Censored in Hanoi

Well, it appears I'm in an authoritarian state after all. Blogger.com is blocked throughout Vietnam. After a bit of research, I've found that there are a handful of other sites that won't open here, either. This post is visible thanks to the tender offices of my friend Sharon. Take a bow, Sharon! [*]

Most of the time that you're here this feels like any other country. At street level, it's capitalism, full bore. But there are odd little reminders. Propaganda posters adorn public intersections and parks, and some of the tourist attractions doth protest too much.

Take yesterday at the Hoa Lo prison (aka the Hanoi Hilton to John McCain and friends). Most of the prison exhibits were about the French colonialists and the thousands of Vietnamese political prisoners they kept there under overcrowded conditions. A much smaller section was dedicated to the American prisoners kept there in the late 60s and early 70s. And of course that's appropriate; it was a French prison for decades before the first Yankee pilot showed up. But the exhibit was pure propaganda that seems out of place in the 21st century: photos of American prisoners strumming guitars, playing volleyball and giving amiable interviews over tea with the Vietnamese press. They made one critical mistake, though: the photo of the men standing in church pews shows them with their arms uniformly folded across their chests and frowning- clearly a pose no one ever strikes during a church service, making it quite obvious the picture was staged against the will of the American prisoners. Amy joked "even I know that's not how you act in church". The vast majority of the prison has been built over to make way for a modern hotel (strangely, the Hilton Corporation was not interested in the property). I wish I could send you more photos of the prison, but this was one of the places in Vietnam where photography is forbidden.

Hanoi itself is beautiful- it actually puts Bangkok to shame. The inhabitants throw their trash in the street, but it is picked up daily, and aside from this one issue, the city is clean- it certainly smells much better than Bangkok.

Here's a shot of Ho Hoan Kiem, one of the small lakes around which the city is built.


The "Lake of the returned Sword" is so named because legend has it that emperor Le Loi received a magic sword with which to defend his people from invasion by the Chinese. After the victory, a golden tortoise emerged from the lake to demand the sword back, and the emperor obliged. The interpretation is that the Vietnamese people will receive supernatural intervention... but only when they REALLY need it. The small pagoda in the center of the lake seen here commemorates this story.


Immediately north of the lake is the Old City or "The Thirty-Six Streets" where we are staying:

This is not a place for the claustrophobic. Alleyways and streets are narrow and overhanging, and everything imaginable is for sale, but in ordered groupings: this is the street of swimsuits, this is the street of vegetables, this is the street of coffins and headstones, and that is the street of shoes- without exaggeration, fifty or sixty shoe shops, all in a row. Notable exceptions to this policy are purely modern goods like CDs or cameras, which may appear anywhere. Our hotel ("Sunny Hotel") is at the intersection of swimsuits and alcohol. The larger meaning of this particular coincidence is left as an exercise for the reader.

I can't honestly claim credit for planning it this way, but Thailand was the perfect place to start this trip. Although it seemed exotic and bizarre at first, in retrospect it's very Western. Many people speak excellent English, and many more speak enough to communicate, and although the script is foreign, almost all street signs have English on them in addition to Thai. Furthermore, the society is very western: convenience stores on every corner and easy access to Western food (if you wanted it). In fact, 7-11s are so common in both Bangkok and Chiang Mai that "across from the 7-11" is a hopelessly ambiguous direction: main streets have multiples. Also, the Thai people are natural hosts- the "Land of Smiles" moniker is more than just a marketing slogan.

Vietnam is not like that. The script, though heavily accented, is mostly Roman, so you can read street signs and piece together a reasonably accurate pronunciation. Although for a speaker of English, tonality is always a linguistic landmine waiting for your missteps.

English is far less common here, although every once in a while my French comes in handy. common. It's not that the Vietnamese are inhospitable, it's just that they have a tough act to follow. The younger generation almost never speaks it, but French place names, architecture (and pastries!) are common.

We also visited the Temple of Literature, site of an ancient university in Hanoi. Here I am wearing a goofy hat in front of a statue of Confucius, and I think you just gotta love the contrast.

