motorbike

Day Trippin’

November 8, 2017 by Beth 2 Comments

We like to explore Hanoi and the surrounding villages, especially now that we have 2 motorbikes. Yes, Doug bought a used bike and I rent one. A quick jaunt around town and the breeze can lower your temperature faster than you can say whenthehellwillmypersonalthermostatworkagainmaybeweshouldmovetoiceland.

It’s hot. Hote. Heh.

Recently we signed up for a guided ride as a fundraiser for a local organization that helps foster young girls, called Blossom House, part of Humanitarian Services For Children in Vietnam. It’s a good cause, and we would be escorted to places we might not find on our own. We took off with 20 others, and within 10 minutes, Doug and I were on our own, separated from the group. It’s funny; months before we moved to Vietnam I had a recurring dream. It stemmed from reading about the traffic here, that you enter the stream of motorbikes and swim along like a school of fish; these dreams always devolved to being trapped in the flow, getting parted from each other and not being able to stop or find each other for years (YEARS) because we were unable to exit the flow.

Can you say déjà vu?

We were headed down the highway in a giant glob of motorbikes and cars, aiming for the Nhật Tân Bridge, fondly called the New Bridge because it was finished 2 years ago and links Hanoi to the airport. We’ve never driven motorbikes onto this bridge before.

Turns out the onramp from the road we were on is a left turn, not a right turn. I got stuck in the right side of the mob and couldn’t maneuver over to the left. Swimming. There was a left-turn light for the onramp to the bridge (yay!) but alas, no way to get to it from the right side without cutting across 3 packed lanes of swift-moving traffic which never had to stop because that part of the road continues straight through. I finally did it (oh boy you should’ve heard the horns honking at me) and there was Doug waiting on the bridge for me. Swoon.

The Nhật Tân Bridge feels enormous.

This bridge is 2.5 miles long. After a thrilling, noisy ride across, we realized we had no idea where to turn, and no one was in sight from the group.

Luckily, we had a general idea of where we would rendezvous for lunch, so we spent the morning exploring the villages and their temples along the one-lane rural road. The road is similar to Seattle’s Burke Gilman bike trail except with cows, water buffalo, chickens and goats meandering along the way.

A few hours later, we found the Lại Đà Temple and waited for the group to appear. An enormous wedding surrounded it so the wait was fun. It’s impolite here to take people-photos without their permission, so you’ll have to believe us when we say it was loud, lively and beautifully colorful.

The Lại Đà Temple is in the center of the village.

Carved dragons adorn each corner. The corners are up-turned to deflect evil spirits.

The back door to one of the buildings in the Pagoda complex.

The group finally arrived and we all enjoyed this delicious vegetarian lunch at the temple, prepared by the buddhist nuns and monks. Tempura seaweed-wrapped mushrooms, tofu spring rolls (fried and fresh), young bamboo shoot soup, noodle salads, mung bean rice, and lots more. My favorite condiment was a thinly sliced root, fried and spiced, that looked like beef jerky, to sprinkle on everything.

Our lunch sampler.

Afterwards we all cleaned up and went our separate ways. Our goal of getting out and exploring was a success.

We passed this mural project, about a mile from our house, on the railway wall. This wall surrounds portions of the Old Quarter. The artist is holding a paper drawing as her painting guide.

Mural painting on the elevated train track wall.

Coffee shop sunset, with a fishing pole attached to the railing.

A simple dinner of fried rice, caramelized pork and garlic sautéed water spinach at neighboring Mậu Dịch.

back to bún chả and bum guns

October 31, 2017 by Beth 2 Comments

We have happily returned to the chaotic energy, noise and beauty of Hanoi. Adventures are piling up and we will be sharing more soon. Until then, here are a few shots of our recent 3-day excursion south to Ninh Bình. We took the Reunification Express, of course.

We rented motorbikes and found a place to stay tucked in between limestone cliffs and forest. This area was 5 days post-flood. Sandbag dikes were still in place, water was receding but fields were still flooded. The rice had already been harvested, but the sweet potatoes and other tubers were ruined.

