Ha Noi. Journey Home part 2

Tom Hogan
May 11, 2020
4 min read

Tom Rogic, the lanky Australian midfielder received the ball to his left foot outside the edge of the box, paused and rifled it home near post. The Socceroos were through to the Asian Cup's round of 16. Five thousand Kilometres away the domestic terminal of the Da Nang international airport erupted into cheers. The crowd of Vietnamese had quickly increased around the small wall mounted television as people realised some form of football was being played. Seven thousand Kilometres from home, I celebrated the win with them as my flight to Hanoi was finally called.

Having lived in the humid south of Vietnam for the entirety of my stay, the north and its capitol Hanoi had taken on a mythic quality. An image had been formed in my head through conversations about what to expect from the north with northern classmates, fellow travellers and my homestay family.

"Northerners are very conservative."

"Its fucking cold."

Hanoi is the heart, Saigon is the brain.

"D is pronounced Z"

Divisions between the northern and southern people date back to colonial occupation and have survived throughout the war to this day.

I was intruiged to see this for myself and as I waited outside the airport for my two new travelling friends to arive from Saigon after midnight, one thing was for sure, It is fucking cold.

Our hostel was deep in the backpacker district of Hanoi's old quarter. In the predawn darkness the twisting claustrophic streets and cobbled together buildings gave off an aura of a poorly constructed set for Tim Burton's Gotham City. (with undoubtedly higher levels of crime and no Batman in sight).

The Hostel had been hastily booked, our decision made based on a combination of the cheapest price and last minute availability and lets just say we got what we paid for.

Sandwiched between the pub below and a rooftop storage area/ tattoo shop and behind a thin plywood door was our dormitory.

It's probably a case of getting what you pay for but I felt even the very low price we had paid was worth a little bit more than this.

The first thing that hits you when you entered was the smell. I can really only describe it as 'sour'. The second thing you notice was the human catterpillar occupying the desk near the door. This guest was a source of constant mystery to us throughout our stay. From the clues we had picked up in his presence we determined that he was of Chinese origin, completely nocturnal, ate instant noodles straight out of the hot water jug and according to staff, had not left the dorm since his arrival 2 months ago.

There was also a large dead cockroach on the floor which had its head chewed off overnight. Not pointing fingers or anything but I think we can warrant a guess who was the culprit.

We checked into our room around 2 am and with sources of entertainment limited to counting the bed bugs we decided to venture out into the night. By this time the streets of the old quarter were dead bar a few taxis and grab drivers.

One slowly pulled up alongside us.

"Hey, Taxi?"

We shook our heads "Không taxi".

But the driver had other businesses to offer.

"Weed?"

"Khong,"

"Heroin?"

"Khong."

"Pussy?"

"KHONG!"

The following morning was our opportunity to take in the sights of Hanoi. After a breakfast of Snail Noodles and Coconut Coffee (recommend the coffee not the noodles.) we found ourselves next to the cavernous Dong Xuan market.

When travelling from the sweltering south to the Northern winter, this market is a great place to pick up some much needed cold weather gear. The market feels less tourist oriented than Saigon's famous Ben Tanh market or Saigon square. The people certainly felt a little bit frosty towards us. At the fore-mentioned southern markets vendors would call out to you their well rehearsed phrase of " hat/belt/t-shirt/backpack for you sir?" as soon as they caught sight of a foreigner. Service at Dong Xuan Market was much less in your face and only given when asked for.

From there we made a beeline through the old quarter to the Mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh. Along the way we followed what has become one of Hanoi's most popular tourist attractions of recent, the Train street.

It is a section of inner city railway track which is used twice a day at 3pm and 7pm. What makes this otherwise benign sight a tourist attraction is the numerous businesses and houses which operate inches away from the tracks throughout the day and into the evening, only packing away baskets of produce and seating when the old red rattler passes by. No other city in the world would have foreigners coming out in droves to watch a regular train service but Vietnam and it's very loose occupational health and safety laws always finds a way to turn a routine occurence into a high adrenaline experience which always leaves you saying, " this would definitely be illegal back home."

Our time in Hanoi proved to be short as we looked to escape the city hustle we'd become accustomed to throughout our semester. The towering Fansipan Mountain and the steepped rice fields of the far north beckoned to us and so after one kind of strange night in Hanoi involving a German birthday party, late night thermal jacket shopping and a pub full of Sydney Real Estate students (yep, as if being from Sydney didn't make you annoying enough already) we were off very early the following morning.

Have a guess which one of (almost) got some action the night before.

And so under the cover of darkness (and hangovers) we began our bus journey to the hillside centre of the north west, Sa Pa. It would be a journey of 8 hours through some of the most scenic vistas in the country. Unfortunately ours was covered in mist outside the bus and inside the bus from the fogged up breaths of passengers.

Awaiting us, Exploration! Danger! New and interesting cultures! Fog! More Fog! Stay tuned for the next instalment of the Journey Home.

-T

(I really mean it, stay tuned, this one took so long to write so who knows when it will be.)