#hanoians

[nikekidliem]

Routine morning of the original Hanoian people. #morningcoffee☕️ #hanoians #authenticstreetstyle #🇻🇳vietnam #thủđôhànội #phốcổ #oldquarterhanoi #hoankiemdistrict #36phốphường #peopleofvietnam #seniorsofhanoi #aftermorningexercise #relaxing #peoplewatching #streetvendors #genuinecoffeeshop (at Hanoi, Vietnam) https://www.instagram.com/p/BviHKFnpo04/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=youkd1nw9xv7

[lookatthedawn]

All Around Ho Hoan Kiem

The time difference between Hanoi and New England, USA, is eleven hours.  Between Hanoi and Brasil, ten hours.  That means that when I'm getting ready for bed my family and friends are up and about and wondering how I'm faring on this side of the world.  Out of the goodness of their hearts, they worry that I'm in some kind of trouble or feeling lonely.  Most likely, I'm just sleepy, dear ones!  I have reminded them often of the time difference. Nevertheless, this is the time they call me or send messages.  I must admit to two great personal flaws; I like being available, and I'm terribly interested in anything my friends or family have to say.  In fact, I consider a great honor if anyone wants to speak to me and I consider missing a call a personal failure.  Therefore, I answer them.  We often engage on a subject, which gets more interesting with each passing hour.  Then the person on the other side of the world remembers that it's four a.m. where I am and we have been talking for over three hours.  We decide that we are good for that day/night and hang up.  I set the alarm to ring four or five hours later and fall quickly asleep. 

The same thing happens again the following night, with a different person.  They take such regular turns that I'm convinced they have sat down and planned this, even though they live far apart and don't even speak to each other that often.  But for this purpose, I'm sure they've come together, over me.  

That's how I have slept less than two hours the Saturday morning I walk around Ho Hoan Kiem at five-thirty in the morning.  I am looking for people exercising.  To be more precise, I am looking for a group of people practicing Tai Chi, that I can join.   As any Hanoian can tell you, there are hundreds of people exercising around the lake at five-thirty in the morning.  The challenge is to choose which group to join.  I assume those exercising alone like to do it solo, so I leave them be. I do not care much for dancing groups, even though some of them are very well organized and others, less so, are clearly having a lot of fun.  I like to dance for fun, though, not for fitness. Today I want deep and lasting practice, something that takes me away from my mind and brings me back to my body.  Not that I have ever completely left, but you know...

At the Ly Thai To Park, located near the lake, there are about four groups exercising.  One group is kicking a ball, another is doing aerobics, a third is practicing ballroom dance and still another is standing right in front of the king's statue, doing some kind of breathing exercises.  About thirty people stand together and take full breaths at the same time.  It's hard to know who is leading them, or if there is an exercise leader since they all know exactly what to do.  I stop and watch. After a few more exercises they break into loud laughter.  A gentleman, probably in his seventies, leaves the group and approach me.  "Where are you from?" He asks me.  In broken English, he explains that they are practicing Laughing Yoga.  "Come!" He says, taking me by the arm, insisting I join them.  The others welcome me with smiles and high-fives.  Soon I too am taking turns between deep breaths and loud laughter.  I imitate them and they support me with nods and thumbs up.  Some come to me and try speaking a little English.  A young lady chats with me and invites me to come back the next day.  I tell her I'm looking for a place to live and she says she'll bring the newspaper the next day for me to take a look. At the end of practice, they stand in a circle and massage each other's back, then turn around, so that the person they were massaging has a chance to repay the kindness and massage their back.  I wonder how my American yoga students would react if I proposed that.  Maybe I will try it one day.   After they snap a few selfies with me, I leave them with the promise to come back the next day.  Although there are many Westerners in Hanoi, I don't think they usually join Laughing Yoga practice.   After yoga I walk around the lake, snapping pictures of adorable brown poodles.  There are so many of them I'm overwhelmed by cuteness.  There's  a jumping rope competition, in which two teams of young people try to overdo the other, there are groups of people dancing, playing badminton, practicing Tai Chi, yoga, aerobics, etc.. After a while I go back to the hotel for breakfast.  I've said before but I shall say it again; the breakfast is one of the best things about the hotel.  I love the buffet of fruits, rice, vegetables,  and toasts.  Another great thing about The Artisan is its location. I do go back to Laughter Yoga the next day and the day after. And every time we high-five, hug and say that it will be a healthy, happy, strong and lucky day, ha ha ha.  And more some participants snap more selfies with me at the end of practice. Moon, the young woman with whom I chatted, produce the newspaper where she has circled three places for rent.  She tells me a little about each, shows me on the map where they are located and urge me to call them.  I thank her but don't call.  First, I'm not using my phone in Vietnam, second, I don't read or speak Vietnamese, and phones are not the greatest means of communication if you can't quite speak the language.  I keep the newspaper with the intention of finding someone to make the call for me.  

