Julie Orr-Wilson spends the festive season in Hanoi in search of a less tourist-worn path.
Arriving in Hanoi, Christmas Eve was eventful.
Next to me on the Singapore/Hanoi leg was 10-year-old Harry from Hamilton, travelling with his mother, Rachel, and two older brothers.
Misguided by her travel agent, she didn't have visas or enough money to purchase them at customs.
Using her children as collateral Rachel dashed to the cash machine, but realised she would not be allowed to return.
Plan B involved me loaning her the 300,000 dong.
Visas purchased, dong reimbursed, Rachel and her brood disappeared to catch their tour to Halong Bay, but we had other ideas than to take that well-worn tourist trip.
As our taxi wove its way through densely crowded streets to the Old Quarter what captivated us most were the women selling flowers on bicycles, rattan baskets laden with gladioli, sunflowers, lilies and chrysanthemums. Charming 2 Hotel lived up to its name.
Greeted by Madonna-like Mary and her team, we were lavished with chocolates and fresh fruit. It was difficult to match their level of enthusiasm and hard to contain my bemusement. My more stoic companion simply regarded it as ``over the top'' .
After exquisite mint and ginger tea, crispy tofu and delicate-flavoured rice paper rolls at Cai Mam, we wandered along to Hanoi's gothic Notre Dame-style St Joseph's Cathedral, where midnight mass would take place. It was a party atmosphere as crowds gathered to take in the traditional decorations and life-size Nativity relief on display. Balloon-sellers with a selection of floating snowmen and santas punctuated the street.
Christmas is not a public holiday in Vietnam but thanks to a strong expat influence locals enter into the celebrations. It is a time to socialise rather than to stay home.
The war has not dampened the spirit of these gracious, gentle people. Officially a communist state it has strong religious leanings in Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism and although few locals understand the Christian origin and meaning of Christmas they see it as an opportunity for gift giving and decoration.
Most shops we passed in the Old Quarter featured something of Christmas. For us at least it had the essential elements, the dark and cold.
It was winter in Hanoi, the 17degC average dropping as low as 10degC and the high humidity contributing to the bitterness.
I was thankful to have included my down jacket despite the bulk in my 7kgs of luggage. I didn't mind the chill. It was preferable to Southeast Asia's searing temperatures and I knew as we travelled south we'd hit the heat.
Drifting along with the throngs of tourists toward Hoan Kiem Lake, we stopped at French bistro-style Thuy Ta Cafe for a pina colada and Singapore sling. From this lake-side location, the neon lights circled, mirrored, twinkling like soft stars in a watery night sky. We wandered the shore under winter branches of fairy-light trees.
It was not, nor ever, an easy passage back to Charming 2, the twist-and-turn streets all appearing the same.
Opening our bedroom door that night we were greeted by more chocolates and a heart-shaped post-it note wishing us ``sweet dreams''.
As we exchanged presents early on Christmas morning, I thought of home, 9417km away.
The six-hour time difference meant the enormous pork roast would not yet be spattering around my oven interior, its aroma permeating the house. If it was favourable weather perhaps my family would lunch on the verandah or maybe it would be the more usual inclement December day?
I had not anticipated, before leaving, the strong reaction I would receive, answering the usual tedious pre-Christmas banter ``What are you doing for Christmas?''
When I replied, ``Vietnam with a friend'', the most common response was one of acknowledged envy, wishing they too could be brave or bold enough to escape the pressures surrounding this time of year.
For good measure, I was also bestowed with a fair dose of guilt that I could ``leave my family at Christmas''. Unthinkable. Downright disgraceful. Funniest of all for me was the enquiry: ``Who will cook Christmas dinner?'' Really? It felt I was unleashing shackles.
My stance stomped over the covert curriculum, mother/wife/daughter-deal that clearly I was oblivious to.
Some would regard it as ``domestic karma'' that the night before my flight, I cut my thumb to the bone on the Japanese knife my family had gifted me for Christmas.
As my abandoned family slept, my friend and I headed down for our complimentary Vietnamese breakfast.
To our delight it became a daily highlight, delicious fresh fruit salad, scrambled egg, traditional crusty French-style bread rolls and coffee setting us up for the day.
It was business as usual on the street. Taking a tuk tuk to the Temple of Literature, we realised that we had been totally ripped off: the 1km ride cost more than our trip form the airport.
Much later into our trip someone explained that one trick is to charge 100,000 dong to unsuspecting tourists instead of 10,000, doing the same in reverse with change. This explained why our kitty went down so quickly.
The Temple of Literature is one of the few remaining remnants of Vietnam's pre-19th-century history and the site of Vietnam's first university, established in AD 1076. Modelled on Confucius' birth-place, it symbolises China's cultural influence on Vietnam. We didn't take a tour but wandered the pavilions and courtyards.
Stung by our tuk tuk ride, we decided to walk into town to browse the shops.
Stepping out of a gallery, my unsuspecting companion was approached by a boy she thought was kindly doing up her shoe-lace for her. In fact, he was undoing it for a shoe-shine. He needed a lesson in shoe-leather, as she was wearing canvas sneakers.
That evening we went to popular Cao Cu Restaurant, the rain thwarting our outdoor dining and lake views.
Ordering squid, prawns and the freshest stir-fried vegetables, it was a memorable Christmas meal.
We had smugly planned a tour to ``less touristy'' Ninh Binh National Park for Boxing Day.
Our packed mini-bus took over an hour to negotiate Hanoi's inner-city traffic. Two hours into the countryside is Bai Dinh Pagoda, a religious complex covering 80ha. Built since 2003, Bai Dinh Pagoda contains several temples, a bell tower, a corridor of 500 Arhat (Buddhist disciple) statues and the largest Buddha in Vietnam.
After lunch at a roadside restaurant, a menu of goat ``served three ways'', greens, rice, peanut sauce and tofu, we headed to Trang An for a boat trip. Our smugness that we had chosen something unique, was obliterated by the hundreds of buses, boats and people lined up on the shore.
Floating off in our sampan, nothing had prepared us for what lay ahead. Sculpted by wind and water, the spiny, dumpling Karst was breathtaking, as we rode the Red River delta.
Nearing one of the bush-clad peaks we glided through a small gap in the flora. Beyond a limestone cave six more lay ahead. Our 2½-hour boat trip was magical, as we relished the silence and beauty.
On the return trip we paddled along with our feisty female rower, racing a toothless Vietnamese grandpa, grandma and their grandson. The lack of language did not prevent some competitive fun.
On our last day we had the pleasure of buying a bunch of sunflowers from one of our beloved flower-sellers and headed by taxi to the West Lake district. We had an appointment with Pham Luan, one of Vietnam's most revered painters. Prince Andrew is a collector. Greeted by his beautiful adult daughters we viewed current work for an exhibition in Tokyo. With little language it was a brief but warm exchange. I was deeply touched that on leaving, Pham, decorously bowing, placed a copy of his art book in my hand.
From West Lake we wandered, eking out the streets, galleries, food, bookshops, bread, picturesque vignettes, all the way home.
There would never be enough of this vibrant place. The beautiful people. Their resilience. Forgiveness.
