Overnight Train from Hanoi to Hue

The author of this post, feeling freaked out at Hanoi station

I rode the overnight train from Hanoi to Hue on New Year’s Eve. The train departed at 7:00 pm and reached Hue roughly twelve hours later. I reserved a 1^st class sleeper berth, which is shared with 4 people.

I wrote the below entry from the train after boarding at Hanoi Station, where I was feeling claustrophobic from being in crowds of people:

I find sharing public spaces very difficult. When did I get like this? Can I change myself? So at this very moment I am sitting on the train from Hanoi to Hue. I’m getting a little jerked around from side to side, but there is a table in our cabin and I am writing on my laptop comfortably. I have nothing to complain about. Yes, I have nothing to complain about. When I opened my laptop to start writing, I imagined writing a list of complaints. I got overcharged buying street food outside the station. The station was nasty and people were invading my space. I had my arms wrapped around my luggage like a mother hugging ten children. It felt like everyone was trying to scam me. Everyone was trying to rip me off. Everyone wanted to steal my shit. I did not want to be in public. I wanted to be back in my quiet private space. But even our hotel room was invaded by the noise of the streets. The alarm going off at 6:30 am, with woman making routine announcements. I can’t escape Vietnam in Vietnam. But did I really come her to not be woken up by the war siren? Did I come here not to have my space invaded by Vietnamese people and their symphonic traffic? Two women, one old and one young, came into our train car to sit in the berth above us, and I could not have been more disappointed. I didn’t want them to be Vietnamese. I wanted them to be foreigners, like us. I wished they were foreigners so that we could talk to them, so that it would not be awkward when we sat next to each other, or when we wanted to sleep. I wanted to forget, briefly that I was in a place where I couldn’t communicate with anyone. I wanted a temporary release from that level of discomfort. They sat next to us on our beds. It’s awkward, really, sharing a bed with a stranger, even if we are sitting. I wanted to escape that situation. But I couldn’t. A woman’s baby was crying from a berth down the hall. Who brings a baby on an overnight train? But I couldn’t escape it. Then I remembered something.

I thought of things. Not things that I had but things that I didn’t have.

I thought of the studio apartment I never had in LA. I sacrificed it to share a two bedroom with a roommate.  I thought of the new car that I put off buying until my Saturn broke down. I thought of the material comforts I forfeited so that I could save $500-$1,000 per month so that I could take my dream trip around the world. This is what I saved all that money for. This is what I get in exchange for giving up those material comforts.

I wondered, is it worth it?

Is it worth it to pay more for a sandwich, to share a berth next to two women you can’t talk to? To be awkward, uncomfortable, disappointed, and even depressed? Yes, yes, yes. This experience is worth a car to me, worth a studio apartment, worth the comfort of knowing that I have a safety net of cash to reply on, and worth the pride in knowing that it was I who paid for this. I and no other. Do I have to be happy all the time to make it worth the money I spent to be here? No, I don’t have to be. And I shouldn’t be. Because I am not just paying for a memory, for beautiful photographs, or for impressive stories. I am paying to be changed. And change is painful. It is guaranteed to be awkward and uncomfortable. It is meant to be challenging.

Later that evening, after I finished typing, the two Vietnamese women, who were very quiet and friendly, disembarked the train, and were replaced by a sweet Indian family. I ended up joining a huge New Years Party of Germans, French, Swiss, and Australians. I got smashed. I moonwalked down the train aisles, I counted down in German.  And I told myself again:

This is what I saved all that money for. This is what I get in exchange for giving up those material comforts.

Is it worth it?

Absolutely. 

The room, prior to partying.  

I moonwalked (poorly) down these aisles.

The Disneyfication of War: Thoughts from the Military Museum in Hanoi

Entrance to the museum with a tank on display

Today was the first time I cried since arriving in SE Asia.

I was  at the Vietnam Military Museum. Outside large war planes and tanks were on display. One plane was used to carry Ho Chi Minh back and forth on business trips, but the other planes were U.S. Military aircrafts that had been captured and put on display. I was prepared to see such things. I expected it. But what I did not anticipate was the behavior of the other tourists. They climbed on the planes and posed for photographs. There were couples with arms around each others' shoulders, posing romantically in front of an aircraft. Young women holding up peace signs as if standing next to Micky Mouse, children posed around the tanks like theme park attractions. Behind their smiling faces, what may or may not have been visible in the photographs their parents took, were the bullet holes. Perhaps these people didn’t realize that they were not on a movie set. These planes were not props that were constructed for entertainment purposes, and that by posing next to them, you too could be part of the entertainment. These machines were designed to kill people, and they did. The blood was probably cleaned off them before they were put on display for tourists to photograph.

Tourists posing beside the captured planes

As I watched these people photograph themselves around the death machines, I started to cry. Their behavior scared me. It wasn’t enough to say that they were being  disrespectful to the dead. Being an atheist, I can’t say that the spirits of the deceased were floating overhead, looking disapprovingly at the tourists. It wasn’t even enough to say that they were being disrespectful to the living, to those like me who felt personally affected by the war and its legacy. Their lack of respect was not the most disquieting element of their behavior. It was their naivete, their frightening disassociation from time and place, and their unbelievable ability to be in the very presence of destruction and yet be so emotionally removed from it as to act like they were in an amusement park. 

