if they had any other options.

My stomach was twisting itself into knots. What if they said no?

The line here was so long… I waited maybe an hour. Maybe more. I tried not to keep track; it wouldn’t help anything.

In the end, it wasn’t so bad. I handed the strict-looking security guy my passport and my phone opened to the eVisa. He glanced at it, glanced at me, typed on his computer a bit. Stamped my passport and handed it and my phone back to me without saying anything or gesturing at all.

So… I’m free?

I walked towards the escalator, half expecting to be called back, but I wasn’t. Went down the escalator and through the “nothing to declare” section of customs, and out into the cool Hanoi air.

Finally in Vietnam. I sighed.

I’m undecided how I feel about Vietnam. I feel like most people, or at least most North Americans who never travel, have a mental image of Vietnam that never matured beyond the American war. For the record, the people of Vietnam are basically over the war and don’t think about it much; they actually like the Americans, because they are scared of the Chinese invading them. I never watched Full Metal Jacket; my mental impression of Vietnam comes from a mix of Forrest Gump and Blood+.

There’s also a weird bond, from me and Nhan, that it feels sort of like visiting my homeland, except it’s not my homeland.

For what it’s worth, the Vietnamese are a fairly new people, for the history of the area. The Khmer were first, the Thai second, and Viet people after that. The Mekong delta, where Ho Chi Minh City is, was the Khmer (Cambodian) for the longest time, and they’re still salty about it.

It’s also a fairly small country. Traffic aside, you could drive from Hanoi to the border with Laos, or China, in an hour. The strip that goes down to HCMC, even thinner.

Hanoi, spelled Ha Noi in proper Vietnamese, has been continuously settled for over a thousand years, through many names and forms. You can still see the scars of the French occupation; French-styled architecture is common, as are French boulevards.

This place instantly got on my nerves. There are some people who try to hustle you in Thailand, but they quickly give up once you are clearly not falling for it. The instant I stepped out of the building, men descended on me, claiming to be taxi drivers. They were unrelenting, following me after I waved them away, until I subjected them to a glare. The act of holding out my phone to summon a Grab felt dangerous; what if someone ran by and grabbed it?

I got a Grab fairly quick and was soon being whisked away to downtown.

(I will add, bus 17 goes from the airport to downtown, if you have change on you)

As we puttered along in rush hour traffic, we passed the Trấn Quốc Pagoda, easily visible from the highway.

Most people in Vietnam stay in the Old Quarter, right in the heart of Hanoi, which makes some sense. It’s certainly set up for it, and most of the street is catering to the tourist crowd, with a hostel every 3 buildings. However, there isn’t much to see in Hanoi itself, and I found it to be a hostile place. If you stop for more than a minute, looking lost, strangers on motorbikes will stop and insist they are a taxi, and offer you a ride. Vendors will quote you one price that is obviously inflated, and when you don’t fall for it, will quickly drop the price. Greeters for store and bars will hop into your path if you hazard eye contact, grab your arm and attempt to hustle you in to whatever they are selling.

And English is scarce. Vietnamese is famously hard to learn and I met people who lived in Vietnam for years and still only had a surface level understanding (they keep reinventing the language to try and make it easier to learn… it’s not working). Which is fine, but in Thailand, you had the feeling they were nice people who just wanted to earn a living. I mentioned before the placards with the pictures of food and prices, so you can just point. Vietnam does not have that; their menus are mostly in Viet, and when you either can’t read or pronounce anything, they just stare at your blankly. You get the feeling you are nothing but a walking ATM to them; they just want to get as much money out of you for as little effort as possible.

There are red Communist flags everywhere. This is my own ignorance; I didn’t realize Vietnam was that Communist.

I got into the hostel I had booked. The buildings in north Vietnam are odd; even when they weren’t in downtown, they tended to be narrow and long, for some reason. This hostel was so narrow there were two elevators, service the front and back, as there wasn’t enough width for both a room and a hallway.

The clerk checked me in before telling me her card reader was down and I’d need cash. She took my passport as collateral. I later noticed the security agent had written down the date I had to be out of the country by in it. I went up to my room – very tiny – deposited my bag on my bunk, and went back out to find an ATM. I don’t want to be parted with my passport long, and I’d need cash for food anyway.

