The thing about traveling with 12 other almost strangers is that you have no escape route. "Sorry I've got an urgent meeting and I have to go now" no longer works as a valid excuse when you're all on foreign land, and this was what the control-freak-Monica-from-Friends in me feared. Thankfully, hanging out 6 days, 24/7 with the gang was bearable at worst and it certainly helped that my roomie's one of those chill, anything goes types.
Our lecturer joined us for a spot of Vietnamese cooking at Hoa Sua School, where we cooked up a dish of grilled fish, Hanoi style and sticky black glutinous rice for dessert. Cooking, to me at least, is messy and chaotic and somewhat haphazard, and the mechanical steps and stainless steel worktops just didn't do it for me. It was however still a morning well spent insulated from the chaos of the city.
I can't say the same about the baking class in the afternoon, which seemed to last an eternity. The only good thing was downing the profiteroles we baked in lightning succession, and of course the end of class.
It was the same day that I heard about the typhoon believed to be headed towards Hanoi. P, M and DX were in a mini frenzy back in Singapore, with DX calling up the embassy to check on evacuation procedures. I returned to the hotel that evening with an email notifying me that I was registered under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve these people...
The highlight of my trip to Hanoi however had to be dining at Restaurant Bobby Chinn. I am an unabashed fan of the celebrity chef but (and I am saying this without any biasness) the food at his restaurant was undoubtedly the best I've had in Hanoi. But I admit that the Buddha statues greeting me from nooks and crannies, and the petals in the toilet bowl, had me well won over before we even sat down to lunch. The Lotus Salad in Chilli and Lime Vinaigrette was sour and spicy on all the right levels, and the Mac & Cheese came interestingly served in a claypot. While the Pulled Pork Sandwich was only slightly above average with a distinctly smoky flavour, the fish curry was tangy, spicy and the best I've had in a long, long time. And it helps that their waiters speak the best English in what I believe is the whole of Hanoi.
Attempting to sleep on an overnight train has to be one of the oddest experiences ever. I am someone who finds it impossible to keep my eyes open once I'm lulled by the rocking motion of a moving vehicle, and I found myself waking up each time the train came to a stop. Falling asleep was also a tad difficult as lying horizontally atop rickety moving train tracks had the cheese crackers we munched on before bed rushing upwards towards my chest in a very uncomfortable way. And yet I slept.
I wasn't looking forward to navigating the hills in Sapa, and my deepest fears came true when we were faced with slippery mud and a steep descent about an hour into the trek. The local Hmong women ended up holding our hands and carving tracks for us with our walking sticks, and I swear my heart gave a mini lurch when a 50-year-old Hmong lady gently took my hand. Embarrassing as it may be to admit this, I honestly don't think I would have made it through those death hills without her help. I know they were helping us in hope of us buying souvenirs from them, but I gave away a tiny piece of my heart nevertheless when she kissed me on the cheek as we parted.
So there, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and this trip has ascertained that Vietnam will never be at the top of my travel destinations. That said, I've developed an inexplicable liking for trekking/sliding around in mud and P has gamely agreed to my plan to conquer Gunung Batur on our trip to Bali next year. Me, willingly trekking? Now who would have thought!
