Hanoi, part 1

My almost-final stop in the grand ten-week get back to London adventure took me to Hanoi, Rosa's home away from home. Whilst Rosa was at work I entertained myself during the days and she showed me the city by evening. It was an eventful five days; between heat stroke, motorbike mishaps and generally profuse sweating, I can attest that Hanoi is the crazy cousin you try to avoid but end up getting roped into a grand, ridiculous adventure with.  And it's hotter than an oven. 

Tay Ho

Largely considered the 'expat' area, this is where Rosa resides. At its centre, a large lake looms. Although it's a lake in name only; no one swims there, nor do they eat the fish. There was some apparent seafood scandal rocking the city that no one quite knew specific details about. That aside, this part of the city also boasted a wide range of Western restaurants, a brewery and cafes to sup strong, sugary Vietnamese coffee in. 

The more residential streets of Tay Ho are a bit more traditional and consist of winding little lanes where the occasional house and apartment block interrupt the path. Outside Rosa's block, a conglomeration of wires and telephone cables dangle haphazardly. On day two, men worked on the lines, cutting the power in the block. There's no better way to ensure people leave their abodes than by cutting off their access to cool. 

My favourite respite became Cong Caphe, a delight of a small Vietnamese coffee chain made particularly famous for their frozen coconut Vietnamese coffee. I frequented both the Tay Ho and Old City branches when the heat got to be too much, which was roughly after five minutes in baking heat and humidity.

I only learned to stop and take a heat break after my first afternoon in the city. Rosa and I walked around the lake to go get her bike fixed. I'm not certain if it was the direct beating rays of fire, the dehydration from flying or something else entirely, but I developed a particularly strange case of confusion and exhaustion. This turned into nausea and chills and it turns out these are the precise symptoms of heat stroke. Lying in a darkened, air-conditioned apartment for hours seemed to be the only resolution to the matter, which is how I found myself down for the count on Day 1. 

Journey Towards the Old Quarter 

On Day 2, I decided to take a decidedly less strenuous plan. Blogging, sitting, massage ensued. And when Rosa got home from work, I put on my big girl pants (as well as her spare helmet) and toured the city of five million motorbikes (this is not an exaggeration) on the back of Rosa's hog. I was terrified. I still am terrified thinking about it today. This is no slant on Rosa's driving. This is a slant on the apparent lack of road rules in Vietnam. The reality is that chaos reigns supreme in the way that no rules become rules; there is a strange beauty in the mass movement of motors.

As I screamed noiselessly into my helmet, Rosa weaved in and out of traffic towards Ba Dinh Square, the final resting place of Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam's great revolutionary leader. On the way, we paused at various temples and pagodas; I think this one is called Tran Quoc Pagoda but I could be wrong:

There was something illustrious about this particular structure. I want to say it was the oldest in the city and/or country but I might be making that up: 

At Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum, we felt the gravity and weight of history behind us. That, and the power of the Communist ideology. It was more than a little bit eerie.

Our final stop, the Melia Hanoi hotel, which boasted a fantastic rooftop view:

More madness to come!