The Hustle of Hanoi

New York is one of those unique cities of the world, but a most major metropolitian cities have a flow. The tumultuous turbulence presents as absolute chaos. However, observe the individual moving parts and find the beautiful dance, every coordinated step, gliding through the air.

I love that rhythm. I find it everywhere. Bangkok. Tokyo. Hong Kong. Foot traffic for me, comes into play a lot. None of those Texas cities that are just tangled spiderwebs of gridlocked rooms on wheels ferrying people from air conditioning to more air-conditioning. No, you need boots of the ground. Everyone has to physically present, smells of sweat, personal jostling, and noise.

Now, to be fair. In New York you might deal with taxis. They too, act like a barrier before the crowded streets and subways.

But in Hanoi, there’s no fleeing it.

Scooters have no privacy. All of your life is on display. Groceries. Lovers. Livestock. Lumber and steel beams, and furniture. Families of 3, 4, or 5. The absolute meta of motorbike atop another motorbike. Or just another day, commuting to whatever, just a woman and her ride. These mechanical creatures make up fleets of gas bikes, swarming all roads in all directions, weaving between lanes, roads, people, dogs, cars, carts, everything.

They’re completely overbearing at first. I remember stepping off the bus into an outer Hanoi neighborhood, a few miles from the tourist center of the city.

[The bus was also quite an experience. I take it from Hekou, over the land border between China and Vietnam. Imagine sleeping bunks. Two rows, a lofted and a lower. Three columns, one on each side and one down the middle. They let you lay horizontal although, a little short for my frame. Comfortable, but cramped. Relaxed but terrifying, as the bus barrels through the winding mountain roads of Vietnam. Short stops, seemingly at random. Drops of goods at crossroads. Pick up passengers from remote villages. Someone’s got to be keeping track of that stuff, but it’s definitely not you. You’ll get used to it tho. The buses are a convenient way to get around the country, especially any place without an airport.]

Like an innocent doe walking into the den of wolves. I step on to the road, shadows of overpasses, the dragon bodies of the highway rising into the sky. A nest of taxi-bikes honk and corral us to our final destinations -for money-. I have my Google Maps loaded though, there should be a bus stop across the intersection and that should not only put me two blocks from my hostel, but stops frequently enough that if I miss by one or two, I’m within walking distance. It’s the local line, so I end up seeing a dozen express buses come by, but I’ve got nothing but time honestly.

A quick game of Vietnamese Frogger to just for fun! Burdened with my life on two backpacks, I have to cross the street. Halfway across the 12 odd lanes, the 6-way intersection roars to life around me.

Bikes honk as they pass, so thick they obscures the asphalt. People gun the yellow lights, trickling vehicles before a brief pause for the Red. Then another wave roars past. Each stop slowly gathers more riders; they accumulate forces, intent on another charge.

I think, well, I’ve jaywalked all of NYC, I’m fine.

Right?

Two full rotations go by. My face is aching from the smog. I’m losing my nerve.

I got this. Just start early. Walk confidently. Find the lapse.

But riders still trickle, zooming past me. I’m halfway across when I feel it. The light’s changed on me. A thousand headlamps bear down on me, and for the first time in real memory; I know exactly what causes that deer to freeze. The awe of oncoming doom. Hypnotic, like my only one chance is to react to the monolith.

But I shove that fear deep inside me. I hustle. I New-York-Hustle across the rest of the lanes. That shuffle-jog, to the far side. Safe-I breath out a held breath.

Two weeks later, I’m well immersed. There’s hometown jaywalking and then there is Hanoi jaywalking. The drivers are excellent; everyone is under 30km/hr and aware. Confidence is key. An unwavering inertia forward is expected. Honored.

[Two months later, in Ho Chin Minh, my good friend Edward shows me a fool proof-method, better suited to the Capital, where there are more drivers in totality and more inept drivers in proportion.

Dance.

Any jiggling rhythmic movement, weird enough to catch an eye, will get a wide and safe berth on the roads. Winston approved tip for nervous street crossings]

Meanwhile, I am venturing everywhere for streetside banh mi, pho, banh cuon, bun cha, banh xeo!!!

Quick story about banh xeo. Shout out Jorien for this incredible meal. I’m wandering Hanoi my second time around with my Dutch friend. [Dutchies. Are literally. Everywhere.] We head into this tiny alley near Old Town, and suddenly she freezes. This is a spot. Some Instagram-internet-food-blog has talked about this.

We pull up some plastic stools and sit. Dipping sauces, piles of noodles, and a huge bucket of all types of fresh herbs. Basil, lettuce, coriander, soy beans sprouts, red leaf shiso, sorrel, etc. Pretty atypical to Western Cuisine.

Then we are presented with a crispy shrimp pancake, chopped into thick fingers. And thin, almost translucent sheets of rice. It’s malleable like paper but feels like nori sheets.

We are shown with much joy how to eat. The rice paper is wrapped around the shrimp pancake finger and stuffed with noodles and herbs. The bundle is dipped into the light sweet broth, making the tear-able rice sheet damp, a little softer. The satisfying crunch of textures and flavors was outstanding. The hot oil fried pankcake. The bite of fresh herbs. The dots of marinating birdeye chili peppers. Crunch, bite, soft, crisp. A journey in a mouthful.

[Small aside on the first two pictures. The hostel I stayed at invited me to their family lunch. Three times! SO NICE. So nice.]

That’s what I travel for. New friends in new locations with new experiences.

Later that night we go to the ex-pat district. Dayne is a South-African English Teacher I met in Bangkok. We pick up a craft beer growler and weed from the bartender. We light up and drink to live music in a beautiful bar next to Hanoi’s largest 24hr open air flower market. Stan, Dayne, Roos, and I use the early morning hours to watch NPR’s Tiny Desk, lounging in the smoky haze of each other’s peace.

We ride home, saddled behind a Grab driver. Uber but for Vietnam. Most rides are on a scooter, going 40km/hr whipping through the wind off the empty early morning highways.

Hanoi is a beautiful place; a must for any backpacker. The energy of that city is remarkable, from the minute you step foot in it, to the most unexpected moments. Any street corner could hold grand secrets of an immensely powerful culture. From praying to a chorus of gods to every meal and every drink. The cacophony of people. The rush of flavors and textures. The buzz of city streets; music and jostling.

There’s a magic in all of South East Asia. The next blog pieces will not describe my entire experience in Vietnam, but the little things. Fun stories, crazy events, people and food that seem both ordinary and completely unbelievable.

I can’t explain to you why or how.

Yet I will urge you. Believe in magic. You’ll know it when you feel it. In Hanoi, it will overwhelm your senses and when you acclimate it will enlighten you.