A Glimpse Through Time: Hanoi's Old Quarter

A billow of motorbikes surges by, the sound of their horns lingers in streaks of iridescent light. One step forward and I'm off the curb. Another buckshot cannonballs past, screeching like raptors. A few more steps and I'm in the middle of the horde--alone--in a legion of headlights. I've been holding my breath the entire time. In the center of the road, I exhale and inch my way forward--carefully--like I'm dodging an electric current. I place my feet safe upon the opposite curb. Victory.

This is Hanoi. A warren of corridors replete with life in constant motion. Narrow alleys serpentine through the district, slicing their way through ancient streets and tapering off into shadows. Spindles of wire struggle with the wiry branches of bare trees. Their black skeins fracture the sky into a quilt of jigsawed grey and white. Moss melts green down the side of gaudy yellow buildings. Rusty water-trails cut black, moldy fissures where the moss can't root. Old women in conical hats prod along, shouldering baskets of lychees, dragon fruit, bananas, or anything else that can be balanced on their bamboo scales. Others squat on their haunches, hawking jade pendants, carved trinkets, and other souvenirs. Incense and exhaust perfume the air. The scent of fresh cut herbs wafts from sidewalk food stalls, their territories defined by miniature plastic stools where throngs of diners slurp noodles and sip tea. In the markets, streets are categorized and named based on the items they offer. There is a street for silk, one for jade, one for ceramics, rice, baskets, bamboo mats, copper, and sugar. There is a street for underpants and a street for etching headstones. 

The district is an organism, it's alleys expand and contract around me. Life is seamed to the breeze that blows through its streets. This is the heart of Hanoi, maybe it's the heart of Vietnam.

 

It's impossible to walk more than ten paces without wanting to eat. The aromas rising from the sidewalks are as intoxicating as they are diverse. I soon find myself planted atop a plastic stool, hovering above a bowl of grilled pork, cold noodles, fresh herbs, and fried spring rolls. All around me, young people convene in streetside cafes. They laze over glasses of coffee; iced down and sweetened with condensed milk. 

Spring rolls of every variety

Beef and noodle salad with fresh herbs and green mango

The cafes of Hanoi

In the evenings, the blue plastic stools slowly swell into the street. The cafes and restaurants give way to curbside "bars" where bia hoi is consumed in great quantities.

Bia Hoi

I pass through different points in time as I wade through a medley of old and new, a tapestry of fresh, young life and that of a world bygone.

The Temple of Literature

Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum

Museum of Vietnamese History

The Opera House

Dong Xuan Market

Food Stalls

Perhaps the most telling sign of a new world weaving it's way through the fibers of an old one comes from above, where black telephone wires have merged with the branches of trees, streaking across the facades of tarnished yellow hues.

Seething with a character uniquely it's own, this is the Old Quarter--the "Asia" as imagined from afar.

The Best Homestay in Sapa

We arrive at Lao Cai just after seven in the morning. The overnight train from Hanoi was comfortable enough but we're happy to vacate our tiny berth and stretch our legs. Located in the far northern reaches of Vietnam, (just three kilometers from the Chinese border), Lao Cai serves as the launching pad for Sapa, a quaint little town nestled high in the Hoang Lien Son mountain range--otherwise known as "The Tonkinese Alps". 

Celebrated for it's hill tribes and rice terraces, Sapa's pastoral beauty is unrivaled anywhere else in Vietnam, making it one of the most touristic destinations in the north. Layered rice paddies fashion staircases that carve green into the grey and black speckled karst cliffs. Slivers of jagged rock peak through blankets of grey tumbling mist. Women trudge along dirt paths that snake high into the mountain terraces, their woven baskets fastened tightly to their shoulders--brimming with the day's harvest. In the fields and in the hills, water buffalo dredge the earth in neat lines while others flounder in the mud bottoms of empty paddies. Villagers reap green ribbons from the soil, bundling their yields as they hunch along the patchworked earth. Over a tarp-lined basin, the bundles are thundered against the basin's wooden frame until the final grain of rice discharges. From dawn until dusk, there is drumming in the hills.

From Lao Cai, we are swiftly transported towards Ta Phin Village where our hosts, Dat, and his wife, Li, are waiting to receive us. A brief but very scenic motorcycle ride drops us at the doorstep of their lovely home. For the next three days, Dat will guide us as we trek through the rugged backcountry terrain.

Trek #1 

It rains periodically throughout the afternoon, and although we're lucky to avoid the heavy squalls, most of the valley is encased in fog by the time we reach the higher altitudes. A renaissance man by all means, Dat is an expert guide as well as a trained chef, self-taught woodworker, carpenter, farmer, and painter. As he leads us along the muddy paths, he teaches us about the farming methodologies of the mountain tribes while also pointing out all of the different crops--everything from hemp, (which is harvested for making clothes and rope), to indigo, (which is used to dye fabrics).

Trek #2

Ta Phin Village sits 8 kilometers away from Sapa and is predominantly home to two different ethnic minorities, the Black H'mong and the Red Dzao. As we meander along the edges of the rice paddies, Dat explains the sublte differences between the two different ethnic groups. First of all, each group speaks a different language, (Dat is fluent in six different tribal languages--H'mong being his native tongue). The second most notable attribute is clothing--the Black H'mong women were indigo-dyed linens with skirts, aprons, and leggings while the Red Dzao are famous for their elaborately beaded clothing as well as their red embroidered turbans.

