A City of Surprises: Three Days in Hanoi

If Bangkok was busy, Hanoi is the physical embodiment of chaos. 

Actually, scratch that. Hanoi is chaotic, relative to Bangkok or not. While there was traffic in Bangkok, the vehicles stayed in their lane and drivers were not blind to the color of the lights. Here, there is only a mass of screeching horns and weaving motorbikes whizzing past your face at every possible moment. And they are dangerously close to your face, too - although sidewalks here are abundant and wonderfully wide, they are not for pedestrians. Motorcycles are, more often than not, parked across them in entirety, blocking any hope of using them as one might suppose they were intended. So as a walker you must dance cautiously between parked cars and zigzagging bikes as you maneuver down the pavement. And if you happen to have to turn? Good luck. Crossing the street is a near-death experience every single time. 

Mom and I arrived here late in the evening and we were coming off of a hectic and stressful day of travel when we got to our hotel, only to find it was the size of a walk-in closet and, um, dingy. I’ll put it this way: the shower? Effectively a hose in the middle of the bathroom. The one time I used it, the entire bathroom was covered in water. The toilet? I couldn’t sit on it the right way because my knees didn’t fit between the seat and the wall. We ventured half a block out for dinner and almost got run over probably between ten and fifteen times. We were exhausted, it was dark, it was loud, and over our steaming bowls of pho, we started looking for bus tickets to get the heck out of here. 

But, instead, we resolved to find a new hotel room in the morning and give it a day. One chance. If we hated it as much as we thought we would, we’d leave and seek out the quieter Hai Phong, a port city a couple hours away. Sitting on a bed that took up three-quarters of our room, the idea of a beach sounded almost too good to be true. But one day. We would give it that.

And boy am I glad we did.

On the flight from Bangkok to Hanoi, my mom and I sat next to a boy who had lived in this Northern Vietnamese city his whole life. When we asked him, tentatively hopeful, if we were headed for somewhere quieter than the Thai capital we’d left, he laughed. “The horns, the construction work, the noise? That’s a distraction in Bangkok. But in Hanoi? That’s peaceful.” My mom and I could hardly believe it but oh, how right he’d prove to be. Once you get over the sheer volume of the city, once you master crossing the street without being plowed into, once the newness and craze begins to feel a little less overwhelming, you start to hear something. The cars still honk, sure, and the endless rush of movement is still there, but you begin to listen better. After a little while here, I can now make out the song of Hanoi. It’s made of the honking and the shouting and it’s beautiful. 

During the three days we’ve been here, Mom and I have discovered a city intoxicating enough to make me seriously imagine, as we wandered through a beautiful park and drank in the soft sunlight, living here. 

We’ve eaten pho so good I almost cried.

We’ve navigated the streets of the Old Quarter (where we’re staying), a world of juxtaposition where flower stalls spill breathtaking colors onto mud-splashed concrete. 

We’ve had egg coffee - a dish that conjures images of scrambled eggs sitting in cold brew but is, in reality, a liquid tiramisu dream. 

We’ve visited a prison nicknamed after a hotel and seen recollections of unimaginable pain and oppression (and the oddity that is blatant propaganda), as well as stepped foot into Vietnam’s premier fine arts museum and taken a journey through the magnificent thousand year history that is artistic creation in this country. 

We’ve found tranquility twice in the incredibly aptly-named Tranquil. Books and Coffee, a refuge of a coffee shop in the island neighborhood of Truc Bach.

We’ve had a pork rice noodle soup thing so good I almost cried again in a tiny hole-in-the-wall where we were the only Westerners and an old woman and her young granddaughter look confused but smiled when we walked in. 

And, finally, we’ve crossed the street. Many times. And not only have we lived to tell the tale, I think we’re getting pretty dang good at it.

We’re leaving in a few hours for the central coastal city of Da Nang where I look forward to beaches and day trips to places where entire towns are UNESCO World Heritage sites, but a part of me is sad to go. This is not the city I was expecting, true. It was so much better.

So that’s all on Hanoi, for now. Check back soon for more dispatches from our life on the road!

In love and adventure,
E

Bustling Bangkok

I think I know the secret to near-eternal life.

Move to Bangkok, Thailand.

Why? Because here, time feels as though it passes impossibly slowly. How has it only been 48 hours since Mom and I arrived at our hotel? How has it only been two days?! It’s hard to wrap my brain around and yet, it’s true. 

