Day ‘N’ Nite – Hanoi Remix

Serenity had fallen on our last evening in Taipei. Our alcohol marinated breath, stifling in its density, suffused through the lowest reaches of our empty dorm room. As these swirling tides of self-generated fumes propagated, we fell asleep. I suddenly awoke in the early hours of the morning; the stagnant atmosphere of the evening had been replaced by instant jolting dynamism. It was an earthquake. Having woken up on the top bunk of an already wildly unstable wooden bed, I quickly clambered down the stairs to wake Brendan up, who was still deeply entrenched in an alcohol induced unconsciousness. The magnitude six earthquake was swaying skyscrapers but wasn’t managing to shake Brendan from his slumber, so a swift but friendly jab from me helped matters along (my success ended there). As his consciousness crawled back to this world, one agonising movement at a time, I told him that there was an earthquake happening, he proceeded to shrug, mumble something incomprehensible and go back to sleep. So, I just waited around for the shaking to stop, to make sure he wouldn’t be dismembered by my bed frame and then got a couple more hours sleep, before getting back up for our journey to Vietnam. 

Despite the lack of a Mos Burger in the Taipei airport to absorb the hangover, and regardless of the confusion over the visa process in Hanoi, the journey was easy enough. Leaving the airport, we sought out the bus into town. The general rule is that the more oppressively uncomfortable the weather, the longer it’ll take you to work out where to catch the bus from, and Hanoi was no exception. We did eventually find it, arriving in the centre of Hanoi not long after. 

“If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it – keep going, keep going come what may”

Those wise words of Vincent van Gogh are illustrative of Brendan’s sentiments by this stage of our trip. His want, nay, his need for a strawberry daiquiri had never diminished, however, his optimism for finding this sweet elixir was holding on by nothing but a thread. He looked at the world through a new lens, his rosy life filter had almost totally been replaced pixel by pixel by drab greyscale. As he shuffled lifelessly through the streets of Hanoi, harbouring animosity for Taiwan and Central Asia for their lack of his favourite drink, we decided we’d buy a beverage on the corner of the famous beer street. Flipping through the cocktail pages out of nothing but dogged habit, we were struck by a magnificent sight. A strawberry daiquiri right there in the flesh. It was a matter of seconds before Brendan had it ordered and minutes before he had it in his hand. A wave of pure happiness swept over his face as that first sip was taken. More daiquiris were had in quick succession and pixel by pixel, the black and white world was rejuvenated in Brendan’s mind’s eye.

Whoever invented drinking alcohol in buckets, your genius terrifies me. 

Paradoxically, the thing I will remember most about Hanoi is the thing I remember the least, those nights out spent ruining our livers. Their garbled screams of agony as they dutifully processed every millilitre of poison we threw their way, were drowned out by thumping club music and our aggressive indifference. Our hostel of choice was Central Backpacker’s in the old quarter. It was an eight-floor behemoth which expertly demonstrated how to fit as many rowdy, off the rails backpackers into the same building as possible. However, the main draw of the place was the roof bar/terrace/balcony on the top floor. Every night the hostel emptied and everyone rushed up to wet the whistle with free watered-down beer between 7-8pm and as the night progressed things degenerated. Over our two visits to Hanoi, with a visit to Sapa splitting the two, we spent a week at this hostel (most people spent two or three days). So, four nights out were had, all with varying amounts of success. So, here they are in no particular order. Night one, we demolished all who stood in our way in the beer pong competition, which left us feeling a mix of both untameable supremacy and lingering imposter syndrome. We had battled some very capable international players and somehow, we had come out on top. Two boys with a pockmarked history within the game had finally found their rhythm. Night two, the highs of beer pong victory were washed away by the incredibly powerful storm that was raging as we left the club. Wandering around, soaked to the bone, sloshing around in overflowing brown road water and unable to find our way home, spirits were not high. Night three, can’t remember anything past leaving the hostel so… good? Night four, Jono who we had met in Taipei stopped by in Hanoi and a night out was had. We went to our favourite club (1900) which was packed, we danced the night away, left the club and saved some girls from our hostel who were being creeped out by some men. C’mon men, get it together. So, there you have it, a comprehensive commentary on how little I remember from our nights in Hanoi. All I can say is that the hostel was a whole lot of fun and we are both still alive, can you ask for much more? 

On the heels of every night of inebriation are the mornings after. Much like our post-earthquake need for a stodgy burger in Taipei, the mornings of Hanoi had us desperately seeking Banh Mi. “Banh Mi” just means “bread” in Vietnamese and refers to a type of baguette sandwich filled with the perfect mix of fillings. We had found a street food place within our first few hours in the city and one bite of their Banh Mi was enough to have us coming back almost every day for more. Our sandwich of choice, one that we didn’t stray from, was the lemongrass chicken. Other than this incredible barbecued chicken, the Banh Mi contained fresh crunchy vegetables, a semi sweet coleslaw thing and finally the icing on the cake, the chilli sauce. Chin Su is the chilli sauce of choice in Vietnam and while the residual alcohol messed with our taste buds and nausea congealed deep in the pits of our stomachs, the spice of Chin Su cut through the thick fog of every morning’s hangover. In some cases, two were needed, in most cases ten were wanted, but in every case the spice adhered itself to every inch of my body previously befouled by alcohol’s touch, cleansing it and readying me for the day. 

