hanoi is still here and i still hate that about it

i woke up to a ceiling fan spinning like it’s auditioning for a tired jazz record. the humidity here is a living thing. i checked the forecast and it’s like that constant 20-degree limbo-no real summer, no real winter. just air that somehow smells like old rain and someone forgot to empty their shower.

i didn’t ask for this weather. i asked for bangkok’s chaos, but nope. here i am, sweating in a shirt that’s probably older than vietnam’s independence. the locals here don’t do small talk. they do ‘how’s the weather today?’ like it’s a wrestling match. and honestly? i’m winning. or maybe losing. either way, it’s the same 88% humidity every time.

i heard that the elders in the old quarter are convinced the us embassy’s wifi is powered by ghosts. not kidding. i asked a guy selling brocade cushions and he just stared at me like i’d asked for a recipe for rat soup. maybe he’s onto something. or maybe he’s just mad i didn’t buy his $20 fake lotus flowers. who knows. the stories here are like that: unavoidable and 70% accurate.

yesterday, i passed a kid riding a skateboard down a canal with a drone. no permit, no explanation. just there. i guess that’s vietnam for you. risky, reckless, and oddly beautiful. if you follow him, he told me to check Yelp for ‘the real hidden spot’-a place that supposedly serves pho in a boat. rudimentary map details: go 3 km east from the old french cemetery. but yelp? man, i’ve seen yelp reviews that make me doubt anorexia is a real thing. trust no yelp.

the neighbors are a different story. loud, proud, and somehow always playing music. a family next door is trying to teach their dog to play the banjo. i’m not sure if it’s endearing or a crime scene. if you get bored, hanoi’s suburbs are just a short drive away. but don’t tell anyone. i heard that phrase from a drunk barista who was sure the yellow taxi drivers are all spies. classic.

here’s where i started: a street food stall yelling about ‘secret crab noodles.’ the waitress’s face looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. i took a bite and it was like eating sadness that’s been sweetened with ketchup. weird? yes. but then i saw a cat steal a sandwich from a vendor two blocks away. decisions.

i tried to find a map app that didn’t make me feel like a tourist in a haunted house. finally, i found one that showed me the same 20.917,106.833 coordinates over and over. it’s like hanoi doesn’t want me to find anything new. just this endless loop of damp streets and confusing signs. the only real guide? a local who works at a bookstore and keeps muttering about ‘the 1563241 code.’ i asked what that meant and he just gave me a look that said ‘google it later.’ or don’t.

i’m using this phone’s 3g now. the signal’s weaker than a grandma’s Wi-Fi. irony, maybe. or just laziness. i’ll take it. also, if you want to photograph something dumb, unsplash has some nice Hanoi shots. not the curated ones. the raw ones. the ones where the tourist accidentally takes a selfie with a manhole cover. that’s the spirit.

someone told me that the metro here is actually run by a literal ghost. i asked for proof and they handed me a pamphlet titled ‘mrt underground: hauntings and history.’ it’s chilling. or it’s a tsa. who can say? i haven’t ridden it yet. i’m scared. but also kind of desperate. the weather’s still 20.02 and i’m losing my mind.

just a quick note before you bail: check TripAdvisor for the old french quarter. some reviews swear the hotel near the lake is built on a tomb. others say it’s just really old. take your pick. also, if you love coffee, find the place called phan thi dong. not kidding. their coffee’s so strong it’ll make you question your life choices. or maybe just your taste in espresso.

here’s hoping you like 88% humidity and the sound of strangers playing bagpipes at 3 am. it’s the village life. or what’s left of it.

i left this place with a hat full of questionable choices and a map that points everywhere and nowhere. but hey, that’s vietnam. or is it? maybe it’s just me. who knows?