Story & photos by Joshua Berida
It wasn’t my first time to visit Vietnam, thus, I wasn’t keen on just visiting places. I was just there to walk around and get lost in its tapestry of narrow alleys, marketplaces and cafés, and its decaying buildings, the remnant of its varied past, the Vietnamese, French or the American one, whichever side, or narrative one chooses to follow.
Hanoi on my mind
Hanoi is a charming city; a mix of old and new, French and Vietnamese. The organized chaos playing out on the streets and alleys are part of the show. I tried my best to avoid the motorcycles coming from all angles since you can’t just stand on the sidewalk and wait for them to stop. You just go, just like life with its rewards and disappointments, as some would believe.
I wasn’t particularly sure where I was going, I just went. I saw rows of old houses and buildings ranging from decrepit to nostalgic. On my aimless journey, I saw a dog roasting on an open fire, a local sitting on a chair with their feet up, children running around and a slew of nameless faces, doing everyday things; gossiping, small talk and making calls on their phones. The murals I saw along the way also depicted daily routines.
View from the Cheap Seats
It was easy to blend in. I have a common Asian face that got people often spoke to me in their own native tongue whenever they saw me. They didn’t look twice whenever they ask me to take a selfie with them. They only found out I was from another country once I spoke to them in English. This unintentional trick helped me more than once to fend off aggressive store owners out to make a quick sale.
The humidity is just like back home, so I needed to sit down and grab a cold drink. At a nearby café, I took my seat and ordered egg coffee. Out of all the countries I’ve been to in Asia, Vietnam is the only country I found where the seats stationed outside cafés, and restaurants mostly faced the road and not each other.
As I sat and took my time drinking coffee, motorcycles, pedestrians and cars zipped by, all adding to the chaos. “So much for traffic rules,” I thought. I found the madness oddly relaxing, therapeutic even, while my memories flashed in front of me. I couldn’t pinpoint details, but I saw them vaguely: the first time I left the Philippines as a boy and went to Hong Kong with my parents and siblings, or the first time I traveled alone. These passed by like a motion blur in photography.
I glanced at the locals and eventually realized they were doing the same thing. I wasn’t the only one staring at the street and watching the action take place. I wondered what they were thinking, though. Were we all trying to relive a life in sepia tones? I took one last sip of my egg coffee and left my thoughts hanging, unanswered. By the time I got to my place for the night, it was already dark outside.
The day’s adventure was quite similar to the night ones while I walked around Hanoi. Locals came and went about carrying their goods from household to food items, calling out to whoever was interested in their business. Motorcycles zipped by and zigzagged their way around cars and pedestrians.
I joined a guided walking tour organized by the hostel, and went to some of the same spots I walked around during the day earlier. The guide took us through narrow alleys and neighborhoods, telling us this and that. The perspective was different with a guide leading the way, maybe life, the questions and the answers would’ve been bitter or sweet, or somewhere in between. Roll with the punches as some would say, whether as a joke or sound advice.
On our way back, I wasn’t sure if I was following the same road, but I just kept going and going, until I arrived at the doorstep of the hostel where my short-lived adventure took its leave.
Image credits: Joshua Berida