Cultural Recovery 

It would’ve been easy to burrow back beneath our duvets for the remainder of each day but with that Banh Mi energy combined with our lust for life, we set out to see some things. First on the list was the everything Ho Chi Minh. This man was a figurehead during both the ousting of French colonialists in the 1940s but also during the Vietnam War. Being the BNOC of Vietnam, his name and face was plastered just about everywhere, but thirsty for more Uncle Ho we headed for his Museum via his Mausoleum. I had visited both six years before and so was excited to see what the new and improved James, full of maturity and wisdom, would make of things on round two. Firstly, his mausoleum (while undoubtedly more impressive than the ditch I’ll be chucked in) wasn’t as big as I remembered it being, so we didn’t stop long to gaze upon it. Instead, we continued to the museum just around the corner. The exhibits hadn’t changed much in six years but the amount of stuff available to read had increased. As we know from my previous post, I reach a point in every museum where I lose the will to read and soon after that the ability to use my limbs (I do think there is a correlation with the interest I have in the subject matter but it is still inevitable). This museum unfortunately brought me to that state of illiteracy pretty quickly. The museum’s backbone was undoubtedly interesting but the bulk of it was reams upon reams of correspondences between members of state. Flitting between hundreds of these is not my idea of fun, in fact it might be the exact opposite of that. Therefore, walking through the museum I had lost Brendan almost immediately. Sat at the end of the museum on a sofa I was content waiting for him to saturate his brain with triviality, instead I got pushed along by security and had to wait in a veranda area. Brendan wasn’t far behind me because it turned out they were kicking everyone out for lunch. The personal cultural intake stats Brendan was achieving for the day so far were displeasing him, so despite the rain outside we went to find the B52 lake. We stepped into narrow alleys, following the whims of maps.me but found our way there without much trouble. The lake was not much more than a large pond with a rusting hunk of metal in it. It was a far cry from the enormous bomber that once housed the piece, but it nevertheless it stood as a strangely striking memorial surrounded by the ongoing life of normal Vietnamese people. 

Another day another sumptuous cultural trip. This time we were off to sink our teeth into whatever horrifying details would be revealed at the Hoa Lo Prison Memorial. Unaware of how stomach churningly gruesome the details would be, we rocked up in high spirits. We toured through the last remaining buildings of the prison which turned out only to be the old gatehouse. Each room was very well put together highlighting different aspects of the prison. It was built to house political prisoners when the French ruled, however it was also used for US prisoners of war. The descriptions of the day to day lives of the prisoners were graphic and when it was paired with walking around the space itself, putting stories to rooms, the weight of hardship the people went through affected us both immensely. Leaving scenes of torture behind we escaped into the fresh air of the courtyard, which helped to wash away the slowly rising sickness I was feeling. Turns out graphic descriptions of torture and a hangover don’t mix particularly well. Who knew? In the courtyard was a timeline of events, detailing the prison’s role throughout time. It was very interesting and had personal accounts from the prisoners, which may or may not have been taken under duress, but we didn’t let that fact get us down. God, we are strong willed. I don’t want to equate our willpower to that of the prisoners but we were pretty damn close. Leaving the (gate)house of horrors we were in need of a cold drink. It was this fateful day that we discovered the maddening sensations of joy that a banana lassi can give you. The thick, slightly spiced, bananary drink was a slice of viscous heaven with every slurp. Having finished them at a record pace but needing an excuse to stay in the beautifully air conditioned and busy café, I was practically forced to buy waffles. The worst part? They were damn tasty too. A banana lassi could be ordered from another place but combined with the waffle? Nope, we’d just have to come back. And we did. 

One more dive into the depths of Vietnamese culture left, so hold onto your hats. We made it to the National Historical Museum via a few really brilliant galleries. We looked around, saw a whole host of really interesting old stuff and left to pursue food adventures. Knowing in our heart of hearts where we wanted to go, but trying desperately not to be reeled in for another round, we went for a beer to distract us. Long story short it didn’t work. See, I don’t remember much detail from the museum and so I was planning on passing this food pursuit off as a cultural trip but seeing as we were in Vietnam and not Italy, this is just going to be a departure from the title. No regrets. 4Ps was its name and pizza was its game. Pizza is one of mankind’s best inventions (alongside the wheel and the Macarena) and it was being served left, right and centre. The restaurant itself was a beautiful place with both rustic and contemporary charms combined with a relaxed ambience, but the star of the show was the food. Brendan got himself a fairly traditional example of a pizza while I got a ginger pork pizza which didn’t have the tomato sauce base. These round vessels of joy were eaten at a slow methodical pace that I hadn’t seen us take before, we were savouring every mouthful. On both our visits to this restaurant we couldn’t resist the temptation of a properly crafted dessert and as we expected 4Ps didn’t disappoint. We left the restaurant on both occasions aware that this place was likely to be some of the best food we would eat on the entire trip. The resulting food guilt was heavily outweighed by the taste of molten chocolate pudding. I have no shame.

Final thoughts 

This dichotomy between night and daytime activities may seem like a stark one, but our time in Hanoi was one filled with activities. Whether it was blurry nocturnal madness or cultural adventures undeterred by hangovers, we kept busy. We may have been grasping for things to do by the end of our week, but even walking around the bustling streets held plenty of intrigue.

You may stumble headlong into a moped, whirl into a narrow alley rife with noodle stalls or shelter from the mother of all downpours while staring up at Vietnamese Jesus in a gothic cathedral. There’s a lot of English people everywhere but when you accept the dirty embrace of mass tourism you might just have a good time.