North Vietnam Through Local Eyes
After visiting Singapore, a pleasant and unplanned stop on our Southeast Asia trip, Ray, Coco, and I arrived in Vietnam, a country I’d been wanting to explore for years. There’s no way to describe the many faceted parts of Vietnam in just one travelogue post, so I will publish one for each of the three very different areas of the country we visited: the northeast, the central, and the south.
We started in the north, in Hanoi, the capital city whose name means “Between Two Rivers,” as it is situated between the Red and the Black Rivers. This is where I will begin this post to keep David’s travelogue alive.
As we navigated the crazy, chaotic Hanoi night traffic to our destination, the Oriental Jade Hotel, past men and women dining shoulder to shoulder along sidewalks on short plastic tables that seemed designed for children, we marveled at the happy street-life atmosphere. We saw that much of Vietnamese daily life happens on sidewalks — cooking, eating, doing nails, sewing, even repairing engines. But we decided not to join the packed walkways and storefronts and were content to be able to grab a beer and some Vietnamese pancakes (you break off pieces, wrap them in lettuce or rice paper with mint, basil and other herbs, then dip in nuróc chám, a sweet-and-sour fish sauce with lime, garlic, and chili) on the quiet roof top bar and pool of our hotel and gaze down into the teeming neon-lit streets below.
We started the next day with a fascinating visit to one of the most renowned temples in Hanoi, the Temple of Literature, an 11th-century structure dedicated to Confucius and education and home of Vietnam’s first national university. We were fortunate to witness several different ceremonies, musical performances, and parades during the Tết or Lunar New Year celebrations. An interesting feature of this temple is the line of black-clothed tables, where skilled calligraphers write well-wishes for students in the universities, who then decorate their walls with bright red scrolls.
The afternoon was a much more somber experience as we visited the Hao Lo Prison Museum, or as it was sarcastically called in the 1960s and ‘70s by the American POWs there: the Hanoi Hilton. It was originally used by French colonists for political prisoners. We saw life-size dioramas of prisoners shackled to cold cement slabs in stark cells, guillotines, and other instruments of torture. There was so information and so many photographs displayed in this sobering museum, it felt overwhelming.
Right in the middle of the noise and busyness are three serene lakes — Hoàn Kiếm, West Lake, and Trúc Bạch — that serve as serene settings where locals gather throughout the day to practice tai chi, jog, picnic, paint, or simply sit and enjoy a cup of tea. Our hotel was near one of the lakes, Hoàn Kiếm, and we were lucky to have many amazing spots to visit around the tree-lined lake. One of them was Ngoc Son Temple, located on a small island in the middle of the water, accessible only by a small pedestrian bridge. The temple was built in 1885 to honor a 13th-century military leader, one of Vietnam’s greatest commanders.
That night we watched a Lotus Water Puppet performance at the Viet Culture Space a few blocks from our hotel on the lake. What a unique art form and a national treasure! Men and women (sometimes behind a curtain and sometimes in the chest-high water that is the stage) manipulated beautiful life-sized puppets depicting daily village life such as fishing, farming, boating, swimming, and playing. The music, dancing, ancient storytelling … all of it was captivating.
Before leaving Hanoi the next morning, we paid a very somber and eerie visit to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. After standing silently in long, straight lines and passing intimidating signs dictating strict behavior, we walked up the steps of a grim-looking mausoleum that housed Ho Chi Minh’s preserved body. Widely revered as Vietnam’s greatest leader, he led his people on the road to independence from the French, Americans, and other invaders wanting to colonize the country. Inside, we were gruffly chided to keep moving when we tried to stop and examine the body more closely. No photos were allowed.
Seeing the Vietnam Nationalist flags flying next to the Communist ones didn’t lessen the bleak atmosphere of this national monument. But when we arrived at the tiny houses perched on stilts amid a lush tree canopy and peaceful carp-filled lily ponds, we felt completely transformed. This is where President Ho Chi Minh lived and worked from 1958 until his death in 1969. The beautiful structures are situated in the garden of the opulent French colonial-styled Presidential Palace — a lovely, tranquil ambiance that couldn’t be any more different than that of the Mausoleum.
By late morning we were in a comfortable minivan driving four hours to our next destination in the northwest: Mai Chau. En route we passed both terraced and flat rice fields, water buffalo, men and women toiling in the rice paddies in rubber boots and conical straw hats that are ubiquitous in the agricultural world of Vietnam. We stopped at roadside stands along the way to sample some of the local fare like fresh roasted corn on the cob being cooked in small fires, to watch the fervent plucking of chickens, and to take in the awesome views of the verdant hills and valleys.