There was an HSBC ATM nearby, which I decided I trusted, since it’s a British bank. Went over and pulled out some cash. The ATM charged me 5$ and my bank charged me 7.50 for it.

Walked back to the hostel, paid, and got my passport back. Grabbed a banh mi from the kiosk just outside the hostel (worth noting that banh mi simply means “baguette” in Viet, usually followed by the name of whatever they serve on it – in this case, chicken). 38’000 VHD for a big sandwich, enough to fill me up.

Oh great, I just finished learning the currency exchange in baht, and now I had to learn dong.

38’000 dong is 1.98 Canadian. A two dollar sandwich. 15 a night for the hostel.

Not bad.

I grabbed my laptop and puttered away for the evening.

I told Nhan I was finally in Vietnam. I tried texting her sister… no luck. She suggested both Viber and Zalo. Viber is usable in Canada, but wouldn’t work for me. Zalo is a Vietnam-only app, and is unusable for me; you need a Vietnamese SIM and phone number, which I didn’t have.

I wandered out into the night to see what was around. I was quickly exhausted.

Crossing the road is an adventure, even moreso than in Thailand.

Noise is constant here. Vietnamese people honk constantly when driving; courtesy honks, angry honks, acknowledgement honks. That and the constant hustling drove me back to the hostel, which I feared I may never want to leave.

Sleep was impossible. Why is it, always, as I’m about to drift off, someone comes in to disturb me? In this case, it was two British girls who were clearly already drunk and getting dressed up to go clubbing some more. They left the room as mess as well; bags and clothes strewn about the floor, the small counter in the bathroom covered in makeup.

I was awoken early as well. Someone had an alarm set and they kept snoozing it, but it kept going off every 2 minutes. After the seventh time, I gave up and climbed out of bed. I am so looking forward to the private room I booked myself.

Vietnamese people get up early, usually around 5:30. They also eat dinner at 7PM. When do they sleep, you ask? Around noon; most stores and museums closes at midday for a siesta.

Breakfast was free at this hostel, and quite extensive, more variety than you’d see at a continental breakfast in Canada. Fruit, toast, coffee and tea, eggs, bacon… I loaded up a plate.

When I went back to my room to dress, one of the drunk girls was standing in the middle, looking sheepish. I soon discovered why; when she had climbed out of her bunk, she had taken out the curtain on mine.

Christ.

I dressed, made double sure everything was locked into my luggage, and went downstairs. I vented at the clerk, who just stared at me blankly and then asked me what I wanted from him.

“Fix my curtain!” I snapped, and stomped out of the building.

Once outside, I felt uncomfortable. I dislike losing my temper at frontline staff, when they often have no control over policy.

I found a place nearby that offered a walking tour at 8AM, but when I get there, I discovered they were booking for 11 and 1. That’s one thing that annoys me about Hostelworld; a lot of hostels offer events on there, but no one actually checks it, and they want you to go to their hostel to book it, so the times mean nothing.

I wandered around by myself. There’s a big fancy Catholic church that you can take tours of, but I’m not in the mood to burst into flames.

Wandered through Book Street as well. Nothing was open, mores the pity. I know you can read all of Hesse for free on Gutenberg, but I wouldn’t mind a paper copy, for if I can’t access data or want to save battery.

Went to Hoa Lo, the former prison-turned-museum. Only 50’000 for a ticket inside.

It’s not a big museum. The bulk of it is dedicated to the glory of the Viet Minh and how much the French sucked, which made me feel a little self-conscious about having a French last name. Many of the signs were only in Viet, and I regretted not purchasing an audio tour.

I was slightly amused by the pictures of John McCain visiting the museum. During the Vietnam war, it was turned into a camp for POW’s, of which he was one. “Hey, this is where we held you prisoner, pretty cool, huh?” He seemed nonplussed by it.

The French did this country dirty. They tried to bleed them dry, for rubber and other natural resources. It’s not hard to imagine how Ho Chi Minh captured their hearts and mind.

Ah, yes, Uncle Ho.

He’s the man that’s on the money, the one who introduced Communism, and the name of the city. Originally it was named Saigon, but when the North won the war, they renamed it, in an “eff you we won” sort of way. He died before the end of the war and is embalmed and on display in a mausoleum, contrary to his wishes, which were to be cremated and scattered over a united Vietnam.

