THE BALCONY FROM ‘THE SECRET CAFE’

POST-HANOI THOUGHTS 1: Introduction
A while ago, after an aimless wander around the cities of Indo-China, trekking on without a purpose to breathtaking landscapes where the Mekong River meanders, I succumbed to physical and mental exhaustion. What took the heaviest toll on me was, spiritually, I wasn’t fulfilled-something that I didn’t expect. Travelling was meant to inspire and illuminate. It was supposed to reveal to you the meaning of life. Growing tired of talking to people, enduring indifference to people and places,and having your senses numbed with fatigue as you sit in a rickety old bus that rumbles down the dirt road ain’t part of the plan. For quite some time, I really didn’t know what to do with myself. While I was munching down croissants in an overtly touristic pattisserie in Vang Vieng, one that plays Friends reruns everyday on its 27-inch screen, I thought about Ed. I received an email from him recently and he told me that he has managed to find a job in a Malaysian restaurant in Hanoi. He was being paid USD10 a day, but that’s more than enough for him to survive, he wrote. Dorm beds only cost USD 3 and as he lived off cheap Pho Bo (the infamous Vietnamese beef noodles) and Maggi Instant Noodles, he could actually save up a little before moving on. It then suddenly dawned me that I was tired of warming up to strangers. What I really want to see is a familiar face, and have conversations without having to start with all the backpacker interrogation bullshit. Also, I thought about the chances of securing myself an English Teaching job over there might be a tad easier with the contacts that Mr. Callerame passed to me.

So, without another minute of hesitation, I bought myself a 24-hour bus ticket from Vang Vieng to Hanoi.

The journey was unpleasant and terrifying, made worse by a whining Australian who was also in the same bus as I was. Sure, I wasn’t enjoying myself either, but complaining about it doesn’t help either.

Anyway, after a day, I found myself in the Old Quarters of Hanoi, the 36 streets where tourists hang out. Secret cafes, hidden behind luggage sho facades were waiting to be discovered. Shops spilled souveneir wares and colourful kitsch. Every corner is punctuated with either a coffee shop or a noodle stall. The narrow streets held haphazard buildings together. You’d see a French window open, and underneath that hanging Bougainvillea branches is an old Vietnamese man in a white singlet, cooing animatedly into a birdcage. The architecture is a mixture of French and Vietnamese. The walls are always vibrantly painted with hues of pastel yellow, blue or pink. Nothing speaks of mundane. Fresh bagguettes are sold on the streets. Old ladies sit on very small wooden stools outside the shops, fanning themselves while motorcycles honk and beep as they glide by. Backpackers and friendly locals bond over cheap watered down beers at Bia Hoi Corner, the notorious hangout place for foreigners. Shaded boulevards, accessible public parks and the shimmering Hoan Kiem Lake-every nook and cranny of Hanoi screams a postcard cliche.

It used to be a French colony and maybe that’s why this city still speaks the language of love-or for me at least.

YING AND ED IN HANOI-IN FRONT OF A PROPOGANDA POSTER

For me, life took a very interesting turn in Hanoi. Hanoi changed me in ways that I couldn’t fathom.

30 days later, I’m not the same person again. I felt completely recharged when I left Hanoi. My heart burst wide open and my head filled to brim with ideas. I was no longer tied down by ideas of money and the lack of it. I was no longer tied down with conventions and traditions. I was inspired, and most of all, I was free.