After a delicious lunch at a local restaurant, we strolled through the Mai Chau village to see and meet some of the White Thai people, an ethnic minority who migrated from China, Laos, and Thailand. They settled here and are now living there and catering to tourists who want an eco-vacation in stilt houses made of bamboo and wood, which keep the guests far away from floods, snakes, crawly creatures, and even tigers (so we were told). The White Thai are very gentle and welcoming, priding themselves on the high quality of rice, rice wine, and other rice products, as well as beautiful handwoven fabrics and paper lanterns. They have become quite the entrepreneurs, having opened their homes to visitors seeking to experience agritourism in a simple, unhurried setting.
We overnighted at Mai Chau Hideaway, an ecological resort situated on a peninsula on Hoa Binh Lake, featuring rustic-style architecture inspired by the ancient wooden houses of the area. Our rooms and the main lodge where we dined had thatched roofs and wooden porches and balconies — and even a huge bamboo nest — offering wide lake and surrounding mountain views.
As we left Mai Chou the next day, we saw perhaps the most fascinating sights so far in this area: enormous rice paddies full of huge water buffalo — living tractors — plowing or harrowing the flooded muddy fields into smooth plantable acres of land where rice seedlings can be successfully inserted. Sometimes these great beasts are yoked and pull wooden carts or sleds to transport tools or fertilizer. The water buffalo are vital to this method of farming because their large, wide hooves and heavy bodies are perfect for moving through deep mud without sinking, and they’re more affordable and reliable than machines in remote areas.
Along our route, the roadside stalls and vendors were colorful, fragrant, and plentiful, and we made several stops on our way to Ninh Binh, a UNESCO-protected site featuring placid rivers, cloud-shrouded mountains, and bamboo forests. We stopped to sample sugar cane, corn, dried buffalo, and other delicacies before stopping for a delicious lunch in Hoa Lu at a lovely outdoor restaurant. There, we enjoyed rice paper rolls with goat, mint, pineapple, and green bananas, all dipped in a sweet sauce. Afterwards, we had time for a short nap in the swinging hammocks beside carp-filled pools.
In the afternoon, fueled by the fresh and filling Vietnamese lunch, we visited Hang Mua, and the Dancing Cave. According to local legends, King Trần (of the Trần Dynasty, 13th to 14th century) used to visit this area while staying nearby at Hoa Lư, the ancient capital of Vietnam, where we would rest and enjoy the scenery, and his royal concubines would perform dances in a cave at the foot of the mountain.
There we climbed the nearly 500 steep steps cut into the lava mountain, holding onto the stair rails carved into the Tran Dynasty’s Dragon and Phoenix, two sacred symbols of the Vietnamese. The last fifty feet required gripping the rock and carefully crawling on our hands and knees to arrive at the top. We were rewarded with incredible views of the green valleys, rice fields, boats floating on the river, and white limestone cliffs. Plank boardwalks spanned vast lotus ponds below.
After the long day we arrived at Emeralda Resort, a luxury/eco resort spread out with winding paths in tropical gardens, boardwalks across streams, and bridges over lotus ponds. Bungalows and clusters of hamlets were true to the traditional Tonkin villages, with rustic architectural touches like tiled and thatched roofs and wooden-beamed ceilings. After enjoying twilight cocktails out by the pool, we had an interesting dinner with new items on the menu: paddy carp soup (made with carp that swim in the rice paddies), eel rolls cooked with bamboo (a specialty of the Ninh Binh region), but I opted for a spicy stew cooked in a clay pot with another regional treat: curried goat. Delicious!
The next day, spent in Tho Ha Village, a peaceful village in a rural setting that epitomizes the local rural lifestyle, was probably my favorite day in Vietnam thus far, mainly because it was an experiential day. My photos of riding in sampans, fishing in rice paddies, and making Vietnamese spring rolls don’t do justice to what we actually did that day, but the memories and emotions they conjure up now — nine months later — still make me feel so happy and grateful to have had these experiences.
That morning, we were rowed in a sampan down a narrow tributary of the Cau River, watching marsh birds and turtles. When we reached Galaxy Cave, we had to disembark and walk into the darkened interior with flashlights, gazing at limestone stalactites and stalagmites eerily illuminated by colored lights, making the whole scene seem otherworldly. It is considered a “living” cave because it is constantly growing as the mineral salts continue to crystallize and form the shimmering stalactites.