Couples posing for a romantic portrait in front of a tank

When they look at the plane and tanks, they do not see death machines, they see sculptures. They see machines that have long since lost their purpose to kill, and now they are as harmless as water fountains and garden gnomes. As harmless as caged tigers and bears. We can stand next to wild animals and smile for photographs because  the cage protects us from the danger inside. It is no different standing next to an old military tank, only the cage is invisible. Time is the cage. We look through it and think, “The war is over,” “This has passed,” “It won’t happen again,” “I have nothing to be afraid of,” and lastly, “It can’t hurt me anymore.”  These are thoughts that only privileged people can have. Only those who did not experience war can feel safe enough to stand next to a bullet-riddled fighter plane and smile.

People died in this crash. Who were they? What lives did they live?

Some people think of time as linear. There is only forwards and backwards. Some people thing of time and circular. Not only can events repeat themselves, but it is certain that they will. What we are looking at is not the past, housed in a bullet-proof cage of time, we are looking at the present, and at the future.

“Asians do not see time as racing away unutilized in a linear future, but coming around again in a circle, where the same opportunities, risks and dangers will re- present themselves when people are so many days, weeks or months wiser.”

- Richard Lewis

When I read about the Kent State Massacre as a teenager, it didn’t resonate with me. I thought protests were for the 1960s and 70s. My generation wouldn’t protest. Or even more naive was the idea that we had nothing to protest. The problems have been solved, right? Now when I re-read the history of the Kent State Massacre and look at photos, I see my friends and peers in those pictures. They are protesting the police killings of Eric Garner and Michael Brown. And when I look at these war planes on display at the Military Museum in Hanoi, I see all wars and and think of the lives and deaths on every side. This is still happening. It’s not that history is being repeated, but rather, it never ended. For something to repeat, it must stop happening, then happen again. But it never stopped. It continued. The people are different, the places are different, the context is different, but the same story unfolds. 

What happened to the people in this plane? Who did they kill? How did they die?

Today two U.S. Drone strikes in Pakistan are said to have killed between 9 and 30 people.  New, deadlier machines have been made, and they are continuing to kill anonymous people. They will continue to kill. The Disneyfication of war is dangerous.  It miseducates people into believing they are safe. It allows privileged people to continue the illusion that they are protected, and to not think about, or care about, those who are not.

How many people did these machines kill? 

Vietnamese Cafes: love 'em or hate 'em

Typical cafe in Hanoi during the day

Cafes in Vietnamese were in existence long before the country’s first Starbucks arrived in 2013, and even before local chains like Tryng Ngyuen Coffeee or Highlands coffee set up shop. Baring this in mind, the Vietnamese cafes has been set up to cater to a particular kind of clientele, which a few features that differ drastically from Western style cafes.

Most of the tables and chairs are low to the ground, like children’s furniture. You have to sit on the stools with both knees bent above the waist, and if you’re a woman, don’t wear a shirt skirt.

That’s the other thing – women don’t really go to these cafes. Honestly, I never, ever see a group of women haging out at a café. The clientele are also exclusively men from their 20s and up. Nobody goes alone. They are always in groups of 2+.

Nearly everyone chain smokes in cafes, which is maybe sort of mildly tolerable because all cafes are open-air. There are no doors separating the outside from the side, and the seat usually spill out into the street covered by an awning.

When ordering Vietnamese Coffee, you will also be served a glass of tea. I like the coffee-tea combo.

Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk and tea

Cafes are a place for socializing, not for working. I never see anyone on a laptop at these places. First of all, the seats are too low and the tables are to small to hold a laptop, so it would be too uncomfortable to use one. The atmosphere is really designed for chatting, smoking, and spending long hours passing the day or night with your buddies. There will probably be wifi, and many people will probably be on their smartphones. 

Typical cafe in Hanoi at night

Unique Coffee in Vietnam

Vietnam has an amazing coffe culture unlike anything I have seen in other countries in SE Asia. From the traditional Vietnamese cafes that spill out into the streets, to large western chains and hip locally-owned hangouts, Vietnam has it all. There are even a  few things Vietnam has that other countries don’t: egg coffee and yogurt coffee. The birthplace of these drinks is in Hanoi, my first stop in Vietnam.

I started by sampling egg coffee at the famous Café Giang, a hole-in-the-wall that is popular with both locals and tourists. I loved the taste of egg coffee, with a cream semi-sweet foam on top, then the rich bitterness of coffee at the bottom.

Egg coffee at Cafe Giang

I had my second egg coffee at Hanoi Social Club, which I much preferred. It was larger and easier to mix the espresso and eggy foam.

Egg Coffee at Hanoi Social Club

Yogurt coffee can also be found everywhere. The first place I tried it was at Vici Cafe, but my favorite place to get it was at Cong Café. Vietnamese coffee is so strong it’s sour, and the sourness of the yogurt actually compliments that. The yogurt is also semi-sweet and very watery, so the texture is only somewhat thicker than regular coffee with milk. 

Yogurt Coffee at ViCi Cafe

Yogurt Coffee at Cong Cafe