Relative quiet on Si Lom Road, outside our hotel.

The reason, I think, that each day seems so long is because every moment is full with almost more than one can comprehend. The city is a constant sensory assault: the smell of frying meat, the sun beating down through humid air, the brush of 8.3 million people passing you on the sidewalk, the rush of uncountable motorcycles zooming by inches from barreling over you (and you get the impression they would not stop), the humming medley of rapid-fire Thai and honking horns...it does not seem to end. My mom described it as an entire city of Times Square. Fewer billboards, maybe, but much the same frenzy.

And yet, I love it here. As exhausting as it has been, as overwhelming as each moment feels, it’s a rushing, vibrant magic that promises something brand new and alluring around every single corner. There are orange-robed monks that wander among temples hundreds of years old, sandwiched between Starbucks and skyscrapers. There are stalls selling fruits I’ve never seen before and so many bubble tea stands I think my insides are turning into tapioca ball blood vessels running through milk tea-filled veins.

And there are moments of quiet, too. Places where the Times Square-ness fades away. Alleyways with stray cats curled up under flowering vines, a shimmering golden-domed shrine peaking out from behind a business complex. Pauses long enough for thankful breaths when the tuk-tuks and cars cease for a second and you can cross the street. Seven minutes into a river boat ride when you reach a popular station and suddenly the boat clears and you can find a seat, sit, and let the breeze from the waterway cool your forehead. 

Wat Pho

Through it all, there is balance. This is a city of people who are not anxious, not pushing and struggling against the bustle of their home. The queues for the metro are unbelievably orderly and calm, there is rarely jostling on the crowded sidewalks, and street vendors often don’t say anything to you until you’ve already expressed interest in their goods. And although I’m always conscious of how white and Not Thai I am, I’ve never noticed a judgmental stare or felt looked down upon for being foreign. 

We have one and a half more days in Bangkok, but already I know when I leave with only three full days in this city under my belt it will feel as though I’ve been experiencing it for weeks. There is so much to see and do and we have been filling every second - you can’t help it.

Thanks for following along and I’m sure I’ll bring you more soon.

In love and adventure,

E

From the Mountains to Manhattan

Welcome to Southeast Asia Dispatch #1! This edition: Not-Quite-Southeast-Asia-But-Actually-Washington-Heights.

I write to you from our pit-stop in Manhattan, nestled in a cozy couch as the wind howls outside our (lovely host’s) window. Will the seats on our 17 hour flight to Shanghai tomorrow be this comfortable? I can only dream...

The view outside the window. #LifeGoals

But we’re not on that flight yet. No, we’re here, with twenty-four hours in the greatest city in the world (the greatest city in the world! Work!) and getting here, to this seat and this episode of Grace and Frankie, was no easy feat. This morning at 2 am I woke up to a text message letting me know our 7 am flight from Asheville to Newark had been cancelled on account of weather in New York. First of all, the audacity. Second of all, thank goodness for the Internet because within fifteen minutes of my frantic race to my parents’ bedroom, we had a new flight for later that afternoon to LaGuardia.

From Charlotte. 

For any non-Ashevillians reading this, that’s about a two hour drive from our homebase in the mountains. Not exactly the twenty minute breeze of a commute we’d planned on. Luckily, Mom and I have a built-in chauffeur (thank you, Dad. You’re the best. Seriously) and by 10 am this morning we were standing outside the Charlotte airport and back on track. I know there were times pre-Google and I also dimly recall them, but frankly, I can’t imagine today happening before the existence of the saving grace that was americanairlines.com (and my mom’s surprisingly relaxed problem solving at 2:15 am). 

My dad being the best dad.

However, from there things did improve. The flight itself went smoothly, I listened to a lot of Ariana Grande, and my bag didn’t get lost in the unknowable void that is the world of checked baggage, so overall a success. Making our way from LaGuardia to Washington Heights, too, wasn’t too severe a headache (just a lot of sitting on hard MTA plastic seats), and ta-da! Here we are. At long last, here we are. And, unsurprisingly, I’m quite tired, so I’m signing off now. The next time you’ll hear from me, we’ll probably be in Bangkok! Wow. Kind of hard to wrap my mind around. Thanks for following along, and I’ll speak to you soon!

Bye for now,
E

My mom looking super cool in the Charlotte airport. 

welcome...

This is for friends and family. It is five and a half weeks in SE Asia with Daphne and Emma. If you want to follow along on our adventure this is where you do it.