New friends, railroad tracks, a French cathedral and a deliscious bowl of Lau soup.
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| Enjoying a pint by the train tracks as people scooter about in the typhoon season. We've had to change some plans. Mud slides in Sappa so we're staying in old Hanoi. We ought to be ok. There are layers of history to unpack here. It's good to see the world from another point of view every once in a while. |
Enjoying a ten cent draft bia ho'i with my bff after visiting the Hanoi Hilton. History is a lot to digest here. — at Hanoi Old Quarter - Phố cổ Hà Nội.
Walking
the streets of Hanoi as an American is a startling experience.
People and motorcycles everywhere.
People and motorcycles everywhere.
History
and legends.
Modern
tragedies and cultural lessons are everywhere.
Temple of Literature.
The
ageless banyon trees,
Stretching
into the earth.
Ageless
like the poetry.
Confucius
suggesting we can all live together.
We
can all live in harmony.
And
the tragedy.
The
Maison Centrale,
A
prison in the middle of Hanoi,
Where
the French created innovations on cruelty.
And
the good people resisted.
Hardened
Communists
Who
reacted.
Retrenched.
Fought
for themselves.
John
McCain payed a visit to the Heartbreak Hotel,
Hoa Lo Prison
Into
the vortex.
of
people who’d learned to fight back.
So
much cruelty.
And
why were we involved in it?
We
walked into the night,
Drinking
off the whiff of history with cheap
local beer.
Forty
cents a beer.
Slept
in and kept on walking.
Along
the train tracks leading to Saigon.
No
that’s Ho Chi Men City.
To
a traditional house on 87 Ma May,
Where
people old sold bamboo and rattan.
Walking
and talking about the circle of life.
“Only
trees with roots can grow green.
Only
when water has its source and are there large seas and deep rivers.
Where
are people originated from.
Because
of their ancestors they were born.”
Through
the circle of life, their passing making way,
For
us.
Our
passing making way for others.
Open
to let light in,
Fresh
air.
Inviting neighbours for tea.
Its
Lunar month,
Fires
burn for relatives throughout the streets of Hanoi.
Ashes
everywhere.
In
a stark contrast, the old St James
Cathedral, when all of a sudden we were back in Europe.
Colonial
legacies over and over again in stark
contrast with
Through
the market to the oldest bridge.
More trees and history.
Trump
is “gauche” they reply when we ask.
We
couldn’t agree more.
Only
cathedral of the trip.
What
a relief.
Through
the market to the
Hoan
Kiem Lake
"Lake of the
Returned Sword"
or "Lake of the Restored Sword",
the center of Hanoi.
Pagodas and temples
and myths.
Hanoi is the
capital because of the sword, note our friends.
Like the Sword
and the stone.
Bidding goodbye
to our friends,
We make our way
back to the hotel.
Caroline and the little one rest.
I sit at the
Odeon, a colonial bar watching the scooters zoom,
The train dash
by.
Before
Caroline meets me for
And
hot soup on the street outside of hotel.
Lau
soup with the kids, smiling, living,
sharing.
“Lau – Vietnamese HotPot (known as the steam bowl)
a simmering metal pot of stock at the centre of the dining table. … simmering,
its ingredients are put into the pot and are cooked right at the table.”
Best
soup ever.
Really.
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