DAY 2: Gods, Turtles, and a Suitcase Epiphany

So, where to begin? My body, clearly on a different time zone and possibly a different planet, decided 6 a.m. was the perfect time to start the day. After a lovely coffee from a street vendor just opening up shop, I went back to the hotel, showered, and went off in search of adventure.

Adventure, it turns out, first came in the form of breakfast: another noodle soup, which I proceeded to load with garlic and chili by the spoonful. A decision of which I’m sure I’ll be reminded later. I must remember to put a toilet roll in the fridge before bed tonight — a man has to have a plan.

I then stumbled into what can only be described as one of the most spiritually enlightening places I’ve ever seen in my very sheltered life. It was a magnificent temple built on a lake, swimming in legend. The temple’s guardians? Two giant turtles. Both real, both very much not alive. One died in 1919 and is now stuffed in a glass case. The other, who passed about a decade ago, is its companion in taxidermy. These are enormous bloody things, and seeing them in their glass boxes gave the sacred space a wonderfully weird, museum-exhibit-meets-mausoleum vibe.

I was contemplating the construction — great thick wooden doors, huge, intricate decorations — when I was struck by a moment of profound clarity. It had nothing to do with ancient wisdom, and everything to do with my shoulder. I decided, with the force of a religious conversion, that I am not schlepping that damn duffel bag one more step. I crossed the road, found a luggage shop, and bought a 32-inch suitcase that the duffel bag can live inside. From now on, the Grab taxi drivers can wrestle with it.

Suitcase crisis averted, I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the backstreets, which most tourists seem to miss. I watched a man hammer a sink out of a single sheet of tin, taught a young child the ancient art of hopscotch, and generally had a wonderful time just seeing how people live.

Later, a Jeep from Backstreet Tours picked me up. They whisked me through even more local neighbourhoods, to the famous Train Street (got loads of pictures), and over the oldest bridge in Hanoi. This was the goal for today: to see the down-to-earth side of the city. Tomorrow’s tour is for the big hitters — the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and all that — but today was for the people.

We passed a lake that was originally a crater from a B-52 strike, which led us neatly to the war museum. Right outside sits the wreckage of a bomber, a skeletal reminder of the sheer destructive power of those machines. The Vietnamese, who have been a unified country since 1975, seem to view the war as a part of their history, a piece of their past that they don’t colour with sadness. I found that very unusual, and the whole experience was eye-opening, if sombre.

This is all just a personal story of my interaction with a country I’ve always wanted to visit. It’s not meant to be a polished travel guide. But I will say this: I’m 73, travelling alone, and I have never felt safer than I do here. It’s safer than England, it’s easy to get around, and it’s so cheap it’s almost comical. I struggled to spend £2 on dinner and a Coke tonight. You pay more for the Coke alone in the UK. Anyway, enjoy the photos — there are a lot of them today.