I find him very interesting. No one is quite sure who he is; all that anyone can agree on is that Ho Chi Minh was an pseudonym (it translates to Light Bringer, by the way…). The man himself grew up in a small village in northern Vietnam and went to school in Hue. At some point in his twenties, wanting to travel but lacking the funds, he acquired work on a ship and travelled the world, working on ships, for over 3 years. He discovered Communism in France and was imprisoned, returning home over ten years after he left. He formed the Viet Minh to throw the Japanese out of Vietnam, backed by the Americans. They quickly turned against him when he turned the newly formed North Vietnam into a communist state, and we all know how that went.

How I long to follow in his footsteps. To be unknowable… but in this age of social media, I doubt changing my name will help much.

In a strange twist of fate, he died on September 2nd, the same day as Independence day in Vietnam.

Once I was done, I walked a couple of blocks further. I noticed a street nearby specifically mentioned as a block that was completely destroyed by the American bombing, Kham Thien.

Night and day.

I then noticed I was right by Train Street.

Now, if you have the good fortune of not having to suffer through Tiktok, allow me to explain. Train Street is a street with a train track running down it.

Cool? No?

So, the train also actively runs down this street. It seems, when they built the track/ the street, they decided to just allow a full speed train to travel down a residential road… for… reasons. And there’s at least 10 trains a day. The locals adapted; they just pull their chairs out of the way when the train comes, and then set back up like nothing happened. Which everyone on Tiktok finds terribly fascinating.

I mean, it’s not not interesting. I just wasn’t going to wander across town to see it, but since I’m here, why not.

I wandered down the street a bit, found a cafe I liked, paid a slightly inflated price for a plate of admittedly good noodles, and waited. Kids played in the street. I’ve noticed there’s a lot more foreign families in Vietnam, or maybe I’m just hanging out in more of the same places than in Thailand.

I will admit, when the train came barreling down the tracks, it scared the beejesuz out of me. It was going much faster than I expected and I was suddenly afraid that, despite the fact the locals do this every day, they would be wrong this time and I would be clipped. And getting hit at that speed by anything would do some damage. I curled up onto my seat and stayed huddled there.

And then it was over.

I finished eating my noodles, paid and left. Onwards!

Actually, I’m tired.

I ordered a Grab back to Old Quarter, but I had it drop me off at a different hostel. Hanoi seems to be the leaping off point for lots of tours; biking Ha Giang loop seems to be popular. It seemed like more money than I wanted to spend, however, and more time than I wanted to commit as well; 2 nights, at a minimum. I’d rather come back with an international driving permit, buy a bike, and bike across Laos as well.

Sapa trekking was tempting, but I’d just done an overnight hike on similar terrain. Ninh Binh is popular, and was my second choice, but what really caught my eye was Mai Chau. A scenic drive through the mountains, learning about local weaving. Dinner at a hotel, and in the morning a short hike to a scenic cave.

I talked to the hostel that was booking the tour. The man lost the tour book, but I was already interested. The problem; he wanted cash again. I’d been hoping to use my card because I didn’t want to keep so much cash on hand. ATM’s in Hanoi are also infamous for running out of cash, due to the large number of bills you’ll need to buy anything. The largest bill is 500’000, when 1 million is 50 Canadian.

The sleazy hustle of the city made me feel gross. But I wanted the tour; if everyone was already stupid on a Thursday, Saturday night in downtown was going to be unbearable, and there is barely enough things to do in downtown Hanoi to fill 24 hours. I walked to a nearby hostel and got out more cash.

By the time I got back, he had disappeared. The other desk clerk approached me, with a gleam in her eyes, and suggested I might enjoy Pu Luong more, showing me a book.

I got the feeling right away that she wanted me to sign up for Pu Luong because it was more expensive than Mai Chau and she’d be able to profit more. Nonetheless, as I flipped through it, it was hard to deny that it seemed more my speed. Mai Chau is flat and well known among tourists. Pu Luong is right in the mountains, and fairly new (I later found out, only 2 years old, because they had literally created it for tourists).

Her companion came back. “Ah, ready to book Mai Chau?”

“She’s interested in Pu Luong!” She chirped happily.