It may be pedestrian of me (if you'll pardon the pun) but I find crossing the street in Vietnam fascinating. In Thailand there's a contract in crossing the street: you make eye contact with oncoming traffic- they, in turn, agree to pay attention to you, and they slow down, a little, if it appears that you might collide. Your part of the deal is that you have to keep moving as quickly as possible once the drivers acknowledge your presence, and your safety is in your own hands. In Vietnam it's completely different. There are very few pedestrian crossings and not many streetlights to control the flow of traffic.

Incredibly, although the casual observer wouldn't realize it, in this country pedestrians rule. To cross the street here, you just step out into traffic. Your safety is the sole responsibility of the drivers in the street. The only requirement placed upon you is to walk at a constant rate so that the drivers can gauge where you will be when. Your first couple of experiences with this procedure are nerve-wracking to say the least.

Traffic in Vietnam is 90% motorcycles, 3% bicycles, 6% cars and 1% buses and trucks. So it's a densely packed river of motorcycles weaving around you doing 30-40 mph at less than arm's length while you inch forward across the street at your constant, steady pace, confident that it is their obligation to avoid you (important exception: buses).


The first time you cross a major road successfully and turn around to see the torrent of Hondas whizzing behind you, you feel like an alchemist staring down at a fresh brick of gold. Then you notice an octogenarian grandmother nonchalantly following you through an even heavier patch, and you deflate a bit.

One of my favorite finds in Hanoi is Bia Hoi, or "Fresh Beer". Many small street shops sell this delicious concoction from large metal barrels for about 2000 dong (about 12.5 cents) a glass. It's a light, frothy pilsner with almost no bitterness whatsoever, and a bit of a nutty flavor and a deep golden color. The alcohol content is very low- perhaps one percent, but that's the point. You see all manner of folks hanging out on the street in the late afternoon and early evening sipping the stuff (always served cold) continuously. Each establishment brews their own every day, so it doesn't have much time to ferment.

As a side note on Vietnamese currency, there is a giddy sense of power when you walk up to an ATM and say to yourself "Do I need one million or two? Ah, the heck with it. I'll just get three." As I write this, Amy owes me a million.

Wherever in Hanoi that there's a good stretch of broad sidewalk, you'll see paint lines for at least one or two courts of a street sport that resembles a cross between volleyball and hackey sack. In the photo below, immediately to the right of the shoulder of the young man engaged in a kick is a white blur. This is a beanbag the size of a hackey sack with a fabric tail. The kids knock the bag across the net using only their feet and heads, and some of them are GOOD.


The national museum was excellent- lots of ancient artifacts of paleolithic civilization in the Red River valley and such, and then a fantastic collection of art. But the ministry of propaganda clearly had a hand in designing the exhibits, as the "glorious history of the people of Vietnam" part of the signage is played up a bit too much. It's a shame, really, as the effect is the reverse of what's intended: the material would stand fine on its own without the cheerleading.

Amy and I both remarked on the martial theme of the art beginning in the 50s. Magnificent lacquered wood art, big as a barn door, depicting a mangrove swamp at night: gorgeous black wood for the background and mangrove trees depicted in mother-of-pearl inlay- disarmingly, breathtakingly beautiful. Then you realize that there are a dozen small human figures in the extreme corner of the painting, and you step up for a closer look... and realize that they're all carrying bazookas. Much of the contemporary art is like this.

Vietnam is also a bit less friendly to vegetarians, but I'll post a separate entry on that later.

Amy and I are going to do some side trips now to Halong Bay and the countryside. After that, we head south to Ho Chi Minh City, most likely by sleeper train so we can see some of the midcountry. More in a week!

P.S. --

Oh, and a side note for you Iron Dragon fans out there. Siam's gonna be the witness to the ultimate test of cerebral fitness. Here, in the Bangkok airport Amy and I found a good way to pass the time.

[*ed: true timestamp for this entry is a few hours ago - posted 9:43am boston time, via email. if your comments don't appear, it may be because PJ can't moderate them.]