By Kitty Morse
It was raining in Hanoi — a warm and steady drizzle one associates with subtropical climes. We trudged behind our energetic guide, as he led us through the city's narrow streets and "villages," as the locals refer to neighborhoods. My cheap, three-quarter-length plastic raincoat barely covered my knees, and my shoes were starting to feel like submerged rowboats.
"At the bottom of the lake lies an American B-52 bomber," announced the guide as we faced Truch Bach Lake. He seemed a little fuzzy on details. The American War, as Vietnam refers to it, was for him ancient history. But U.S. veterans will remember the lake as the one where John McCain was shot down before becoming a prisoner of war. On this, our first morning in Vietnam, the dark, placid waters were veiled in a wet mist. A lone woman in a conical hat stood fishing, still as a statue.
"The people here, they fish even if it is raining," continued our guide with a chuckle as the drizzle turned into a downpour. "You cold? You want a cafe?" he asked, leading the way across a busy boulevard straight into The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. "Cafes," including a number of U.S. franchises, occupy almost every block in this coffee-infused society.
Hanoi is sometimes called "the City of Lakes." Earlier that morning I had awakened by another small body of water, Hanoi's scenic Hoan Kiem Lake. Weary after a 17-hour flight from Los Angeles, I took an early morning walk along the lakefront. The pathways were already crowded with fitness buffs and joggers. The "Lake of the Restored Sword" takes its name from an ancient legend in which the emperor returned a magic sword to the Golden Turtle god residing in the cloudy waters.
The blaring of ABBA's "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme" dispelled my thoughts of the Golden Turtle god and brought me face to face with a group of women line-dancing in perfect synchrony. As I swayed to the beat, the lead dancer motioned for me to join her in the front row. I was quickly faced with a dozen cell phones to record the occasion. This was the communist country that had many of my friends asking "Why are you going to Vietnam?"
My curiosity stemmed, as it always does, from food. I owe my particular interest in Vietnamese cuisine to teaching English as a second language to the dozens of refugees who attended our local adult school in the late '70s. Food was one way to bridge the linguistic divide. Through them, I became acquainted with Vietnamese nems (fried egg rolls), nuoc mam (fish sauce), star anise and much more. Ever since, I had dreamed of sampling these dishes on their home turf.
Reinvigorated with our Coffee Bean break, my traveling companion, Amy, and I continued along narrow streets jammed with scooters and multistoried buildings no wider than a train carriage to the oldest market in Hanoi. Throngs of diners sat at low tables on child-sized plastic chairs, slurping bowls of pho, savoring gelatinous desserts and drinking basil-seed-infused lemonades.
The aromas proved irresistible. To escape the rain, we stepped into a stall specializing in hot pot, the Vietnamese version of a French pot-au-feu. Seated on small plastic chairs, we inhaled the heady aroma of the delicate pineapple- and lemongrass-scented broth and savored butter-tender morsels of pork hidden among the vegetables in the broth bubbling in front of us on a small burner.
The next morning found us attending a private cooking class in Song Phuong vegetable village on the outskirts of Hanoi. Mandy, our instructor, first led us through her neighborhood open-air market, reminiscent of a Moroccan souk. Caged ducks, quail eggs, and pyramids of jackfruit vied for our attention.
Into Mandy's basket went bunches of cilantro, basil and mint to flavor the dishes we were going to prepare in her home kitchen. We spent a good three hours between table and stovetop, preparing ground crab soup using everything from shell to roe, egg rolls wrapped in la lot leaves, wild betel leaves known botanically as Piper sarmentosum, shredded mango salad and an ambrosial ginger-and-lemongrass tea.
On Saturdays the whole city, it seems, strolls around Hoan Kiem Lake. Adjoining streets are blocked to traffic, giving way to food vendors, trinket-sellers, fortunetellers, street musicians and acrobats. A quartet of young college students accosted us to practice their English as part of their assignment. A number of selfies later, we left them in high spirits and headed for the historic Hotel Metropole, a relic from the French occupation.
I ordered a gin and tonic to temper my sensory overload, but it couldn't compare with Mandy's ginger-and-lemongrass lemonade. We picked through a handful of roasted peanuts and olives and soon headed out the ornate hotel entrance in search of more authentic food.
WHEN YOU GO
Our custom-designed itinerary was organized by Asiatica, a Hanoi-based travel company: www.asiatica.com.
To sign up for Mandy's cooking class: www.cookinginhanoi.wordpress.com
Kitty Morse is a freelance travel writer and cookbook author. To read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.
A woman fishes on the banks of Truch Bach Lake, where John McCain's plane was shot down in Hanoi, Vietnam. Photo courtesy of Kitty Morse.
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