“But I bet it’s more expensive than Mai Chau.” I said shrewdly, glancing up at her. I was starting to figure out how to hustle the Viet’s right back.

“Ah, a bit, it’s true! But he can get you a discount. Right?” She winked at him.

He grumbled and flashed her a glare, then sat down and made a couple of phone calls. Finally he said, “Yes, a discount.”

Discount or not, it cost 50 bucks more than Mai Chau. But what’s worse; spending 100 bucks on something you might not like, or spending 50 bucks more to ensure you do?

It’s a little depressing that Vietnam, despite being theoretically cheaper than Thailand, ended up being about the same price. The only way to enjoy it is to purchase an overpriced tour; there aren’t a lot of museums or galleries in Hanoi, not a lot to wander around and see once you’ve seen the Old Quarter. Sure, you could probably rent a bike or car and try to see a lot of it yourself, but there’s a high emotional price to pay for that; you have to have a valid international driving permit, and there’s often the hassle of ‘cops’ stopping people to issue fake driving infractions and demand a fine in cash, etc. Not to mention how chaotic the traffic is.

I paid for Pu Luong and left.

I still hadn’t seen the mausoleum or the pagoda, but I was psychologically wiped out. All this hustling and arguing… it’s too much. I walked back to my hostel. My curtain was fixed, and the two drunk girls had checked out. Left because it was their last night? Or booted out for drunk and disorderly?

I went to the convenience store and grabbed a bottle of the rice wine Jana had showed me. I didn’t want to get drunk, but I did have a bit of a headache and something to take the edge off would be nice. Bought another banh mi from the kiosk and spent the evening playing video games in the common room. I drank not even half the bottle and put it in the hostel fridge, full expecting it to have disappeared before I got back.

In opposition to the Thai people not drinking much, Vietnamese people drink a lot. They are not Buddhist.

Sleep was hard to get again. The sound from the rooftop bar travels all the way down the building, for some reason, so I could clearly hear people singing karaoke even though I was on the second floor and they were on the 7th. Ugh.

Early in the morning, I was awoken by the guy in the bunk above mine crawling into bed. Mostly because he appeared to have climbed up in his clothes and kicked them off, and they landed on my feet and startled me. I’m not short, but I’m also not tall, and my feet stick out the end of this bunk. I stuck my head out and he was fully conked out, light on and everything.

I am so tired of Hanoi already.

Eventually I gave up chasing sleep and wandered downstairs for breakfast. There was a drunk guy passed out in the common room, beer bottles scattered across the table.

As I ate breakfast, Nhan texted me about contacting her sister again. I sent her a screencap of my flight booking to mollify her. Viber wasn’t working out.

The bus picked me up. I only packed an overnight bag and left my large luggage locked up on my bunk.

The bus was luxurious. Leather massaging chairs, with USB chargers. Golly. Travelling in style.

Once we left Hanoi behind, we were immediately travelling through the small stone mountains everyone insists on calling karst even though it isn’t.

There were also fields and fields of sugarcane, corn, soybeans…

We stopped after an hour and a bit at a tour bus stop that sold snacks and drinks.

A man came over to talk to me. I was instantly wary; he was Chinese, and something about him seemed… probing. He introduces himself as Ming and says he travels a lot. He offers me a snack he just bought; dried ginger. It’s still the New Year here. I tried a bit and it burned all the way down.

The bus driver told us we would only be stopped 15 minutes, but then he disappeared into the bus drivers lunch room and didn’t come back for over half an hour.

I’ve noticed a lot of statues of goats in the area. I wonder what that’s about? I also saw a funeral procession, which I only knew was a funeral because the museum helpfully informed me that Vietnamese people wear white headbands to a funeral.

Around 11:30, we finally arrived at my accommodation. As opposed to the tours in Thailand, in Vietnam, random buses pick up an assortment of passengers and drop them off at their destination, instead of one bus picking up every person for one tour.

In this case, it made some sense. There was only 3 of us on this tour. Me, a British man named Steve, and a woman from BC named Denise.

I waited a few minutes alone for the others to arrive. I’ve developed a bad habit of using Google translate to eavesdrop. Since it can access your mic to translate audio in real time, you can just leave your phone on a table and watch it scroll whatever someone is saying in a foreign language. It’s always interesting to see what people say when they think you can’t understand them.