We visited pagodas and interesting sights, got off the beaten track, practiced our Vietnamese and relaxed.

Good place to learn how to ride a semi-automatic.

The countryside was breath-taking.

Rorschachs everywhere.

Hundreds of monk statues in the Bai Dinh Pagoda, the largest temple complex in the country.

We found Black Power monk.

Strolled through Thung Nham Bird Park, home to 1000s of herons, egrets and storks.

Many caves in this land of limestone. But only 3 choices?

Binh Dong cave temples. Lust-worthy floor tile.

We had one of these 12 cabins. Hot outside shower, soft beds and electricity. And lizards. And echoing morning rooster crows.

The view from our cabin. Yes, two hammocks.

Watching the light change was magical.

Atop the stairs at the Bai Dinh Pagoda complex.

Oh. Why bún chả and bum guns? We missed them SO MUCH this summer. Come on out and you’ll see why.

A video clip of ducks on a road.

Don’t fall in

Not a bad mistake

February 26, 2017 by Beth 3 Comments

Doug and I have a meme. It originated from a recording we love, found on a 1940 Smithsonian Folkways compilation, of a young jump-roper named Ora Dell Graham, singing rhymes as she jumps. If one of us does something wrong? Maybe even a little stupid? Accidental mistake? I milked that sow. Pullin’ the skiff.

I made a mistake the other night and milked that sow.

My tutoring job was done for the night and I was headed home on the #1 bus, a new bus to me. I had an idea of the route but the Hanoi Bus website isn’t updated, so was missing actual validation. My Vietnamese isn’t good enough to converse about such details with the ticket collector. I can ask the questions, but I can’t completely understand the answers. (All part of the adventure, yes?) I wasn’t worried. I knew the general vicinity to disembark so that my walk home would be reasonable, keeping in mind that it was after 10pm and it was dark. Midnight curfew isn’t enforced anymore, but this part of Hanoi is certainly quiet at night. I watched the penultimate stop come and go, feeling confidant that the next one was it. The bus took an odd turn, but hey, the streets are a little convoluted and overlapping with ramps and overpasses at that spot. I convinced myself we were making a loop in the twisty section and would double back and I’d get off at the next stop. I’d seen other buses do just that.

The curve turned into an extended on-ramp to a long modern bridge that spans the Red River, east of Hanoi. This is when the song turned on in my head. I made a mistake.

At this point, still on the bus were one other rider, the ticket collector and the driver. I tried to text Doug but my data was apparently out (I knew I should’ve topped off my sim card earlier but I relish living on the edge). I called instead and got a sketchy connection, but did let him know I was taking the scenic route home and would be late…then got disconnected before I could provide any actual details.

I could’ve got off when the last rider disembarked but it was dark and I didn’t see anything on the other side of the street that looked promising. Then the ticket collector got off. Oh boy. By default, I had decided to ride to the end, subliminally curious to see where I would end up, quietly hoping the bus would turn around and retrace its route back into the city. After riding for what definitely felt longer than it was, studiously noticing the turns as I stared outside in case I had to walk back, we left the mixed residential and commercial areas, then made an abrupt turn into a big, dark parking lot next to a big, dark industrial looking building. The driver yelled something at me and swished open the door. I de-bussed and I swear, he zoomed away particularly fast, although it probably was just regular departure speed.

At least it wasn’t raining.

I stood there in the dark thinking about how I love the unpredictable-ness of life, felt bad that I had been a little cavalier when I had called Doug because he was probably worrying and didn’t have any way to actually find me, and then laughing because in one hour’s time I was in a really different place than I thought I’d be.

