Hanoi - Day 2

When you wake up in a room with no window there's no way of knowing what time it is, or what the weather conditions are. We packed our bags and left the place without looking back. Our breakfast was burnt toast with butter, thick instant coffee and fried noodles with egg. Hotel breakfast is a weird thing. Strangers, oddly united by the faith of traveling to the same place at the same time. Giwoun watched the news, I looked out the window. It was still early.

At eight o'clock our guide, Mr. Lee, showed up at the reception. He was a short guy, tanned to the max with a set of friendly eyes. He was wearing a jeans ensemble that definitely enriched our looks. Giwoun was wearing a military jacket on cargo pants and matching shoes. Aviator shades completed his outfit. Mine was a blue outdoor jacket on black chinos and white slip-ons. I had plastic shades and looked like a regular boring tourist. I so wished my outfit had a theme, too.

We took a cab to a scooter place nearby. Neither Giwoun nor I have ever ridden a bike with gears. We told Mr. Lee and he got us scooter-like bikes that had gears but no clutch. Mine was called Honda Dream II, such a promising name. He gave us a quick one-oh-one on how to operate the machines and quickly left us behind. We struggled for a few blocks, but got friendly with our horses after a while. It wasn't that difficult after all. It's like riding a car that is shaped like a bicycle.

Traffic was a bitch, but we soon figured out how it worked. The first rule of Vietnamese traffic is there are no rules. The second rule of Vietnamese traffic is that everybody is an asshole. Everybody. From the ten-year old kid on his bike to the grandpa in his truck, everybody is an asshole. They honk like crazy, they cut you like sushi, and they just don't give a shit. Far from it, they're too busy honking. Bikes, cars, buses, trucks. They're all honking, and honking at the same time.

Later, Mr. Lee explained it to us. It's simple, he said. There is no unnecessary honk. When you want to warn somebody, you honk. When you want to fight somebody, you honk. When you want to say hello to somebody, you honk. Makes sense, no? Giwound and I looked at each other and agreed on not trying to understand it any more. We had to adapt, blend in, become one of them. It was tough, and on a personal note I found out that chaotic traffic accelerates my anger to unknown hights.

Driving out of Hanoi was a beast. We got more comfortable on our bikes and followed Mr. Lee. The last time I rode a scooter was three years ago. A few friends and I went on a trip to Jeju. We rented two small machines and got helmets that said Wonderfully Wonderful. The ones that we got now were black and didn't promise much safety. I remember my first bicycle helmet. I got it when I was fourteen. It had dinosaurs on the side and it definitely felt safer than this one.

After about two hours we made a stop in Ninh Binh. We got lunch, amazing fried noodles with beef and coffee. Only one other table was occupied. Three people, one of them an American woman in her fifties. She could have been younger, but she didn't carry herself well. She was a very unpleasant person and I was glad she was none of our business. I can't imagine what it would be like to share a vacation with her.

She talked while she ate and she drank while she talked. The chicken is oh so tender, but show me a man who would go through labor. I once read a book, it was called blood on the street. It was such a profound novel, this chicken is so tender, but men are the inferior sex. I have this sickness, I hate it, and whenever I eat something my nose starts to run. It's been like that for fifteen years and I hate men. But I love this chicken, it's so tender.

After lunch we took a boat tour through the Ninh Binh Caves. After the heavy traffic of Hanoi City the manual-driven water trip was a mute blessing. An old woman with a lifetime of wisdom in her face navigated our vessel with her bare feet. She wasn't very talkative either and we appreciated it a lot. The tour took about an hour and we were truly amazed. Mr. Lee told us that a former king used to reside here, and I could see why. It was a majestic place.

We drove off into the late afternoon hours and arrived in Thanh Hoa by sunset. Our guide showed us to a hotel and we checked in. Room 304 in the Loi Linh Hotel. The interior was quite spartan, but I grew fond of the small details, such as a set of porcelain tea cups. Or a poster of the Spice Girls. After a short rest we went out for dinner. We found a local spot and wolfed down the delicious specialties they laid down on our table.