Crap on a cold, clay roof and other irreverent reflections on Hanoi

Feline Feces

It was indeed a cat - a rather mangy, muddy cat with a partially eaten tail. It was strutting on a cold, wet, clay tiled roof over the Tran Quoc Pagoda. That in itself would have been photo worthy. It just screamed "scrawny Vietnamese cat in scenic location." However, I was slow to pull out my camera (in a constant drizzle something really needs to be photo-worthy for me to make the effort), but when the cat crouched in the ready position and decided to relieve him/herself on this photogenic perch, I was quick to begin snapping the photos. What better way to start the irreverent Hanoi blog than with a photo of a feline defecating on one of the oldest religious monuments in Vietnam.

This irreverent side has been brought out by the arrival of Chris and Kelly (aka Papa Smurf and Smurfette) in Vietnam. On my own in Hanoi (and free to ditch the role-modeling-mother job), they have brought out the worst in me. Ho Chi Minh would not be proud.

The Smurfs have landed!

Ironically, that is where it all began...at Uncle Ho's Mausoleum. After determining that the Smurfs had packed for beach weather and that the rain and cold were not going away, we began the tour of Hanoi by purchasing the blue ponchos with the endearing pointy hoods that would ensure that I would not lose them in a crowd in the city. Swathed in sleek blue plastic, we set out in search of the shrine to the father of modern-day Vietnam. To honor their fearless leader, the Vietnamese took it upon themselves to blatantly ignore HCM's request for a simple cremation. Instead they erected a massive marble mausoleum to house his preserved body in a climate-controlled case. A visit to Uncle Ho is to meant be a solemn occasion as outlined in the rule book: no shorts, no bags, no "sniggering," no hats, no photos, no hands in your pockets.

Hands in pockets AND sniggering...appalling

Within ten seconds of entering the inner sanctum, Papa Smurf had been sternly reprimanded for violating the hands in pockets rule (which naturally lead to suppressed sniggering). We pasted on the serious faces as we slowly filed past the creepily lit sarcophagus. HCM looked like a wax figure taking a well-deserved snooze. The whole visit took less than five minutes. Smurfette wondered aloud about the preservation process. I responded. We both drew the wrath of the "talking police." Once outside in the free-sniggering zone, we had a good laugh but promptly reined it in when we were directed to walk on the white line (two by two) to exit the premises (there will be no skipping down the sidewalk on these grounds).

Deeply intrigued by this experience (and just a little desperate to get out of the freezing drizzle), we decided to deepen our knowledge of Uncle Ho by visiting his museum next door. The museum was an eclectic mix of Vietnamese modern art, Vietnam war history and a tribute to the rise of communism. Most importantly, it was warm and dry, and we had fun taking pictures.

Waving with all due respect

Kelly takes a closer look at that gigantic banana!

Next it was on to the Temple of Literature, where I was pleased to have the opportunity to visit the back half of the complex which we had somehow missed back in November. Frozen to the bone and sopping wet, we took a long walk back to the Old Quarter in search of lunch. The most important restaurant qualities on such a day are walls and a door. This explains how we ended up at an Indian restaurant on the Smurfs' first day in Vietnam. It had doors and walls. It didn't actually have heat, but the single candle on the table provided some warmth for our frozen hands.

The latest in protection...the full body bell.

After a tasty Indian meal, we headed north to take in the local market scene at Dong Xuan Market. I couldn't find the frog butcher for Chris and Kelly, but they did get to see some good fresh meat, smell lots of fish, and take in the piles and piles of dried shrimp everywhere.

Absolutely flabbergasted by the number of things you can do in a city in one day when you're not negotiating the route with children, we continued on the tourist beat. We headed to Ngoc Son Temple on Hoan Kiem Lake so the Smurfs (one of whom had morphed into a leprechaun with the purchase of a spiffy new rain jacket) could adequately appreciate the legendary stuffed turtle on display there. Next we wasted an hour drinking coffee while we waited for the appointed hour for our Water Puppet show. And, at 5:00 p.m., we were dazzled by the magic of the ancient art of water puppetry (actually Kelly tried hard to stay awake, and Chris went back to "sniggering").

          

As the freezing drizzle continued to come down, we decided the best dinner option was take out. Our hotel has warm, cozy rooms with personal heaters. Nothing feels better at the end of a long, wet day than cranking up the heat to sauna temperatures and blowing the hotel hair dryer on your pruney, white toes. Thank goodness Papa Smurf booked the rooms!

Doubt this is what the Hanoi "Elegance" had
in mind when they installed heaters.

Day two in Hanoi started out with a bang (and a twang and a flame). I wanted to show the Smurfs this little house down an alley with an enormous temple inside. We found the right alley, entered the house and were greeted with a full on family religious celebration of some kind. They welcomed us into the worship room where there were about forty people kneeling on the floor. Music wailed. A woman in robes was dancing with flames, and offerings to the gods/goddesses kept arriving from somewhere. Piles of beer, chocolate whoopee pies, lemon cakes and money were all presented at the altar. At one point they brought in a life-sized purple horse piñata with accompanying piñata people. A woman sitting behind Kelly kept pulling her tight and trying to explain what was going on. To the uninformed it appeared to be a cross between an exorcism, a first communion and a sweet-sixteen party with really loud music, multiple outfit changes, incense, flames and various junk-food gifts to the deities. After about 45 minutes, with no end in sight, we asked our host if it was okay to leave. We snuck away, slid back into our wet shoes and descended the stairs with absolutely no idea what we had just witnessed, but feeling as though we'd had our "authentic" cultural experience for the day.

From there it was on to the Hoa Lo Prison where John McCain was incarcerated during the Vietnam War, and then we hopped into a taxi to take us north to West Lake where I had plotted out a route around the lake with some interesting pagodas to take in along the way. We hopped out at pagoda #1 to find that it was closed for lunch...an inauspicious start. The Smurfs took a long stare at the lake and proclaimed that I was nuts to think this lake was only eight miles around. It did look rather large. I suggested we start walking, hugging the lake shore, toward pagoda #2. A short twenty minutes into the walk, it became clear that we had just encircled a small peninsula by "hugging the lake," and although this was very scenic (particularly with the hundreds of dead fish floating near the edge), we opted to take the "high road" the next time there was a peninsula looming. We did venture out onto a peninsula in search of pagoda #2 which completely eluded us. Smurfette concluded that it had been knocked down, and at that point I was willing to believe her. We desperately needed lunch. In a repeat of the Indian Restaurant episode from the day before, we ended up in a French bakery because it had walls, doors and HEAT! We enjoyed a very leisurely lunch, and I ventured that perhaps I didn't need to walk all the way around the lake (given my pagoda track record at this point).

Kumquat Inspection

  

We returned to pagoda #1 in time to listen to another religious celebration of some kind and, more importantly, to find my god. I have been desperately seeking the god that speaks to me in Vietnam. I found him living in Tran Quoc Pagoda. He is the god who appreciates Coke. There he stood - just inside the temple, yet separated from me by dozens of singing worshippers - with a monument to his greatness, a tower of Coca Cola, at his feet. "This is my man," I thought to myself. "There is a message in this somewhere for me." I was prepared for some deep introspection, when I stepped back, glanced up and caught sight of the crap on the cold tile roof. My spiritual side was suddenly suppressed by the return of my irreverence. But, this evening as I sipped a Coke with my dinner in a rather chilly restaurant, I paused a moment to say thank you to this god who shares my vice. I'm guessing that a god who embraces Coca Cola and Whoopee Pies will also embrace an occasional streak of disrespectful fun.

My Main Man

I dare you not to snigger!