I heard the motorcycles before I could see them. Xe oms. Motorcycle taxis. Usually old dudes. I’ve used them before, and it was never dull. So…yay! I wouldn’t have to walk home. With xe om drivers, I knew it was important to get a good breath-whiff so that the ride can be declined if the driver is alcohol-infused. I started a conversation with one guy, while other curious drivers drove up and joined in the conversation. I said my address, he mumbled a price, I negotiated, he didn’t say yes, just ok, ok, ok which I’ve learned to mean let’s go and we’ll renegotiate later when we get to where you want to go. He’s already on his bike, ready to go. Nope. I’ve learned to be clear upfront about both the location and the money, resulting in a more direct exchange all around. I’m feeling rushed. I decide to slow it down. I try to talk (all in Vietnamese) to the little crowd that’s formed. They want to know how I ended up there. How old was I? Where from? Why? What do I do? The usual questions that I’ve learned the answers to. My phone doesn’t work but I do pull up an iBook map detail of Trúc Bạch (thanks, Carol, for showing me that iBook is useful). Oh…ok, ok, ok. Someone reviews with the driver exactly where that is, then helps me get him to agree on a fair price to get there. Ah…ok, ok, ok. It’s a long way back over the river on the big bridge, which at this time of night means no return customer for the driver.

Ok. Fare is communicated, agreed upon, reassured by eye contact and smiles, all is well. One more thing, my arm still doesn’t bend enough to put on my helmet and I need help. I tell them about my accident (mostly in pantomime and a few key words) and then ask the driver to buckle my helmet. This requires touching…even more than the usual joked-about full-body-hugging hoped for by some xe om drivers. Xe om, after all, means motorbike hug.

I’m buckled, loaded, my backpack is adjusted, the other drivers wave and say goodbye like we’re all old friends. Off we go. It’s exhilarating, actually. Except for the fact that I have no idea who this guy is and seriously, I’m totally 100% at his mercy. My arms are holding tight around his wide waist, his pockets wadded up in my fists for something to hold on to. No one else is around, the streets here are deserted and I am obviously unfamiliar with the area. But…nah. This is one reason why I love it here. I feel safe.

We’re driving on streets that the bus definitely did not take. He is chattering away in the wind and I’m sorry I can’t understand much of what his deep voice is saying. We take a little off-road short cut (what?!) and suddenly, we’re on a bridge. Not the modern 4-lane bridge I came over on. This is old. Vintage construct. It smells wooden. We slow way down.

I probably squeal with surprise and delight. He grins. The center of the bridge is train tracks with the side lanes used for motorbikes and shared with pedestrians. No cars. There are late-night workers who actually drop below the span when the trains speed by. And it’s alive with people and movement. It’s like a festival. Couples are sitting on burlap-sack blankets, dangling their legs over the sides, groups of friends are laughing, talking, and eating grilled corn and drinking hot tea from the food carts.

This, I find out later, is the Long Biên Bridge. It is believed that the bridge was designed by Gustave Eiffel, the man behind Eiffel Tower and Statue of Liberty during the French occupation, then built by the Vietnamese using local wood, lime and concrete in 1889-1902. It was bombed many times in 1967 and 1972 during the American War, and always put back together. It is a symbol of rebellion, strength and resilience.

The driver was obviously happy to have shared this bridge with me. We got to the end of the span and we came out in a place I recognized. I named it for him and he smiled, đúng. Correct. We reached the apartment in about 15 more minutes; Doug was sitting on the balcony, watching, and came down. Hands were shook, I got out my dong to pay and tried to say keep the change. But no way, he wouldn’t. An agreement is an agreement and tipping is not part of the culture here. The ride cost 3$.

Since that night, I’ve read a lot about the Long Biên Bridge. Today Doug and I went during the day to see it again. It is indeed falling apart. I hope preservation is in its future. There really is nothing like it.

There’s Doug, walking westward, way in the distance.

Here’s looking south at the other, modern bridge. The land (called Middle Island) and water underneath this bridge has become the home of Hanoi’s destitute. Makeshift homes and shelters are appearing as people get pushed out of the city as the economy burgeons. There is also a thriving nude beach area for health conscious locals, who bicycle down to swim, relax, meditate and practice yoga.

One of the pig (or boar) farms under the bridge. See the little one nestled between the 2 center sleepers?

I had hoped to get a shot when the train went by, but maybe it was better to miss that. Just walking on the bridge was a little unnerving due to the constant vibrations, shaking and big gaps and cracks in the concrete pavers.

