Diary of a journey to myself / The third knowledge

28.12., approx. 08:00 am, breakfast room in the "Rendezvous"

Hanoi is currently gray, cool-moist, somehow simultaneously humid and incredibly noisy and lively. At least that's how it feels, with at least twice as many scooters and mopeds as pedestrians racing through the streets, which in turn are lined with extremely narrow and tall houses with typcial Asian gables and a lot of power cables that slither from one lamppost to another like snakes.

The people also slither through, both the pedestrians and the two-, three-, and four-wheelers. Just don't walk on the left and by no means look directly at what's coming towards you. As long as the danger comes from behind and I simply don't think about it, I feel safe and trust that nothing will happen. On the mopeds there is often a five-member family. Dad sitting wide-legged in the front, 1 or 2 toddlers between his legs (of course without helmets), closely pressed to him the mother embraced by the arms of one of the older children. Unthinkable what would happen in Germany if such a family vehicle would roar down the Adenauer Avenue and not only violate the existing traffic regulations, but also violate all EU directives regarding permissible emission values, laughing happily at it. At the intersection where we sat yesterday and drank our first Vietnamese beer, I could have sat there for hours and watched this hustle and bustle. Even on the night before last, when we finally arrived at the "Rendezvous" hotel (top recommendation in the Lonely Planet) with a taxi at around 12:00 am and actually wanted to have a little something to eat, everything looked completely different here.

Light rain, only a few mopeds and bicycles on the road, a few teenagers sitting at some food stalls, and so dark that I didn't even notice that weird creature on the sidewalk and stepped on it, causing it to squeak loudly. Excitedly, Fabian pushed me aside and shouted, "Did you see the rat? Just stay there and keep staring at you." "I thought it was a small dog. Gross." He, on the other hand, found it funny and amused himself about it until the Rendezvous. Luckily, I didn't have flip-flops on yet, otherwise I would have been even more disgusted than I already was, but I still had to laugh. And how good that I was wearing my boots, even though Fe said at the train station, "Child, do you think boots are the right footwear for Vietnam? You always wear boots and then also with heels. Why don't you buy shoes like these." She had stretched her feet towards me, which were in dark beige grandma hiking boots, which I would never wear even as a retiree, no matter how much I loved them.

After a short night in room 303 at around 09:00 am, we went out onto the street yesterday, which looked completely different from the night before. It felt like an imaginary nocturnal event had been opened and the actual backdrop was now revealed. Behind the shutters, which had been lowered a few hours ago, countless hair salons, beauty shops, massage parlors, elegant fabric boutiques, shops for lanterns, clothes, jewelry, and plenty of snack bars emerged into the limelight. And on top of that, a cool drizzle, which somehow didn't fit here, especially not with my luggage contents. "Just look at how different it looks here now. Really crazy, but it's way too cold for me. What a stroke of luck that I have my boots with me, see, I do need them."

"I'm not saying anything, but I just checked the weather app. It's supposed to get warmer tomorrow," he grins again, as if he knew that in advance. "That's the least it can do, otherwise we might as well go shopping for completely new clothes for me. Come on, let's go so I can finally feel warmer."

Despite Fabian's pace, I was still freezing, as I had in so many vacations before where we relied on the weather forecast. Always the same, but I just hate functional clothing and so I prefer to suffer silently while we wove our way through the hustle and bustle of countless bicycles and mopeds to cross the street to the riverbank of the Red River or Yuan Jiang.

As I ran behind him, shivering, he insisted on visiting the temple at the most famous lake in Hanoi, which separates the old town from the former French colonial district, in order to be able to tick it off his list of temples, museums, special places, and whatever else you absolutely must see according to the LP. At the same time, I thought about all the places in the world where I had to buy replacement clothes because I brought the wrong attire.

After admiring the truly impressive Ngoc-Son Temple, also known as the Jade Mountain Temple, which was built in the 14th century in honor of La To, the god of healers, and Van Xuong, the protective god of literati, in the mist that rolled over Hoan Kiem Lake, making it appear particularly mystical and probably attracting fewer tourists due to the weather, making the visit even more attractive, we finally got hungry.

Spontaneously, we skipped the visit to the actual "must-see", the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, and headed instead to the Little Hanoi 1. Not only recommended by the LP, but also by our slightly squinting Spanish hotel owner, Fabian then purposefully made his way to the restaurant with the help of the offline map that he always downloaded to his smartphone beforehand, and I tried, as usual, to somehow keep up with his pace. Well, at least I was getting warmer again and we could also take a few smaller sights along the way.