My new wallet arrived at Paul’s place and his mail lady told him I should take him on holiday. Would that I could, and it’s not even the money, it’s that he functionally works 2 full time jobs. I did tell him I’m kidnapping him down to Barrie at some point; Candace can look after the dogs for a week, right?

Since it was noon, they offered us lunch and tea. Lunch was squash soup, followed by stir fry. We couldn’t decide what the pot for the rice was made out of; I confirmed it wasn’t magnetic, which narrows it down. Aluminum? And the background music was terrible, some sort of discordant piano.

The view is nice.

At one, we officially checked in. Steve got a room with its own bathroom. Me and Denise got rooms with a shared bathroom, overlooking the patio.

I mean, that view alone is priceless.

At 1:30, our guide showed up, a young man who’s name I didn’t catch. We drove down the road a bit and then hopped out for a hike, Denise lamenting that the guide said it would be a “short” hike (she was mistaken). He also said that Pu Luong was invented only a few years ago, purely for tourists, and that it’s prone to landslides.

It took us maybe 40 minutes to walk down the hill. We all gelled pretty good. The guide informed us the people around here are actually Thai, Thai Dam or “black” Thai, because they were black skirts. They left Thailand decades ago because they didn’t want to be Buddhist. He mentioned the Lanna and the Sak Yant, and I showed everyone mine.

In the village, the guide explained to us that they mostly farm and eat duck. He pointed out various plants and I was surprised that I knew most of them, although some were far from home, like peanuts and mustard. Dogs and chickens wandered the streets freely.

There was Bang trees lining the road (pronounced baaaahng), and they’re damn near sacred in Vietnam. I picked up a purple Bang flower laying on the ground and tucked it behind my ear, and all the locals stopped to point at it.

“Is this rude?” I asked the guide.

“No no.” He replied. “They just think it’s funny.”

We crossed a bridge and started to climb. My legs still hurt, so me and Steve fell behind.

“Is that your chap?” Steve asked, pointing at my phone.

Ah, yes. I had made the troublemaker my lock screen after Jana kissed me, to deter future unwanted advances. Paul is skeptical, but I’ve definitely caught guys hitting on me, then losing interest once they noticed I had a man as the background on my phone. I hate doing it, but it works (I’d also considered grabbing a random photo off of Google, but decided the hitch in my throat would help sell the lie).

“My chap?” I laughed, “Yes, you could say that. He’s, umm, a bit of trouble.” I made a drinking motion. Steve nodded knowingly. “What about you? You mentioned a wife who travels, but you’re here on your own.” I deflect, expecting a story about a shrew of an ex wife.

“I was wondering when that was going to come up. I do mention it funny, don’t I?” He looked into the distance. “She died. Two years ago.”

“Oh shi… Oh my. Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve.” My hands flew to my mouth.

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m processing it.” He says unconvincingly.

“Stiff upper lip, guv’nor.”

He sighs. “I am doing that, aren’t I? She died from cancer.” He looks down at the ground. “This trip is sort of… you know… she wanted to come here… we didn’t get time. It’s sort of… cathartic.”

I nod.

At the top of the climb was a cave.

It’s called Bat Cave because four different kinds of bats live here. Even standing in the entrance, you can hear them chittering away.

We followed the path into the cave as far as it went, which was not all the way to the bottom. There was a couple who had wandered further in, but even they didn’t go far enough to leave our sight.

I wonder how far it goes.

Back up; out of the cave, down the hill, through the village, up the other hill.

Since Denise wanted a longer hike, we walked further. The guide stopped to pick some leaves and whistle. He likes Western music; he kept singing Avicii under his breath.

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Me and Steve talked about the former prince Andrew. The guide mentioned he wanted to learn Spanish to increase his earning potential; he already knows Thai, Vietnamese, English and French.

Back to the hostel. Dinner isn’t ’til 7? What?

I was 100% certain we had another event planned before dinner. I managed to contact the guy from the hostel and he confirmed it was supposed to be a cooking class (although a lot of these ‘cooking classes’ end up being spring rolls). We also hadn’t done the hike we were supposed to have done this afternoon. He told me to ask at the desk, but no one here really speaks English. I went downstairs and, when I was informed the cooking class had been cancelled, threw a fit through Google translate. They offered us a herbal footbath before dinner as compensation, and a free drink.

