We turn down a small alley in Hanoi’s old quarter in search of some good, local food. Our destination is Minh Thuy's Family Restaurant, which comes highly recommended by a certain travel review website. Minh’s is small and narrow, with only a half dozen tables, so we share a table just across from another young couple. Within a few minutes we’re deep in conversation with the two young Brits, sharing stories from our collective travels around Southeast Asia. Hours, and many beers later, we part ways and head home for the night. In the time after meeting these cool young kids and before the beers (only 10,000 dong for large Tiger bottles!) were done, we had some great food at Minh’s. It turns out, she’s a pretty well known lady in this town, having made it halfway through the reality cooking show, MasterChef Vietnam. And the food definitely proves worthy of the fame.
Indulging our recently created addiction to fresh spring rolls, we share a plate, as well as some truly awesome ‘fried pho’ topped with crispy shallots and bean sprouts, and egg fried rice that is good, but has trouble standing up against the other plates. It’s tasty enough that we circle back for more the following night, because who can resist some delicious eats and $.50 beers served up by a local celebrity.
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The bass of the gong rumbles through the dark theater. Our knees are pressed against the seats in front of us as we sit, surrounded by tourists and a handful of local mothers with their kids, all waiting in anticipation for the show to begin. The self-made happy hour we've just enjoyed on a bench next to the lake has resulted in an optimal buzz, perfect for the Thanh Long water puppet show.
Dating back to the 11th century, water puppetry is one of Vietnam's most treasured forms of folk art and entertainment. When the rice fields of the Red River Delta would flood, villagers would break out their wooden puppets and hold a show inside the rice paddy. A pagoda was put up to hide up to eight puppeteers, who stood in waist-high water and controlled the puppets with long strings and wooden rods. In modern theaters, a Vietnamese orchestra with vocals, drums, wooden bells, cymbals, horns, monochords, gongs, and bamboo flutes, along with lighting, fire and dry ice, now adds to the show. we quickly realize that this is not your local public library puppet show. It's both a traditional art form and a major production. And it's impressive.
The 3 to 4 foot lacquered wood puppets glide across the water's surface in perfect choreographed unison, much like an Olympic synchronized swimming team. Each scene tells a different story, all in Vietnamese, forcing us to quietly spitball what's going down on stage. Dragons breathe fire from the water, birds fly in from the ceiling, a monkey scurries up a tree and we're having a blast.
After this classic performance that dates back centuries, we step out into the bustling Hanoi streets. From the ancient to the modern, the streets are filled with hip hop dance troupes, roaming roosters, musicians, and vendors selling cocktails from carts. The energy is buzzing and this is clearly the local choice for a Saturday night out.
Art, music and culture, the old and the new, all in one night in Hanoi.
P.s. Did we mention the hip hop dancing...
Ear splitting squeals pierce through the gentle swarm of motorbike engines, as sparks cascade like fireworks in the humid afternoon air. Straddling the edge of the scooter occupied sidewalk, desperately attempting to navigate the rush hour street traffic, we twist and turn though what might be called the 'metalworks' district of Hanoi’s old quarter. Vietnam's capital city is a mishmash of specialized neighborhoods, minuscule streets sewed through the wide avenues and palatial buildings left behind by the French. As we've learned by now, America left nothing but destruction in Hanoi and the rest of Vietnam. In contrast, much of this city feels European. Hoan Kiem Lake (lake of the returned sword in Vietnamese) is the heart of Hanoi, with avenues splitting off like arteries to the south, narrow side streets like veins to the north. Each block has its own identity; some filled completely with flowers, others packed to the brim with silk and cloth. Others with paintings, trinkets, bamboo (mostly crafted into bongs, strangely enough), and metal crafted into household goods. After some time spent in Vietnam, Hanoi’s differences from the south, although a bit subtle, are easy to notice. The honking of motorbikes is slightly louder and more aggressive. The chaotic traffic feels less organized. The food, less spicy. It might be where we’re staying (the old quarter is notoriously touristy), but Hanoi feels like a city that caters to foreigners. Menus are written in English, there are women hawking donuts and other trinkets everywhere, and hotel staff are relentless in their offers for trips to Ha Long Bay. Regardless, it’s a beautiful city, full of treelined streets, architectural details, and tributes to “Uncle Ho.” A marriage of ancient Vietnam and colonial France, being reinvented by the young, modern, and enterprising Vietnamese.