While I followed him, I suddenly noticed that the sole under my left boot kept flapping back and forth and was about to dissolve into its components. I couldn't continue walking like this, so I approached the nearest cobbler sitting on the street, who agreed with a broad smile on his face to glue the sole back in place and took the opportunity to make a good profit out of my predicament (since I didn't have a spare pair with me). I think it was around 30 euros that he charged me for the repair. But what can you do, for him it was probably a month's salary, if not more, and I could walk again without fearing that I wouldn't have a sole under my shoe in the next few minutes. "You could have bought new shoes for that price. He totally ripped us off." "Yeah, but there are no boots here," I appeased him while happily putting on the freshly repaired boots right in the middle of the street, which elicited a conciliatory smile from him. So we could continue our march towards the LP's recommendation for a super delicious, inexpensive, and authentic lunch snack without any further incidents.

The Little Hanoi 1 consisted of a long, bare room, in which an equally long aluminum beer table took up the entire space, with pink and light blue plastic stools lined up on both sides, illuminated by the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling in a particularly bright light. In camping dishes, an unbelievably delicious medley consisting of rice noodles, vegetables, some kind of meat (no vegetarian option), nuts, and lots of cilantro was served, which we devoured with great pleasure. It didn't surprise me either that Fabian asked me after the meal, "Do you know what this reminds me of?" "Yes, I know. It reminds me of the first Pad Thai we had back then at the food stall on Khao Sun Road. Right?" And how right he was.

We continued on past hairdressers who shaved their customers right on the sidewalk, huge bamboo rods that were lined up for sale in bundles in Bamboo Street (which is what we called it), lanterns of all shapes and colors in Lantern Alley, which lit up the trees and front of the shops along the street, in between Christian cathedrals, in front of which large nativity scenes were still set up, small parks, other bustling streets, resting stops, and a small Hanoi beer in between, continuing through the old town of Hanoi, which took a total of 4 to 5 hours, until we finally found Mao's Red Lounge (a "trendy little club", recommended by both the Loose and the Lonely Planet in the Entertainment section). But since you couldn't eat there, and we were already very hungry again, we found a food stall with chairs and quite a few people sitting there, enjoying interesting dishes in front of them that appealed to us from the looks of it.

Not long after ordering, a kind of stew (actually hot water, maybe with a few herbs) was brought to us, into which we were supposed to throw the ingredients, consisting of vegetables that we had never seen before, noodles, and pieces of fish, which were all provided separately. It was all very unfamiliar, even for us, who had already tried many strange dishes.

However, it was nowhere near as unfamiliar and questionable as guinea pig in Cusco, which Fabian ordered because he always tries the typical specialties of the country in every vacation, in order to be able to check them off the list of unusual national dishes. And guinea pig is a typical Peruvian national dish.

My vegan sister immediately left the WhatsApp group when I sent the photo of the guinea pig, which was naked and completely intact with its head (just like our German suckling pigs), on the plate.

I, on the other hand, didn't find it nearly as disgusting as balut (cooked hatched chicken or duck egg) in Manila last year as the highlight of our vacation in the Philippines. Fabian even got more likes than usual when I posted the photo on Facebook back then.

This reminds me that Facebook didn't even exist six years ago, or at least we hadn't heard of it yet. We both received our first friend request from a fellow traveler on Facebook only a year after Thailand from Haruna, the 25 year old little Japanese girl from Tokyo whom we met in Morocco. I still see her getting off the bus after the 8-hour bus ride from Marrakech through the Atlas Mountains to Merzouga, wearing her woolen socks and Peruvian hat and, believe it or not, dragging a rolling suitcase behind her.

