The Heat is On in Hanoi

From the austere hush of a haughty French restaurant to the raucous din of a frenzied bike-infested Asian street. From the dainty crust of a dusky rose macaroon to the piquant, spicy tang of a beef pho. From the bold flash of the distinctive lacquerware to the demure pastels of a perfectly rendered counterfeit Monet.

That's Vietnam for you.

Is it any wonder the besotted Americans found it impossible to leave? Hell, even the French had to be forced at gun-point to vacate. But a short vacation spell for me could only mean somewhere close by. Since French Indochine remained a beautiful mystery for me, I figured it was time to discover more in Hanoi.

Learning that the remarkably accomodating Vietnamese actually allow shabby foreigners to waltz in without a visa ( or even a measly embarkation card! ) certainly brightened my day.


Offering prayers
Sadly however that's as far as their hospitality extends. Though service remained near impeccable at the hotels, that couldn't be said of the commonfolk. Little of the gentle grace of the neighbouring Thais or the simple warmth of our countrymen. Brusque sullenness from the locals, even those involved in the tourism trade.

With their communist doors opened wide not too long ago, obviously the local Hanoians haven't exactly gotten used to the wild unpredictability of the capitalist world as yet. Bewildered they are, and still a bit crabby at the unwelcome intrusion. Not even the demure ao dais of their maidens can hide that.

No denying the intricacy of their handiwork though. Remarkable embroidery, beautiful lacquerware, detailed woodcarvings etc... the list goes on. Look no further for oil painting reproductions on the cheap! Plenty of items to buy. Though the decided lack of enthusiasm on the part of the dour, uncooperative shopkeepers certainly lessened the fun of bargaining.

Spent half of what I would have otherwise.

Fortunately I have perfectly good Vietnamese coffee ( and croissants ) to sustain me.