"The great challenge in travel is not arriving at the glamorous foreign city, but solving the departure problem, finding a way out of it, without flying. Busses are usually nasty and bus stations the world over are dens of thieves, cutpurses, intimidators, mountebanks, and muggers. Hired cars are convenient but nearly always a ripoff, and who wants narration from the driver? The train is still the ideal- show up and hop on." - Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star It's hour 9 of 14 and we're getting a little loopy. We’ve assigned nicknames to the passengers in our car and have bets on the murderer in the Vietnamese soap opera that's playing (at full volume) on the tiny television screen. Each time the carriage door opens, we turn, hoping to see the cart selling beer (not pho or steamed sausages). For the fourth time today, we compare this train to the speed and efficiency of the those in Europe or Japan, a hopeless exercise that only leads to further frustration. The only thing to do is surrender to the travel mindset and adopt the "we'll get there when we get there" mantra. We've opted to take the train to Hanoi (the Reunification Express) following our last 14-hour travel adventure on an overnight bus from Nha Trang to Da Nang that included one bathroom break, unpaved roads and a near Dramamine overdose. In comparison, Theroux is right; the train is the way to go. Sure, there are some seriously strange smells, the bathroom requires half a bottle of hand sanitizer, and Vietnamese pop music competes (at full volume) with crying from the soap opera on TV, but we're nine hours in and happily rolling along. To describe the passing Vietnamese countryside as beautiful is selling it short. At 5:30am, the train rocks through the waking streets of the Hue suburbs and shortly after we're slowly moving past rice fields, ponds full of blossoming lotus flowers, and massive limestone cliffs, jutting straight out of the ground. By 1pm, we're in an agricultural area, with the flat plains sprinkled with water buffalo and the bamboo conical hats of farmers. The bright afternoon sun slowly moves overhead and prepares to set as we close in on Vietnam’s capital. Stop after stop, we inch closer to the city, and as darkness falls the train creeps through small villages where men gather around short tables on plastic stools, drinking beer and playing cards. It is, without a doubt, the best way to see the country.
With so much time, we read aloud from Theroux's book, finally reaching chapters on Vietnam and comparing our time here with his. As we learn more and more about this country - the history, the war, the economy and the culture - our experiences start to make more sense. It sparks conversation and reflection; a deeper understanding of the people and place that is only attainable through a combination of effort and time. We're grateful for the opportunity, proud of our decision to travel and happy to experience the world together. All of this from 14 short hours on a train that stands today as a symbol of independence. The bus goes dark. Looking out the window of our top bunk, we’re surrounded by the interior tiles of an unlit tunnel. We’re driving from Hoi An to Hue, the imperial capital of Vietnam during the Nguyen Dynasty from 1802 to 1945. The tunnel we’re passing through is the Hai Van. It’s the longest in Southeast Asia, stretching just over 6km, and we’re pleased at the decision to sacrifice coastal views on the windy mountain pass for the much faster route and ten minutes of complete darkness. As the small beam of light from the tunnel’s end grows larger and larger, we’re finally released in to some of the most beautiful and unique scenery we’ve witnessed in Vietnam. Heading north up Vietnam’s Highway 1, we pass lush mountains cascading into the sea on our right, sunlit rice fields plowed by men guiding water buffalo on our left. It’s enough to make the dirty and broken bus that we’re in (a realization of the expression “you get what you pay for”) melt away. Hue is a mix of the ancient and modern. The imperial city, or citadel, on the north banks of the Perfume river was once inhabited by emperors and their concubines. On the river’s south side, a web of narrow streets and alleyways is filled with hotels, coffee shops, video game cafes, and a surprising amount of Italian restaurants (okay, so we may have gotten pizza one night, but let’s be real, it’s pizza). Our stopover is brief and, with only one full day to explore, we start with a stroll to the train station to book our tickets for the following day’s journey.
Covered by a gray, hazy sky, the city’s landscape feels muted. Narrow parks straddle the wide, lazy river on both sides, the headache inducing roar of cicadas envelops the trees above. A few kilometers down the road and the pink colonial rail station approaches. We cross the green hued river on a four lane bridge to see the west wall of the citadel. On this side of the Perfume RIver, it’s quiet, with only a few street vendors slinging banh mi and sugarcane juice. For the first time in Vietnam, we opt for the latter and watch as the street vendor hand-cranks the press to flatten the long rods of sugarcane. Her strength is impressive as she squeezes every last drop of juice into the bottom of the cup. We happily continue down the riverside, passing the sweet, honey-colored liquid back and forth, racing against the questionable ice melting, the perfect afternoon stopover in Hue. Bookcases filled with old comic books line the walls of this spacious restaurant, far removed from the busy streets of Hoi An’s Ancient Town. From a thick menu of teas, drinks, and vegetarian Vietnamese dishes, we choose two 'fresh' (aka draft) local beers, two green teas and a shared set menu. Before we get to the food, there’s something to be said about the beer. Straightforward and refreshing, the ‘fresh’ Vietnamese lager runs a guest 3,000 dong at Minh Hien. That’s approximately 14 cents in USD. Seriously, where else, anywhere, can you get a beer for 14 cents. And it’s good! For a minute, we consider bringing water bottles back to fill for our train ride the following day. Sadly, we don't, and in the end we definitely regret it. Back to the food. The Hoi An special noodles are thick, chewy and really, really, yummy. The spring rolls are perfectly fried and the banh xeo (Vietnamese pancakes made of rice flour, water, and turmeric powder) is served with fresh greens, bean sprouts, and squash, then wrapped ‘like a cigarette’ in rice paper before being dipped in homemade spicy sauce. The steam from banana leaf-wrapped tofu, onions, mushrooms, and spices wafts across the table and we’re reminded of just how good the food is in this country. And did we mention the 14 cent beer?