Discovering the bridge at night, the way I did, was the perfect introduction. A little mistake that turned out not too bad after all.

(These videos are visible only if you view the post from the website, not from the emailed version.)

Doug on the Long Biên Bridge

Drone fly-over of Long Biên Bridge

Pullin’ the Skiff by Ora Dell Graham

xe ôm (translation: motorbike hug) OMG

February 24, 2016 by Beth 1 Comment

Hey, we got a motorbike.

We spent six weeks learning how to walk through the traffic and now we want to become part of it. You ask what Hanoi traffic is like?

Here’s a video of the steady flow in an intersection in the Old Quarter on a typical evening. Two perpendicular currents moving through each other without substantially stopping.

It took a while to absorb the rules, which are different from the law. One way means one way unless you need to go the other way. Stoplights mean stop unless there’s a break in traffic that your bike can get through. Drive on the right side of the road unless you’re only going a few blocks and you have to cross over anyway. Sound your horn to let them know where you are. Don’t look back. Concentrate what’s in front of you and don’t worry about what’s behind. The traffic regulations are suggestions to be used or discarded as the situation develops and as you, the driver, need to shape it so that you can keep moving. There’s no screaming, no anger, no tantrums, and no loss of face. Just a focused calm, constant beeping and an awareness of the flow: pedestrians, children on bicycles, city sanitation workers who actually sweep the street gutters daily with their special hand-made brooms and toss the garbage into their rolling push-bins, vendors in conical rice hats with two baskets hung from a bamboo shoulder-yoke carrying anything from hot food to scrap metal, quiet electric bikes, the occasional ego-fortifying Ducati or Harley wide-ride, cars, taxis, minivans, city buses, huge touring buses, and utility vehicles. And filling in the gaps is the eternal river of motor bikes. U-turns that stop traffic on a major artery are okay. If the road gets too crowded, traffic moves onto the sidewalk. And, yes, it’s okay to take a phone call while driving. The power of patience is remarkable.

It’s difficult for foreigners to get a valid license but the police don’t like to stop them anyway because their English is limited and they might lose face, so foreigners drive without a license. There’s a box on the rental form that says License and you write yes or no. You can answer either one but it doesn’t change the outcome. It does protect the leaser if necessary, proving that he didn’t break the law, you did.

We tried out three bikes before deciding what to rent; a Chinese Vespa knockoff, a new Honda scooter and a Yamaha automatic motorbike.

The fake Vespa model called Elizabeth, was definitely the cutest. This is Doug not liking it.

This is Doug continuing not to like it.

Here’s the winner. A 2009 Yamaha Nouvo. We rent it by the month so we can trade up. The automatic transmission is definitely appreciated.

Vietnamese kids grow up on motorbikes, the family station wagon of the country. It’s not uncommon to see mom on the back, dad driving, one kid standing between dad and the handlebars and the baby sandwiched between dad and mom, as they weave through the traffic. Kids ride bicycles during rush hour, completely comfortable. Not me; the first time out on a run to buy gas, I was acutely focused in the moment by the terror.

This is Beth liking it and hoping the white knuckle grip will soon relax.

Tucked into alleys and nooks are these bike piles. This one would be fun to clean up. Right?!

And for the foodies. Since landing in Vietnam we have tried outdoor street food, indoor street food, average restaurant food and above average restaurant fare. Most of it was good, some really good and a few were great. The kind of food that is centered around flavor, where every bite is fun. Nearby, down a small unmarked alley is a restaurant called 1946. It’s based on the conditions in Hanoi and the food available in 1946 when the world war was over and the war for Vietnamese independence was gathering steam. Fried salted field crabs, banana flower and marinated beef salad, grilled spiced pork, sautéed garlic and morning glory, sour pork soup, beer, and corn water. $17 US. Expensive for an evening meal but worth the occasional splurge.

Here’s a 2012 article from the NYTimes featuring the traffic in Hanoi.

here we are in...

Vietlandia