Hanoi
Where crossing the street requires commitment and dinner never really ends
I’ve been trying to write about Vietnam since we got back, mostly because I know how quickly these impressions fade if I don’t catch them early. The problem is that before this trip, Vietnam didn’t exist in my mind as something clearly defined. I associated it with coffee, pho, and fragments of history, but nothing that felt lived in or real.
The trip wasn’t planned. On Christmas Eve, Lea and I were at home watching videos of Christmas markets in Europe, feeling a kind of restlessness. Taiwan doesn’t really participate in that version of the holiday, and it felt like we were missing something. We started looking at flights to nearby cities, mostly out of curiosity. Somewhere in the middle of that, Lea paused and suggested Vietnam.
We had been meaning to visit her brother (who lives there) for a while, but the timing had never worked. That night, it suddenly did. We texted Lea’s brother to check on his schedule. When he confirmed that he’ll be around for New Year, we booked our flight immediately. Leaving in 4 days.
The moment we landed in Hanoi, something felt familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it at first. Then I realized the city reminded me of Shanghai twenty years ago, when my family first moved there. The air was foggy from pollution, the airport chaotic, and people were finding ways to cut the line, stepping forward whenever they saw an opening. It should have been frustrating, but it wasn’t. I found it oddly enjoyable in a funny way, maybe because it brought back memories from my teenage years in Shanghai. There was a feeling that things were about to take off in this city.
We were greeted by a local driver Lea’s brother had arranged for us. Without a shared language, we stood by the street while he went to bring the car around. On the drive into the city, everything felt packed. Mopeds filled every possible gap between cars, vendors lined the streets selling everything from food to spare car parts, and the sound of honking never stopped. At first it felt aggressive, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t meant that way. Honking here is like saying, “hey, I’m here, let me pass.”
When we arrived at Lea’s brother’s place, he asked if we wanted to rest for a bit before heading out. We responded almost in sync, “No!” We were already too curious, too awake.
Our first stop was the Old Quarter. Within minutes, Lea and I found ourselves completely stuck at the edge of a road, unable to cross. Traffic was rushing in all directions, and no one was slowing down for us. Her brother had already made it across and turned back to explain what we were doing wrong. Waiting, he told us, doesn’t work here. You have to commit to crossing, move at a steady pace and trust that everything will flow around you. The real danger is hesitation.
It felt counterintuitive, but once we stepped into the street and kept moving, the traffic magically adjusted just enough for us to get through. Like a boat passing through water.
The Old Quarter is difficult to describe because everything seems to be stacking on top of each other. Shops selling decorations sit next to coffee stands, then street food vendors, then bars pushing out into the street. There are tourists, locals, music, neon lights, and older buildings that carry traces of French influence in their facades and in the bakeries that still sell baguettes and croissants. Nothing feels separated or organized.
That first night, of course, turned into an endless sequence of food. We started with a couple of dishes so we could keep eating later, and even that would have been enough.
After that, we walked through the streets and kept moving without much of a plan. There was so much happening that it was hard to know where to look. Every few steps, something else pulled our attention away. A street performance, then a row of antique shops, then food again, then a Western café, then racks of fake clothing spreading onto the sidewalk. It never really paused.
At some point, Lea’s brother handed me a cup of egg coffee, something I had been curious about since we booked the trip. It was rich, sweet, and slightly strange, but it made sense once you knew it came from a time when milk was scarce. Not something I would drink every day, but something I was glad to try exactly once, there.
We passed through a narrow street packed with bars, people holding drinks, music carrying into the crowd. Lea’s brother and his friend ordered a flight of tequila shots that I immediately knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up with. They finished them with ease while Lea and I stayed with our drinks, watching everything around us. Another round of drinks later, we stood up and went looking for food again.
We eventually sat down on small plastic stools for bun cha, which I hadn’t heard of before this trip. It’s a dish of grilled pork served with a light broth, fresh herbs, and vermicelli noodles that you assemble bite by bite. The tables were low, the stools even lower, and everything felt somewhat improvised. It wasn’t exactly the cleanest setup, but you stop looking too closely. It’s clean as long as you don’t see it.
When the food arrived, the hesitation was gone. The flavors were bright and layered, simple but deeply satisfying. I had arrived in Hanoi thinking I would eat as much pho as possible, but at that point I had changed my mind. Bun cha was officially taking over.
As we took a Grab back to Lea’s brother’s place, I felt more than full, in a good way. Sitting in the car, it hit me that Hanoi felt like a completely different dimension.
The following day, we had a short list of things we wanted to do before leaving Hanoi. Proper pho, bun cha again, a Vietnamese hair wash, and a massage.
The pho came first. The place was so crowded we were squeezed into a shared table with strangers, the floor slightly sticky under our feet. I ordered the most basic bowl on the menu, but it was not basic at all. The broth was lighter and more fragrant than what I was used to. I saw everyone adding spoonfuls of raw garlic slices to the broth, so I did too, and they were right, it brought out the flavor even more. The pho tasted fresher and more effortless than any of the pho I’ve had.
The hair wash was less straightforward. It was a tiny shop five minutes away from the pho place. We were greeted by two ladies who were expecting us, Lea’s brother had already made a reservation. They guided us to our seats, and what happened next was completely out of my imagination. The seats looked like any regular salon chair, but they brought out large cushioned boards to bridge the chair and the front platform, then moved our legs onto them. After that, they reclined the chair until it became a bed.
They started by washing our feet, and then everything shifted into something I can only describe as a sequence of unfamiliar rituals. My eyes were covered, so I couldn’t see what was happening, only feel it. It ranged from wiping my face, to applying different creams, to quick finger flicks across my skin, followed by arm and leg massages, and eventually an extensive ear cleaning session with what felt like at least five different metal tools. I stopped trying to understand it and just let it happen.
Lea, on the other hand, sounded increasingly overwhelmed next to me. From what I could hear, she kept politely saying no. I think her masseuse gave up and just focused on giving her a long head massage. Somehow, despite everything, we both walked out feeling completely refreshed.
That evening, we went back to the Old Quarter again, this time moving more slowly. We wandered through shops, stopped at a rooftop café, and watched the city from above. From up there, the energy felt different. Still constant, but easier to take in. I finally had a moment to sit with everything from the past two days.
The city felt dense, layered, sometimes overwhelming, and not always comfortable, but it’s one of the most vibrant and alive places I’ve experienced.
By 9pm, we still weren’t ready to end the night, so we went for a full body massage. Two hours cost less than one back home, so we didn’t think twice.
We were heading to Sapa the next day, and I had a feeling the pace of everything was about to change.
🍜🥤