DAY 3: Tale of Three Hanoi's

Well, today was a funny one. It felt less like a single day and more like a play in three wildly different acts.

Act I began at an ungodly 7 a.m. with a beautiful breakfast before we were whisked away in an air-conditioned limousine bus. My journey was immediately improved by sitting next to a lovely young lady from Denver, true beauty and super easy to talk to. Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl, whoops stop that’s a song by manolis. Her name was Jo. She was flying solo because her friend had come down with a case of the S H one T,s ergo the unmentionables. Naturally, I took it upon myself to comfort her as you do, but it was she that showed me the ropes.

Our first stop was the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. The queue was about 250 yards long and five people deep, so we just shuffled. And shuffled. Inside, the man himself looked less like a revered leader, bless the great man, and more like he’d just been made up for the chorus line in *Les Misérables*. We then shuffled past his various humble living quarters—a simple wooden bed here, a breakfast table there—which he used because he’d refused to live in the grand government palace provided. A man of the people, apparently, and a man who inspired a great deal of shuffling today.

Next, the cultural museum, which was genuinely unbelievable. Vietnam has 54 distinct cultures, and the museum walks you through their unique housing, clothes, and entire ways of life. Astounding. This was followed by lunch, which was yet another bowl of soup, this time with lentils and tofu. Who actually eats tofu? I’m convinced you need a certificate proving you talk to trees before you’re allowed to touch it. I ate none of it. It was horrible.

After that ordeal, we arrived at Act II: a university full of old pagodas where doctors received their citations. While quite interesting, it was also, if I’m being honest, bloody boring. Back on the bus for Act III: the prison. The local nick. My word. I cannot fathom how one human being could subject another to the atrocities these people endured. Sixty or seventy men crammed into a single room with just an oil drum for a toilet—and if you were naughty, they’d leave the lid off. You can just imagine.

Anyway, after that little journey through the absolute worst of humanity, I decided I needed to go back to the hotel for a massage. My back was killing me. It was a very good one, and the parlour was conveniently only 20 yards from the hotel. So, rather than heading straight back, I decided it was time for some street food. My dinner tonight consisted of fried rice with five barbecue pork kebabs and a Diet Coke, all for the grand sum of 100,000 dong. That’s about £2.94, to be precise. I’ve copied the menu for you to have a butcher’s at the prices—it’s just mad cheap. An English pound is around 35,000 VC dong.

Now, I’m back in my room, dutifully typing this up. The plan is to shower, hit Netflix, and get into bed. I’m also hoping tonight’s blog post has all its pictures fixed. Kyle has been working feverishly on it, bless him, because the pixel rating on my photos was apparently too high, causing them to be cropped into oblivion. He’s downgraded or downscaled them, or whatever magic he’s done, so I’m hoping tonight’s snaps come through for you.

I’m signing off now for an early night. I’ve got a big day tomorrow heading to Ninh Binh, and I have no idea what to expect. Today was fascinating and also quite sad, but that’s history, isn’t it? You’ve just got to accept it for what it was. For me, the real holiday begins tomorrow. I’ll catch you guys later.