I go to St. Joseph's Cathedral and find that the church is completely full.  The pews are all taken and so are the ubiquitous plastic stools which fill the church.  I was expecting French Mass, but this is clearly Vietnamese.  I find a little space to stand and listen, although I understand nothing.  A few tourists come to photograph the church's interior, but give up after seeing how crowded it is. Faces shine with perspiration as people try in vain to get closer to the fans, which, in spite of working as hard as possible, do not make the place any less stuffy.   Soon Mass is over and most of the faithful are gone, leaving, perhaps, only twenty-five people behind, myself among them.  The tourists come back and snap a few pictures until the priest ask them to stop because the French Mass is about to start.  A Vietnamese man plays the violin and a spinning fan on high points in my direction.  The place that was crowded and uncomfortably airless a minute ago has become calm, cool and soulful.   My French is put to the test and Mass is as much an intellectual workout as a spiritual undertaking.  Following Mass on the Missal is fine.  The problem is the homily.  Besides my poor French, the priest has an accent and doesn't enunciate very well.  If I understand the gist of it, God is love and we must be godlike in our love for one another.  Or maybe I'm putting words in his mouth, it's hard to tell.   Nonetheless, I leave the church equipped with the Good News and go shopping for a card for my son JeanLuc, whose birthday is the following day.  Then I walk back to my hotel and worry about finding a place to live.  I check a couple of places online, make some inquiries, consider moving to another, cheaper hotel, but find little sense in this, and end up staying where I am.  

[lookatthedawn]

Hot and Humid

Ho Hoan Kiem - Hanoi

I have been told that I can find Tai Chi groups around Hoan Kiem lake, so I get up little after five and head to the lake. The streets are crowded with people.  Some are running, walking, practicing qigong, some form of Tai Chi, yoga, sports and various types of dance. And they do everything as spontaneously as children.  Even at this early hour, it's hot and humid, but people laugh and talk as they exercise, pausing and restarting, unencumbered by time or any other restrictions. There are some well-organized groups, in which participants wear the same color t-shirts and follow an instructor.  I'm happy just walking around and watching the people.  After a while, I go back to the hotel, for some much needed time in the air-conditioned room and breakfast.     I'm not staying at the cheapest hotel.  When booking a hotel I'm always tempted to go for the lowest prices but fear of unclean sheets and bedroom prevents me from doing that. The reason I decided on The Artisan is that, a) it came with the indication from my trusted friend and contact in Vietnam; b) they offer free wi-fi -- I later found that pretty much all hotels offer wi-fi in Vietnam; c) free breakfast and d) I like the name.  Early next morning I go down to the cafe, which is located right beside the hotel.  You enter this small room and take the stairs to the second floor where there's a good-sized room with about eight tables.  The walls are painted with big, colorful flowers, and in the middle, the room dips about one foot, where there's a table surrounded by sofas. It also has wi-fi.  I could live here!

View from the balcony - The Artisan Cafe

The best part, though, is the balcony overlooking the street below.  However, if the customer wants air conditioning, and that's the most popular option, she'll stay inside.  As soon as I come in the English-speaking waitress takes my voucher and asks if I want noodle soup.  I decline, as I find the weather too hot for soup. The breakfast itself is buffet-style.  I start with a plate of fruits; watermelon, pineapple, mango, and passion fruit.  For the second course, I have rice, noodles, vegetables, and salad.  My third course is comprised of pancakes, toast, some munchkin-like pastry, and lots of English tea.   My sleep schedule is a mess.  I feel and look tired (as pictures will show) but not really interested in sleeping.  I do some writing and communicating with family and friends, then leave again to look for the postal agency my friend showed me the day before.  I find it without a problem and send a postal card to my friend who's celebrating her 65th birthday.  Actually, I just want the card to be stamped on her birthday, for even if it could get to the U.S. instantly, it wouldn't find her home, as she is celebrating her birthday with a little loop around the world.  She's doing a rather cool thing in which she will stay in Perth until the second of June, then fly to an island, arriving there on the morning of June second, because of the different time zone.  She shrugs and says, "oh, well, you're only 65 once."  I tell her, "Well, in your case, you're 65 twice!" She laughs and says it wasn't planned, it just happened this way.   Once I send her the postal card, I decide to explore.  I go in direction of the Opera House and have the bright idea to walk around it and come back via the same street.  Well, it doesn't work quite this way, since there are a couple of buildings behind the Opera House, and what seemed to be a great idea turns out to be a problem, because I end up on a busy and dusty street I have never seen before. It's is also not a pleasant street.  There are people on the sidewalk, fixing stuff, eating, playing checkers, all in shorts and no shirts, sweating like me.  I have the map in my bag but I'm too hot and impatient to stop and open it under the burning sun.  I decide to keep walking since I know the general direction of the lake and if I find the lake, I have no problem finding the hotel.  All I need is to turn right on the next street.  But no street opens to the right here.  I walk and walk, hoping that going forward will be more effective than turning around.  Besides, I wanted to see new stuff, so why go back?  The problem is that the sun and humidity are doing a number on my well-being.  It's 104 degrees, but it feels like 117, according to the weather app on my phone.  I haven't slept well in days and I feel my blood pressure going down. I keep walking.  Finally, there's the option to turn right and I take it.  And after a while, I take another right, which should take me back to the Opera House.  On this street, I see quite a few official-looking buildings.  As Vietnam's capital, Hanoi is the seat of governmental offices, which means that, as you walk around the city, you see a number of official buildings.  Government offices and embassies abound.  Qatar, Cambodia, India, Laos... it would be hard to avoid them.  Some of these buildings have a short description in French or English, but most of them I can only guess what they're about.  In front of these buildings, young guards dressed in green uniforms stand under a large umbrella, which protects them from the sun but not from the heat or humidity.  Some also have a fan, which makes walking by them rather pleasant.  They're serious but polite, giving me a little nod as I pass.   I finally see the Opera House in all its splendor, cool even in this heat, and take the decorated street toward the lake.  

