vietnam: from russian symphonies to portable pho restaurants

my first impression of vietnam was at a border crossing, dawn after an overnight bus from vientiane. fuzzy after all the sleeping pills and the blurry overnight train, we come to the lao border, spend all our kip on pringles and shuffle into the government building where we stand in awe of the utter mayhem springing around us. the room is packed with travelers, most of them lao, in no particular order desperately trying to shove their passports behind a glass window AT THE SAME TIME. forget lines, forget order- this is asia. it's the same story once we walk across the border, leaving our bags on the bus. we have to hand our passports to the people in front of us, who pass them through the crowd and under the glass window. from there we wait and elbow our way to the glass window to watch the men process, stamp and grimace. we wait while the passport agents flip through the passports, befuddled that jenny and monika have extra pages, until they finally let us through. then the morning fog rolls in, shrouding us all in a chilly mist.

hanoi


motorbikes are everywhere, like ants, honking and whipping around. in order to cross the street, you just walk- very slowly- and they swerve around you like a rock in the middle of a stream, surrounding you in honks and exhaust fumes. the city is packed. there are ladies carrying baskets like giant scales across their shoulders, heads down, pointy straw hats hiding their eyes. they sell fruit, flowers, car parts, set up restaurants on the street and make pho. every brick of the street is a store, a restaurant, or a barbar shop crammed so close that you can't take it all in. as you squeeze through them all, dodging the motorbike that's now cruising the sidewalk, blaring its horn at you, you pass the dishwasher who crouches on the curb with her tub of soapy water and try to cross the street again.


on the other side of this extreme is the luxury of the nicer places in the city. the opera house, a lavish renaissance structure built by the french, where we see a symphony and piano concerto underneath glowing chandeliers. the music of russian masters brought to life again in front of us, moving us to grab for each others hands in the dark. after, dirty martinis and cuban cigars in the gazebo by the sofitel pool. candle light and wicker lounge chairs, talks of graham greene and secret affairs, laughter. the next day, we return to our oasis for high tea, lightly scented lotus, tiny sandwiches, chocolate buffet.

sapa

vodka bottles at a nearby lesson yield english lessons and walrus grins from chopsticks. everything blurred by the orange lights of the train and our friends from the hotel ushering us into the train, hugging us farewell. our windy bus ride from the station to sapa overlooks the rice terraces, carved from the mountain over 500 years ago. they resemble architectural topography, sketches now living in the side of the mountain. we start our trek, followed by a train of hill tribe people and chicken, our pink bunny balloon. the ladies of the hill tribe smile wide, explain the use of the water buffalo and pose for pictures in front of the landscape. then insist that we buy their headbands or earrings or pillowcases after lunch. we sleep in a village of 600 people, the mountain rain tinkling on the tin roof, squeaky wood floors and uno games. the next morning, we set out along the terraces, swimming in crisp river water as children watched and laughed on the bridge above. the next day, the mist rolled in so our walks were like being in a cloud. fog settled above rice fields, gardens of lillies and bamboo tucked into a sheet of mist.




halong bay
the bus operator accidentally plays a pole dance porn video on the neon bus to haiphong. in town, we search for exotic foods and find izakaya instead of blackened sea slug and snails. the japanese business men are from nagoya, so i reminisce about my old city and befriend yamakawa-san, who gives me his vintage lighter. the next morning, we ferry to the bay, through the damp mist to cat ba town. our hotel is on the 6th floor with our own private balcony, overlooking all of halong bay. we play cards and watch the sunset behind the mountains, then take a boat to a floating restaurant where we choose our fish from nets under the restaurant. they prepare a feast of fish, clams, crab and slippers marinated in lemongrass and peppers. we take a boat back to town and dance to the music we make up. dawn and we are off on our own junk- a traditional vietnamese boat taken through halong bay. we are surrounded in an eerie mist as we pass the floating homes of fishermen, constructed above their aquatic farms. chows run along the planks of the homes, barking as we sail by into the mist. we kayak along the salt water reefs, through caves that sing with dripping water. when the rain starts, we hide in a cave and watch the drops dance in the distance. mammoth jelly fish pulsate through the water during the day, and at night the black water glows with phosphorescence while we drink moonshine by candlelight. the bay feels like a mystery, a place where time slows down to a crawl. so little light can actually penetrate the fog that the entire day seems like dusk; like you're looking at the world through lenses of green and gray. and though it's not traditional beauty, it's an honest one; like seeing your lover as they sleep. it's a beauty that is three dimensional.