Trek #3 

After breakfast on the morning of the second day, we set out for a 10 kilometer hike. Once again, we twist our way along the mountain trails. The sky is clear and the sun is bright. Dat packs a lunch which we devour near a lazy river before stretching out on the rocks for a mid-morning nap.

Trek #4

The final day. We leave for an 8 kilometer trek into Sapa. The least intensive of the four treks but undoubtedly one of the most serene. Farmers are still brandishing sickles and drumming bouquets of rice in the fields below. There is still a slight film of grey high up in the hilltops. We spend a few short hours exploring Sapa after lunch, mostly walking the main drag just to kill time before busing back to the train station in Lao Cai.

About Heavenly Homestay:

First, and of the utmost importance, our time in Ta Phin Village/Sapa was made even more extraordinary thanks largely, if not completely, in part to our host and guide, Dat. Having hosted travelers for the last four years, Dat and his family immediately made us feel like we were at home in their home. Dat's English, which is mostly self-taught, is superb, but what's even more impressive is his unbridled eagerness to share his culture with the people that he hosts. Treks were more conversational than informative, though Dat taught me more in three days than I've learned since--even after having payed a visit Vietnam's Museum of Ethnology upon returning to Hanoi. I could talk about things like the cost of our three-day stay, (which included a personal guide, three fantastic meals a day, and transport to and from Lao Cai), but I'm not going to evaluate the geniality of our hosts with an arbitrary monetary value. Dat, and his entire family, were remarkably kind to us. Three weeks have passed since spending only three days in their company, and as much as I've enjoyed Vietnam, nothing has yet to compare to those three days in Ta Phin Village.

3 Days in Hong Kong

Hong Kong. Where to begin? Three days is hardly enough time to even sniff this gargantuan metropolis. Towering glass highrises loom above frenetic streets and frantic sidewalks. Every inch of space is crushed with people, cars, buses, trams, taxis, restaurants, shops, markets, lights, sounds, movement.

On the ground level of Chungking Mansions, buyers and sellers are so plentiful, it's impossible to differentiate between the two. The Mansions used to be a hotbed for every kind of vice imaginable--drugs, prostitution, petty theft--and because it was known to house illegal migrant workers and harbor criminals and fugitives, it was also susceptible to random police raids. Most of that has changed. Now, Chungking Mansions is home to the most affordable budget guesthouses in Hong Kong. This is where we'd stay for the weekend. Though most of the criminal activity has been stamped out, some remains as evidenced by the constant solicitations that come from the shadows each time I enter and exit the premises. Men casually walk up to my side and whisper their wares into my ears: "Rolex, very cheap." "Tailored suits, very good, very cheap." "Cheap rooms upstairs. Very clean. Very good." "You want nice girl?" "Hash. Hash. Marijuana." At first, I simply decline politely, by the third or fourth time, I ignore them, wondering how one person can offer me Rolexes one day, hash the next, and is still able to find time to tailor suits. It's a mystery I'll never solve.

Our room is tiny, hardly secure, and much too expensive. The white linoleum floors, metal desk with accompanying round, swivel chair, and metal framed bed, complete with wafer thin mattress, make the place feel more like a cell block than a hostel. It was all very clinical so we spent most of our time pounding the pavement and avoiding the dismal little room.

The First Day: The Markets of Hong Kong (some of them anyway)

Fatigued from our early morning arrival and disinterested in the eclectic wares on offer at the bottom of the Mansions, we head for Hong Kong's other markets...the legal kind. Anything and everything is for sale in this city, and some items even have their own designated markets where they are sold. During the day, we wandered through a market for flowers...

...a market for birds...

...and a market for goldfish.

After the sun went down, we dined at Temple Street Night Market, which, except for the cheap meals, mostly sold a bunch of junk...

...but first, we had a drink at the top of Sky100.

The Second Day: Victoria Peak

On the morning of our second day, we ferried across the harbor and rode the tram to Victoria Peak. Rather than shell out the extra dough to walk up one flight of stairs to the observation deck, we decided to hike around the Morning Trail, which still provided excellent views of the sprawl.

After the hike, we wandered around some of the neighborhoods sampling some of the cheap eats, the highlight being pieces of coconut coated mochi with bits of mango inside.

The Third Day: Dim Sum and a Movie

Perhaps the most enjoyable time we had was our Dim Sum breakfast at Lin Heung. The interior functions more like a cafeteria than a restaurant. Patrons sit wherever they can find the space, and space is limited. Each dining party is given a ticket with all of different pieces represented by numbers. As the food comes out of the kitchen, customers rush to the carts, tickets in hand, to scoop up whatever looks most appetizing, in our case--anything and everything. After selecting your plates, your ticket is marked and you're free to enjoy your pickings. Options include but are not limited to: steamed buns filled with sweet beans, steamed dumplings of all varieties--pork, fish, vegetable--sticky rice with pork wrapped in banana leaves, spare ribs, rice porridge, and one of our favorites--Pheonix Claws, (Chicken feet marinated in black bean sauce and then steamed. Ours were served over sticky rice with additional bits of steamed chicken.)

After breakfast, we rode the tram for a while and then saw a movie because we're boring people who can't seem to adjust to suffocating humidity. The movie, entitled "Cafe Waiting Love," was memorable for the air conditioned theater, and members of the cast showing up for a Q and A session after the credits rolled. It's too bad that we had a train to catch because I would have loved to practice my Cantonese...which is as non-existent now as it was back then.