We got back to Hanoi and to our... hotel? I'm not really sure what to call it, but it was a building owned by a woman named Caroline who spoke perfect english with a British accent and who lived with her parents, father German and mother Vietnamese. The building was 9 stories with a very narrow elevator and each floor had only one apartment. We happened to be the only guests staying at the time, and we were on floor 7.
Caroline had, 6 months previous, rescued a small kitten from the garbage on the streets of Hanoi. This was Ceaser, a slinky white animal who was completely blind and suffered from epileptic fits. He is only fed homemade pate and when you touch him, he just sort of collapses wherever he is and lets you do whatever you're going to do to him. I would say Ceaser really lucked out.
We walked around and shopped for a while, and watched the street vendors cook various meats.
That's a pig on the far right.
We ordered some bao buns from a stand that smelled exceedingly good, but when we bit into them the meat was still raw. I'm pretty sure I have a tapeworm now, but hell. It's not really Vietnam until you get a tapeworm, plus now I won't have to worry about loosing that pesky vacation weight.
The next day we had a list of things to knock off, but Caroline pointed us in the direction of her favorite breakfast place. It was a funky little cafe that was very hip and young. I ordered an egg coffee, having no idea what that is. But the menu insisted it was made with fresh eggs. Coston got spiced french toast and I got quinoa and polenta porridge. Egg coffee is apparently coffee with whipped, thick, sweet egg white on top. Almost like meringue but runnier, creamier and sweeter. It's fucking amazing. Always order egg coffee if you ever see it on a menu. The food was awesome too. The restaurant cat found the ties to the back of my dress half way through breakfast and wouldn't leave us alone until she started sweeping the floors.
Love the style of some of these places.
After breakfast we went to the mausoleum where they keep the 40+ year old body of Ho Chi Minh on display for the general public. Apparently, this is kind of a holy place and you are supposed to wear long sleeves and pants, or a long skirt out of respect. So, naturally I showed up in a short dress with spaghetti straps and offended everyone. They sold me a scarf to drape over my bare arms and sort of just begrudgingly accepted the rest.
We weren't allowed to take pictures inside so we checked my camera bag and started toward the back of the very long but quickly moving line, but one of the soldiers just pointed to the middle and indicated we should just join where we were. It happened to be in the middle of a bunch of Vietnamese school girls who, apparently, had never seen a white woman before. They stared and giggled and whispered to each other while pointing at me. "I think you have a fan club," Coston said. I felt like I was in middle school again. One of them waved at me and I waved back. She smiled and looked around to see if any of the other girls had noticed. They had. "Hello." She said to me. "Hello." I said back, and they all started giggling and nudging her with their elbows. "What's your name?" She asked me. "Mary." I said, and they all burst out laughing.
She asked where we were from, but those were the boundaries of her english and she didn't understand United States, so we pointed to the US Flag sewn onto one of the girl's hats (no doubt ironically). They nodded, and went back to what they were doing, only shooting us the occasional sidelong glance or shy smile.
When we did finally get inside, we were ushered up some stairs and into a room with a glass case containing the preserved body of Ho Chi Minh, guarded at all four corners by a soldier with two more in the far corners of the room. He looked... I don't know, pretty dead. He had that pale, putty look that I've seen before in other dead bodies. It was strange to see school children shuttled all the way to the city to look at a dead guy. Sad too, because Ho Chi Minh actually wanted to be cremated, and yet here he was on display. I took one picture of the mausoleum from outside once I got my camera back.
Then we went across the park to the Ho Chi Minh museum, where they have everything Ho Chi Minh ever used, touched, looked at, or was within a 2 mile vicinity of while he was alive.
We made it across town in a cab to the Temple of Literature, which was build in 1070. It's a Confucius temple dedicated to scholarship and learning. And in general it's just quite beautiful and peaceful, even though it sits in the middle of one of the busiest and noisiest cities I've ever visited.
We didn't have much time left, so we headed back to Carloine's to get a shower and pack. We talked with her parents in the lobby, and her dad got Coston a beer and me one last Vietnamese coffee with sweetened condensed milk. I knew it was a bad idea at the time, I was already pretty over caffeinated, but I couldn't say no to my last one.
By the time we got to the airport I was feeling pretty sick, and by the time we landed in Hong Kong I was fucked up. Shaky, nauseous, dizzy, and the cold I had been battling the last few days was making my sinuses go haywire. I was miserable. But we didn't have long in Hong Kong, only about a two hour window to see the city, and I told myself I could pass out in the lounge when we got back to the airport.
We took the high speed train into the city and walked one of the night markets. One of the stands was completely dedicated to Engrish signs and said things like, "You my sun, my shine, don't treat me like potato," or "Do not fart in room." We walked over to the Avenue of Stars, which is where you can look across the bay at all the buildings shining on the water.
And then it was back to the airport. The whole time I just kept repeating to myself, Hold on. Just hold on until the lounge and then you can sleep in relative comfort. But when we finally found the lounge, it was full of people, the only place to sleep was on the floor, and the elevator music they were piping in was too loud. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep.
I ended up curled in a fetal position with my headphones plugged into my computer, blasting thunderstorm sounds to try and white noise away the music and the talking. Coston, apparently, can sleep through anything. I got about an hour before it was time to get up and make our way to the gate. I slept a little on the plane, and a lot in Okinawa when we finally got to where we were going. And I spent the next day in recovery mode, only leaving for lunch and a gun demonstration where I was forced against my will to hold and take a picture with a machine gun.
Today I met up with Coston's friend Angie who is a diving instructor, and is very kindly going to get me certified in scuba diving in the next three days before I leave for Tokyo. This morning was all tests and paperwork, and this afternoon was in the pool working on skills like clearing the mask, sharing air, ect. Tomorrow we finish pool work and go into the big, bad ocean.
I don't think I'll die, but you know me...
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