When we exited the caves, we were rowed to waiting bikes and given plastic ponchos for the light drizzle. We rode along rice paddies and through the quaint village streets, waving at schoolchildren and watching farmers toiling in the fields.
Cooking part of our lunch was something I wasn’t terribly interested in. I just wanted to eat — I was so hungry by that time. But a kind village cook taught us to stretch and roll out rice paper, spoon on carrots, minced pork, green onions, and herbs, and then roll them up carefully. In a metal pot of hot oil, we fried fat sweet potatoes and were finally able to sit outside and enjoy them as well as other fresh Vietnamese delicacies.
But the highlight of the whole day — at least for me — was afterwards when we donned high rubber boots and nón lá (the conical farmer’s hats), strapped the bamboo fish baskets around our waists, and waded knee-deep into the watery rice paddies to plant shoots of rice where the buffalo had smoothed the mud beneath our feet. Through lots of gestures, laughter, and indecipherable Vietnamese, we mimicked our guides and did our best to plant the rice shoots. After that, we were taught to locate the slippery snake fish slithering around our boots, thrust the bamboo traps into the muck, cage them, and then scoop them into the basket traps. We caught six! Thankfully, we didn’t have to cook them for a snack when we finished. However, the amiable Vietnamese women who were teaching us seemed very pleased with our catch, probably envisioning them as a tasty part of their dinner that night.
The last part of our visit to North Vietnam was something Ray, Coco, and I had been looking forward to: Ha Long Bay. After driving 170 km, we arrived at Tuan Chau Marina Port and boarded our wooden vessel of the Nostalgia Cruise line, containing only 11 suites. Our staterooms featured polished brass and gleaming wooden furniture, with a wall of glass opening onto a balcony with comfortable seating. The room itself was lovely and furnished with elegant beds and linens, Asian art, a small but luxurious bathroom (and even a bathtub). Settling in was easy, since we were spending only one night.
We enjoyed a tasty and artfully presented lunch of spring rolls, lightly battered and fried shrimp, and pork, bok choy, and rice. While we ate, we sailed from the harbor and watched the scenery unfold: the calm, glassy expanse of jade-green water mirrored the surrounding limestone karsts and islets rising dramatically above the calm bay. Each formation was unique: some towering and sharp, others rounded and lush with jungle vegetation clinging to the rock.
However, we were eager for a closer look at this scenery, so we boarded an open wooden sampan with a chatty gondolier. He stood in the stern and propelled us with long bamboo poles, while serenading us with some sort of national song/chant of “Ho Chi Minh,” navigating caves and narrow inlets between tiny islands, and pointing out spoonbills, goats on craggy hilltops, and even rare monkeys called langurs, swinging in the tops of tall trees. It was an interesting and educational look at the geography and natural life, but also cold as the late afternoon temperatures dropped and the breeze picked up.
Back aboard Nostalgia, we enjoyed cocktails on my balcony and then went to the dining room to participate in a cooking demonstration of spring rolls. Traditional Vietnamese hats and costumes had been placed in every closet, and guests were encouraged to wear them to dinner, and a few were game to do so. Each course at dinner was a beautiful work of art and delicious: cream of pumpkin soup, smoked duck salad, steamed shrimp and grilled oysters, and for the main: grilled sea bass with squash potato and vegetables. With a mango cake for dessert. It was all wonderful! But sleep called, so we skipped the tea ceremony that followed dinner and instead went to our cabins to retire — and to get ready for the next part of our exploration of Vietnam: the Central region.
As I’ve begun to write about this country, I’ve thought a lot about the way we choose to travel — no giant ships or tour buses. No herded masses with a guide holding a colored flag and talking to us through earpieces. No classroom lecture or guidebook can compare to learning about a country by living it firsthand. Vietnam has revealed its heart through participation — rolling rice paper beside a village cook, wandering through vibrant markets with a local guide, or tramping through rice paddies with a bamboo fishtrap slung around the waist. Each experience becomes an opening into the patterns of daily life, where hospitality and tradition intertwine. In these moments, Vietnam’s culture isn’t just something to study — it’s something you see, feel, taste, and carry with you long after you leave. The first taste of this very small part of Vietnam was just an appetizer, whetting our appetites for more of the country.