There’s something a little magical about riding a bike. You instantly feel like a kid again; ringing your bell as you cross intersections, standing to pedal uphill, a dumb grin on your face the entire time. Our first ride from Hoi An to An Bang Beach is unforgettable. We’re two in a cluster of bicycles that rivals the Tour De France. Dad peddles as his five-year old balances sideways on the back of his bike. Baby is peacefully strapped to mom’s chest. We all quietly ride through the countryside, surrounded by rice fields being plowed by water buffalo, all with a common goal: get to the beach. The straight road dead ends into a bustling beach scene, each person seeking a respite from the 100+ degree temps. As the sun starts to set a few hours later, we all unlock our bikes in unison and kick up our stands. The sky turns pink as we cross the Cua Dai river. Like many others, we stop at the top of the bridge to gaze over the Hoi An countryside, awestruck by it’s beauty. Then, we hop on our bikes, put our chins to our handlebars and race down the hill into town.
In the backyard of a local Hoi An family’s home, something very special is brewing. Forget the factory; home distilleries produce the rice wine in Vietnam. And with an ABV of more than 25%, they’re not messing around. At the home we’re visiting, a few large plastic tubs hold white rice which has been cooked and mashed, with water and yeast added for fermentation. Across the small courtyard, the newly created alcoholic broth is being distilled to create the final product. The leftovers are then fed to the six pigs living in a small pen a few feet away. A traditional combination of food and drink found throughout Vietnam, but we’ll pass on the pork (small confines for these really lovely animals is not awesome). A long held tradition in Vietnam, home distilleries sell their product within the community and to villages nearby. However, about two years ago, a governmental decree banned unregistered home rice wine distilleries. Most agreed the ban would be virtually impossible to enforce, and the “Vietnamese moonshine” production continued. The government cites the reason for the decree as the danger in homemade alcohol consumption, reporting that it has been the cause of 3.5 percent of food poisoning cases nationally. Not a huge number, but something to consider if you plan on a taste test.
But as we found in our Hoi An neighbor’s backyard, this originally craft Vietnamese libation ain’t going nowhere. Later in the evening, we enjoy a chilled glass on the rooftop deck of a local restaurant. Assuredly made by another local distiller, it has a taste that lies somewhere in the middle of sake and vodka. A true kick in the pants. There’s no soft touch here. No hint of oak, no fruity overtones. Just boozy goodness. It’s hot. Like over 100-degrees, 90% humidity kind of hot. We’ve just stepped off a 14-hour bus ride into the sun. Exhausted and woozy, the idea of walking seems arduous. We manage to wave down a taxi to take us to Charming Homestay, where we will spend our four nights in Hoi An. In a short time, we’ve learned the difference between a hotel and a homestay. A hotel typically has a front desk, receptionist, bath products, laundry service, a concierge desk and breakfast. If you choose a homestay, you often sacrifice some of the hotel amenities for the opportunity to stay in a Vietnamese home and interact with your host, which includes advice on what to do/see/eat/drink, etc. Charming Homestay is the first place we’ve stayed that has it all. Not even a year old, the three rooms are located behind the main house; two at the edge of the garden, one up exposed brick stairs. Plans to add three more rooms are also in the works. After a long journey, we feel overjoyed to step through the French doors into our room. Surrounded by plants, nature and light fills the windows. Tall ceilings, a large bathroom with rainfall shower, strong air conditioner, and beautiful minimalist design feel like we had walked out of Vietnam and into an English garden apartment. Immediately, we feel relaxed. After a lengthy nap on the cozy king bed, we wander out to the kitchen/dining area. We meet Nhi, our host, and her mother, Mrs. Thu. Their warmth and genuine hospitality is immediate. Nhi talks to us about Hoi An, her hometown pride evident as she lists out the ‘must do’s.’ We quickly become friends and, later that week, meet for an after dinner drink where we learn about growing up, living, business and dating in Vietnam.
There are some places that have it all. The breakfast, the bikes, the beautiful rooms nestled in an English garden setting, and the people, eager to share and learn, genuine in their hospitality. We will never forget our time at Charming and would recommend it to any traveler passing through Hoi An. We agree. This could be one of the best dishes either of us have ever eaten. We reach for more of the grilled pineapple, pomelo and long pepper salad, topped with toasted baby coconut. We’re hungry, but this isn’t one of those “it’s good because it’s food in front of our faces” kind of situations. Rather, this is one of a handful of dishes either of us have ever eaten that is truly spectacular. You might say we stumbled upon Nu Eatery. While we’d read a few good things about the restaurant, we were actually looking for another place before we ended up spotting the glowing teal sign in front of Nu. A simple two story restaurant, dropped smack in the middle of Hoi An’s ancient town (near the Japanese bridge), every one of our five small dishes were memorable. The poached beet and Sapa apple salad, the pumpkin and coconut milk soup, and the rice with grilled eggplant, daikon and mushrooms were all excellent. We ended our dinner sharing a scoop of homemade lemongrass ice cream.
Huddled upstairs, you get the feeling you could be anywhere in the world. But take a look beyond the small deck, and the tiled rooftops of Hoi An's old buildings quickly bring you back. There are very few other places to eat a meal this good, for so little money, in such a wondrous city. |
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