Here in Hanoi

So, the plane was bigger than I thought. Still a propeller but a 50-seater. Faultless take off and landing. We arrived in the evening, and the taxi driver accidentally/on purpose took us to the wrong hotel. He then of course refused to take us to the correct hotel. With the help of a Rough Guide map we found The Hotel Ritz. Along the way, schlepping our packs and fearing that the hotel may be all booked up - we inquired about rooms at some snazzy looking hotels. "No vacancy." Translation - no room at the inn for back packers. The packs work both for and against us.

The Ritz is a brand new hotel in the Old Quarter owned by a delightful couple named River and Spring. Obviously their parents must've been hippies. However, River explained that's simply how their names translate into English. (He didn't get the joke at all.) We're directly across the street (and through a winding alley) from the lake (Hoan Kiem) - the soul of Hanoi.

We have the penthouse room - a climb of six narrow flights of windy marble stairs. This completely eliminates the need for a work-out on the thigh-master. We also have a "view of the lake." If you peek our window over the tin roof of the dance club in front of us, through the heavily leaved trees, you can spy a bit of water. And aren't the faux poppies lovely?

I wish I could put sound recordings on the blog. You could share in the tsk tsk boom of the dance club (bumping right now at noon on a Friday) and the incessant beep beep beep of the car and motorcycle horns. This city is never silent.


Yesterday we toured the Museum of Vietnamese Women. It offers an interesting perspective on the war with America and communism. Say what you will about the VC and Uncle Ho and communism in general - the system is far more feminist and equal than what we know and have known in the States.

We're hunkering for some veg Vietnamese food but have yet to find any. The only veg fare we've been able to hunt down (and it requires a fair amount of hunting) is Western food with a Vietnamese twist. Last night we ate at a little place called Pinky Moon. Francis had the aglio olio, in a similar fashion to what he'd make it home. I bravely ordered gnocchi with gorgonzola. My meal translated into balls of instant mashed potatoes slathered in mozzarella. No complaints. It was in fact similar in fashion to something I'd cook for myself at home. As a special treat I've attached a photo of one of the pages of the menu. Considering the Pinky Moon serves up dog breast cooked in cognac, we were lucky with our meals.

As per the request of a certain TF I will try to include more photos of Frantastic, Frantastic and I together, and a better explanation of the photos.