Hanoi is the second city of Vietnam - with a fraction of Saigon's population but far more panache.
It is so French.
Vietnam charges 100 percent car import tax, so surprisingly no one buys a car. Except for people in Hanoi. And some of them even buy Rollers and Maseratis. I told you they had panache.
We walked around the lake in town and mooched through the Quarters. French rubs shoulders with Old. Commercial lays alongside the river. It all fits together perfectly in an easy going and easy to navigate mess of back streets.
The French are responsible for this, like they are for many things, good and bad, in this region. They arrived and imposed a cruel and arbitrary system of government and exploited the people and the land's resources ruthlessly. But they also brought Gallic architecture, coffee and and a laissez-faire atitude to life that perhaps contributes to the Vitenamese charm. At first I thought they were austere. Now I realise you have to try just a little harder than with the Khmer but the rewards are equally tangible. The laugh, the smile and the whispered comment to a friend as you mangle their language.
The French Quarter is grid of boulevards lined with villas, large and small. The larger ones are Ministries. The smaller ones are diplomatic residences and embassies. Period Citroen line the streets. There are clubs for gentlemen in the colonial style with suited bell hops and potted palms at each shuttered window. The French tourists speak the Lingua Franca to the locals and thankfully it is not English. Baguette and croissant are sold in the streets. It is little Paris.
The Old Quarter is madness. The roads aren't straight. The pavements are non existant, not because of any poor planning laws, but because they are lost beneath the wares placed on them by the shops on every street. You must walk in the gutter if you want to make any progress. Dirty moped repair shops co-exist with Gucci and Rolex flagship stores. Five star hotels stand shoulder to shoulder with crashpads for whom the only stars are the ones visible through the hole in the roof. It also has a French feel but in a much more Vietnamese way. The buildings are narrow and tall, making the most of the limited plot sizes. But the floors are tiled with beautiful patterns, and the balconies are styled with Fin de Siecle motif.
Hanoi is bound together in an Indo-Franco embrace.
It is a Communist country but the beer is as egalitarian as it comes. Bia Hoi (draft beer) is reputed to be the cheapest in the world. Served at premises on the corners of most streets, it works out at 30 pence a glass. The glass is likely to be pitted and full of imperfections like a medevil artefact but it doesn't leak.
The bar is likely to be a cheaply tiled, strip lit unit, more like a vacant shop than a local pub, but it will be crowded and you will struggle for a seat; a seat mind you, apparently bought in a job lot with the ubiquituosly tiny blue plastic tables, from the local bankrupt kindergarten. The beer will be expertly ferried in glasses by the dozen, through the busy four way traffic on large trays. It is a feat to behold and not a drop is spilled.
And Hanoi starts its children on the booze, young. The four year old at the next table displayed the antics of a whole evening of drink, in 30 minutes. She emptied a full Bia Hoi to her parents amusement, belched, peed in the street, bellowed was she was denied more hooch, was sick and later fell asleep on the low table, before being carried home.
Just like the French.
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