At 6, me and Steve came down for our footbath. Denise had fallen asleep – still jet-lagged, she just arrived from Canada.

AT 7, we went for dinner. More stir fry. That being said, they do provide a variety of dishes, and more food than we could possibly eat!

Then the dancers showed up.

Now, I knew a traditional dance was supposed to be the evening’s entertainment, but we lucked out. The man who owns the company for the dancers was in town, because it was his mother’s 75 birthday. When he noticed me and Steve getting invested in the dancing, he came over and offered us a shot of some watered-down rice wine.

Denise excused herself for bed.

We got drawn in. Tim’s English was passable, and he explained the various dances to us. Having eaten, we moved our chairs over to his table and sat with him. He kept offering us shots of the rice wine, but as I said, they were half the size of a regular shot, and weak, presumably on purpose, so you can toast a lot without getting drunk. They also have some sort of ritual where they pour rice wine down some bamboo shoots while chanting.

Some Westerners wandered by, noticed us in the midst, and came over to join us. There was also a table of Vietnamese soldiers on leave. They were very drunk.

They also mixed in some karaoke. After some time, Tim asked me to sing something.

“Oh, I don’t know any Thai songs!” I protested.

“Sing anything you want, we can find it on Youtube.”

I settled on Stompa. It’s a groovy song, even if you don’t understand English, it makes you want to stomp and clap. The soldiers got up and danced in the space in front of me, and everyone was stomping along with it. Bonus points; Serena Ryder is Canadian.

After I was done, Tim ran over. “That was amazing, you sing so well! Another! Another!”

“No, no! Later!” I protested. I hadn’t time to come up with another song.

(There was no later, but that’s fine.)

They did some more Thai songs, some more traditional dances, then they brought out this vase of rice wine with bamboo straws. They do some sort of square dance; everyone hold hands and dances around the vase while two people drink from it. No I don’t understand much more about it than that.

Since all the Westerners had already seen me up with the locals, they were quickly drawn in. The dancers wandered through the tables, grabbing people and pulling them in to the circle, so everyone at the restaurant was caught up in our raucous celebration of… something!

The event ended with some kind of other square dance. I’d gathered that a lot of this is a blessing for a good rice harvest; the dances were based around gestures for planting rice, and winnowing. The dancers bring out some bamboo shoots, and tap them on the ground in a 1-3 pattern; one tap brings them together, then 3 taps apart. The idea is to dance across the shoots in between the taps that bring them together, lest they close on your ankle.

I noticed a Japanese girl who wanted to join in, but her boyfriend wouldn’t dance. I grabbed her hands and led her across the shoots. She thought it was great fun and soon all the others were dancing across the shoots and it was such beautiful, jubilant chaos.

Around 9 we wound down, had a few more toasts, and thanked them heartily for including us.

I wonder how much of that Denise managed to sleep through.

I slept well, although a rooster woke me up around 4. Up at 6, breakfast at 6:30. They were cooking eggs fresh to order on a little BBQ, along with the usual continental breakfast fare. At one point, the chef came out to argue with the woman cooking the eggs about her choice in pans.

At 8, I went up to my room and packed up, expecting to check out for the day. Me and Steve waited downstairs by the counter.

Steve gestures to the handwoven scarves for sale. “I keep thinking, I’d love to buy one for the women in my life, but there are no women in my life. My mother died. My sister died. My wife died.”

Oh, jeez. “Future daughter in law?” I offered hopefully.

“Not yet!”

A van stopped nearby and two men hopped out. “Lucy?” One called. I waved. He came over, “We’re here to take you on your tour.”

Why does this feel like I’m being hustled into a van by the men in black? “Oh, Denise isn’t ready yet.”

“No, just you. The other two are doing something different today.”

Denise and Steve had booked 3 days 2 nights tours, but there’s no reason to separate us! I turned to Steve and held out my hand, “Phone!”

He handed it to me with some fumbling. I put myself in his Whatsapp, “Say goodbye to Denise for me!” I called over my shoulder.

And then I was in the van and whisked away.

We went down the hill to the rice paddies. This was a lovely, easy, flat hike, on mostly maintained roads. The guide was nice, but he clearly wasn’t as easily sociable as the guide from the day before, and now that I was missing Denise and Steve, it cut deeper. I also noticed, from the way the other villagers interacted with him, that he seems to have a reputation as a jokester and maybe as a Casanova.

