Hanoi: Seconds

Pictures! Here is my alley. It doesn't even show up on maps. Can you see why my poor taxi driver got his car stuck here?



And here is my first bowl of real Vietnamese pho.



That bowl left me unsatisfied, so today I tried a different place. Like that first one, this was a mom-and-pop-lean-to-with-a-corrugated-tin-roof-and-plastic-lawn-furniture kinda place. I ducked in (literally -- low ceiling). A boy said "pho bo". I said "pho ga" ("Beef soup?" "No, chicken soup.") and took a seat. The lawn furniture in this place was made for 6 year olds. When I sat on the chair, my knees were so high I couldn't get them under the table. Can you picture it? Hilarious. But the pho! Died and gone to heaven. I was thorougly pho-filled. Ha! I slay me.

Last night my old friend Tamara from Seattle picked me up on her scooter and we plunged into the chaos that is Hanoi's street traffic. (Yes mom, I wore a helmet.) It seemed less life-threatening this time. I credit Tamara's skills (and sanity). We drove downtown to Tamara's favorite Vietnamese restaurant and met up with a couple of her friends. The catfish spring rolls were every bit as good as Tamara promised.

Some locals seated next to us wanted to know where we were from and what we were doing in Hanoi. I told them about my trip and about New York. They told us about growing up in Hanoi and in Saigon (not Ho Chi Minh City, huh). A pitcher of dubious-looking yellow fluid arrived at our table. Our neighbors smiled and raised their glasses -- a gift! The drink was cool and refreshing, made from sweet corn. Really, a very pleasant dinner. Afterwards, Tamara drove me back and we talked a bit about life in Hanoi. "Either you'll hate it or you'll never leave," she told me. "It's addictive." I don't hate it. Should I be worried?

I wandered around some today taking in the scene and mulling over what I've experienced so far. Mostly, I walked in the street because either there are no sidewalks or else they're occupied by people selling fruit or sitting on lawn chairs eating and drinking. I never felt threatened by the traffic whizzing around me. There's a natural flow, and I was part of it. I thought about that flow. There is no road rage here. People just toot their horns and go around obstacles. I thought about the locals I had met the night before. Friendly and open without a hint of animosity toward their former enemy, the Americans. Maybe the war was just another obstacle for them to go around. No rage. Just go with the flow.

And I thought about the contradictions these people live with effortlessly: the traditional and the modern, the clean and the dirty, the rich and the poor. Nobody notices or cares. Even the patchwork construction and the crazy power lines going everywhere ... it all seems very organic. Just going with the flow and not worrying about it. I could get used to it.