The Opera House - Hanoi 

By the time I arrive at the hotel I'm feeling faint and I'm sure I'm having a sunstroke.  I drink water, take a shower and a long nap, which completely restore me to my normal healthy self.   My stomach wakes me up around 10 p.m.  My last meal was breakfast around 9 a.m. I don't need much, I tell myself, but I need something to eat, preferably something salty, like pretzels, that will go well with the Tiger beer in the fridge, courtesy (for a small fee) of The Artisan.  I go out, thinking all I'll find open at this hour is a vending machine. Wrong! New York City never sleeps?  Hanoi doesn't know the meaning of the word.  I'm starting to think that there are much more residents here than what I can see on the streets.  I have noticed that the people at five a.m. are older than the people at midnight.  Don't get me wrong, there are people of all ages, ancient to newborn and everything in between, on the streets at all times, but I think they have a system in place in which they take turns.  Maybe they have a schedule and a curfew, which would make sense because God knows the streets are already crowded as it is.  I can imagine Hanoians talking, "so, what's your time to be out?" "Eight to 20:00, and you?" "This year I got 5 to 18:00 because I turned 55."  For all the Vietnamese I understand, they might as well be talking about their "out-time". Hanoians love the streets.  In the U.S. everybody rushes around so that they can go back to the comfort of their homes sooner.  Perhaps our American streets are not as welcoming as they are here.  American streets are definitely cleaner but that alone does not hold people outside.  Every Friday night the city closes the streets around Ho Hoan Kiem to traffic, so that people can freely walk, perform and play. There are people playing all kinds of instruments, artists drawing people's portraits, sellers offering just about everything, teenagers having jump-rope competition, people of all ages dancing, exercising, talking to friends.  Let me tell you about the ubiquitous plastic stool in Hanoi.  They are on every sidewalk, in every park, in churches, restaurants and wherever people gather.  They are usually blue or red, a little over a foot tall, and pretty resistant. Hanoi is a very active city.  Even the fact that the main transportation is motorbike attest to that.  People are always on the go.  While riding, their feet are not far from the ground and they often push the motorbike when arriving or leaving a place.  Were they not as active and fit, these plastic stools would not be as popular.  Many Americans I know would not attempt to sit on one of these stools. They are about a foot high, so the person is almost squatting, but not quite.  If you have knee or hip problems or are overweight, sitting on a stool like that would be torture. For the Hanoian, though, they are a convenient place to sit while eating a meal, having a drink with friends, or playing checkers, all of which they do on the sidewalks. Hanoi is famous for its street food as it is fresh, tasty, inexpensive and readily available.  At the place where I bought the spring rolls, they didn't speak much English.  Most Hanoians, especially merchants, know basic English and when they don't, they are pretty good at understanding pointing, head-shakes, and nods. I can haggle about price, even when they don't speak a word of English.  At that shop, I was not concerned about price, which was fair enough, but I need to convey to them that I am vegan, and therefore wanted no meat or eggs in my food.  They nodded quickly -- a merchant will rarely say they don't understand or don't have what you're looking for.  As Vietnamese, they want to help you, and as merchants, they want to make a sale.  I ask that my food be packed to go and leave.  The spring rolls are good, except for the thin strip of ham I have to take out from each one. Oh, well!

[serena-oliverr-blog]

The corner of the street in Hanoi Old Quarter! #street vietnam #Vietnam #Hanoians #souvenir #pedicab #street in hanoi

[slipsandshods]

The comfort #Hanoians have with transport stretches beyond my imagination. Behold this intrepid man casually strolling along the #railway tracks of the Long Bien Bridge. Respect! #bridge #transport #hanoi #vscocam