He showed me some cassava plantations. I’m losing track of what’s a New World plant and what’s an Old World (or both) but cassava is definitely New World, as is peanuts. He also showed me something he called a “shy tree”, which looks like a fern, but when you stroke the leaves they curl up into a ball.

We did the bamboo rafting, which is not as exciting as it sounds, or maybe it’s just not exciting here. They just take you 15 minutes up the river and then back down again. It was peaceful, though. The water was clear and shallow enough to see the bottom.

When we got back to the dock, he showed me a bathroom. When I was done, he gave me a rose, “For International Women’s day.”

There’s something very surreal for talking about International Women’s day in the poverty-stricken mountain village of north Vietnam.

It also meant I had to carry the damn thing on the rest of the hike.

The rose didn’t help. At one point the guide explained that the other villagers were asking him if I was his friend, but I suspected the real question was “girlfriend”, and I was amused at the notion. Is there a real chance a small-town Vietnamese guide could hook a white girl? I mean, there must be, but how?

After half an hour, we reached the “famous” waterwheels. Unlike European waterwheels, they’re not harvesting the kinetic force of the water to power machinery, they’re literally lifting the water up, to put it on bamboo shoots and get the water to the back of the paddy.

“It takes 2 weeks to make one, if motivated.” He says.

“And how long do they last?” I ask.

“Three years, maybe.” He shrugs. “It depends on the rains. Strong river, they break down faster.”

He also explains to me how the smoke from cooking in the houses actually makes the roof last longer. When the families cook outside more often, the roofs break down faster and need to be replaced more often.

As we keep walking, I ask, “Do you ever work in Hanoi?”

“Sometimes. I used to. It costs 10 million a month of live in Hanoi, but you make 20 million. Good for saving.” He looks off into the distance.

“And here?”

“12, 14 million, maybe. But cheaper to live. And near family.” Something switches in his brain; his face changes. “You know, years ago, kids had a choice of language. Maybe, 20% learn French, 20% learn Spanish, etc. Now, 80% learn English.” He nods, to himself. “You know how I learn English? I get job at restaurant, as waiter. Listen to customers.” He points to his ear. “Now I’m guide. I make more money.”

I nod along. I get what he’s saying. How good your English is determines how much money you make.

That’s kinda depressing.

“Have you tried dog?” He asks.

“No, I haven’t seen it anywhere.” I say neutrally.

“Dog, very good.” He says.

As we wander past one house, where no one is home, he stops and darts inside. As I wait outside, he brings out a piece of smoked meat. It does not look appetizing; there are large chunks of hair sticking out of it.

“You know what this is?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“Cow hide.” He goes back inside the house and puts it back by the stove. “Some families are that poor. When you hungry, cow hide delicious.”

Just like dog, I guess.

We keep walking, down a wide boulevard, back around to where the van dropped us off. It’s been about 2 hours. I get back in the van and go back to the hotel by myself.

Check out of the hotel, even though I’d packed up all my stuff earlier. Have lunch; not much of an appetite by myself.

Around 1, the bus came to take me back to Hanoi.

As the bus wound its way down the mountains, I mused about Nhan. As I learned later, she was born in 1968, so she was too young to remember the war, but it definitely affected her younger years. I know she told me before she moved to Canada, she had almost never seen a car, because only very wealthy people had them. All the years later, and the country was still gripped by grinding poverty. How had she gotten out and to Canada? If I remember properly, it had something to do with her ex-husband’s job.

I noticed, as we got closer to the bus station, some mountains being ground down in their entirety for stone. Gosh! How destructive!

Got back to my hostel. Showered, unpacked and repacked for checking out the next day. I really needed to do laundry, but I wouldn’t have time. Grabbed a banh mi for dinner. The leftover booze was still in the hostel fridge, surprisingly. I drank all the leftover wine, rinsed out the bottle and filled it with water for the rose, and left it on the counter in the bathroom.

I’ve decided my once-weekly posts were too long, so for the time being I’ve split them in half, one on Saturday and one on Wednesday. I imagine I’ll put them back together in April, when I’m bored in Kota Kinabalu, but we’ll see.