It was Jeff’s third or fourth time to the capital of Viet Nam, my second, and we both felt a liberating relief when we stepped out of the stifling airport van and onto the bustling avenues of Hanoi’s Old Quarter. It is more or less the tourist section of the city, but retains an indigenous atmosphere from the shops and various industries sharing space with the hotels and cafes. There is a theme to each stretch of narrow street, each section claiming their own corner of the market. We were dropped off in the hardware area, where we could, if we were so inclined, purchase all manner of tools for all manner of projects. Our current project, however, required tools of a far colder, more alcoholic nature than were offered nearby, so we headed down the bustling street in search of refreshment.
Later that night we found ourselves seated comfortably on plastic chairs out front of a small bar, drinking cold glasses of Bia Hoi, the local term for draft beer, which we thoroughly enjoined, it being a little more flavorful and a lot less expensive than its equivalent in Korea.
We were pleasantly stoned on some seedy, shaky dope purchased with ease while relaxing earlier alongside Hoan Kiem Lake, then smoked in marvelously large joints later on in our hotel room. The night was warm and the motorbikes moved up and down the streets like large, noisy fireflies. The excitement of arriving in a socialist country had worn off, and left us content to sit and watch the evening progress towards the close of our journey’s first day.
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