In an effort to shake this nasty jet lag I force myself from air-conditioned comfort last evening to take my first walk around Hanoi's Old Quarter. About eight blocks from my hotel is the small Hoan Kiem Lake with a beautiful park surrounding it. This is a pleasant place to observe from a slight distance the early Saturday night traffic of 100cc motorbikes, taxis, and cars in the area. And on the lakeside promenade are couples and families out to escape the cramped streets of this bustling neighborhood.
Within ten minutes I am approached by a young man who wants to practice his English. Phuong is 22 years old and recently achieved his degree in automotive technology from Hanoi University. He is seeking a job in the branch office of a Japanese company which sells spark plugs to local automobile factories all over Southeast Asia. His job will require some knowledge of both Japanese (he studied it for a year) and English, which he doesn't know very well having studied it for only two months.
Nonetheless we have no problem understanding each other as I pretend to be the company's human resource manager interviewing him for the job. As far as I'm concerned, this charming fellow is hired!
Soon we are joined by his lifelong friend, Viet ("as in Viet Nam?" I ask. "Yes!"), who also has his degree from Hanoi University. They are looking forward to tonight's European Champions League final between Real Madrid and Atletico Madrid (Real will end up creaming Atletico 4-1).
They invite me for a beer, and soon we are seated streetside at a typical bia hoi joint. Bia hoi is akin to microbrew which I explain to my new friends. I'm jotting down notes of our conversation and we use my notebook to translate for each other. Both Phuong and Viet come from the village of Te Xuyen which is about 10 miles from where we sit. The beer arrives in glasses and is accompanied by boiled peanuts, giant sesame crackers (banh da), and hot sauce for dipping.
"Zo!" is Vietnamese for "Cheers", "Kampai", Chok Dii" and so forth. This microbrew is excellent.
We trade email addresses and Phuong whips out his smartphone so I can direct him to some of my music online. Now we are talking about our families.
I tell the guys that my uncle was in the U.S. Army in Hue in the mid-'60s and that he advised me to take photos of women in ao dai. But after 24 hours here I have yet to see anyone in this lovely local dress.
"Is only for special occasion now" they explain to me. Oh well. . .
We agree to stay in touch so we can get together again when I return to Hanoi in early July.
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