Imagine this picture:

It's in the middle of the night, still at least 25 degrees, full moon and lots of stars in the sky above the desert. The bus stops in a completely deserted area at the edge of a sandy dirt road, at the end of which the not yet completely finished, nameless guesthouse is supposed to be located, operated by Berbers, who should also organize the camel trip into the desert that we had planned for the next day (the only recommendation in the LP). You can't see anything except sand, rocks, endless expanse, the moon, and stars, and Haruna tells us that she was here three years ago and "knows her way around". She comes from Tokyo, loves this area, and as a eurythmy teacher, she travels a lot around the world. I am speechless and we follow the heavily wrapped little Japanese girl and her rolling suitcase through the desert near the Algerian border. Then we actually stand in front of this half-finished bungalow and 2 Berbers, who look more like hippies with blue turbans and long robes. A warm welcome follows. They already know Haruna and quickly show us our accommodation (bare room with bed, toilets and showers are somewhere outside), before they lead me and Fabian into the huge room, where a few brown leather armchairs and sofas are placed and at the very back on the other side of the otherwise empty room there is a tiled bar. We should wait for a moment, they have prepared something for us to eat. Together with Haruna, we wait for hardly 10 minutes, then we are served such an opulent, oriental banquet that I can hardly believe it. I don't know how many bowls of rice, meat and fish varieties, of course couscous, dates, raisins, nuts, and homemade bread there were. And just to top it off, Haruna asks the group, "So, do you want something special to drink?"

All of us, including the two Berbers in unison: "Yes, of course." She starts sliding across the tiled floor with her wool socks, fetches the red-silver rolling suitcase from her room, opens it, takes out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and smiles triumphantly from one deep brown almond eye to the other, which shimmer brightly under her black bangs. And as if the whole situation wasn't already bizarre enough, I suddenly see a frog hopping in from the open door leading outside and hopping across the ceramic tiles to the other side of the room towards the bar. We laughed so much that evening, more than we had in a long time, and it definitely wasn't just because of the whiskey.

When I reminded Haruna of the story later on Facebook, she replied, "Simone, I will never ever forget your laughter. It was such a great night in Merzouga. A lot of kisses to you and Fabian."

We pondered about these stories and especially about our first travel experiences in Mao's Red Lounge yesterday, after sitting outside for a long time and watching the passing hordes of tourists. At some point, we invented our new game "Guess the Nationality", which was relatively easy for many people from the more Western cultural sphere, especially if they also behaved extremely stereotypical, loudly, and a bit boorish, like (I have to say it) the British, Americans, and Germans. Asians were noticeably more difficult. If they were tall and slim and didn't wear John Lennon glasses, Chinese people were definitely out (for us at least), and if there was no clear indication of Japan, Malaysia could serve as a compromise. Malaysians are definitely Asian from our point of view, but somehow also Western, not so clear-cut, and therefore always a good compromise that we could often agree on before we got too cold and moved our beer drinking inside and extended it for a long time, because both of us were so immersed in memories of past travels, which by now took up quite a lot of space and time.

But now, while I wait for my scrambled eggs, I remember what this alley reminded me of, where we hung out for so long yesterday. "Didn't this street remind you of Khao Sun Road yesterday evening?" He furrows his brow. "Well, a little bit. There were also so many tourists from all over the world. Probably, like back then on Khao Sun, either at the beginning or end of their journey and either drunk with anticipation or because they were overflowing with impressions. And of course, the food stalls and the music everywhere. It was quite similar." "But do you remember how we felt back then? Totally high, hypnotized, like children being called into the living room on Christmas Eve for the first time. When I think about it, it feels to me as if we got infected back then and never got rid of the infection." "Yes, there's something to that, it was something very special, but we will have many more moments like that, my love." His noodle soup arrives now.

While he slurps his soup with enjoyment, I become a little melancholic. Sure, we will have many great experiences, but it will never be like the first time again. Not so new and exciting. I think the comparison with Christmas fits very well. Sure, it's always exciting to be called into the living room on Christmas Eve, but by the time of the first time, every child knows that the Christmas tree is there and probably the presents are under it. Only at the very, very first time, you still don't know that and it remains a unique experience in all of our lives.

I will never forget that completely foreign smell at the airport in Bangkok. We flew in winter, when it still smelled of cinnamon and cloves everywhere, and got off the plane in a country thousands of kilometers away, where the air was as humid as I had never experienced in any hot summer in the Rhineland, while the air was heavy with smells of Thai curry, chili, coriander, and many other ingredients that were still completely unknown to me at that time. When I think about it intensively, I imagine that I can still smell it. What an experience.

Okay, enough brooding now. Finally, my breakfast arrives, and in half an hour the bus will pick us up. I'm curious if Halong Bay looks as impressive as in "Indochine," one of my favorite movies with Catherine Deneuve.

Knowledge No. 3:

Everything is contained in the beginning. Just as the whole tree is already encapsulated in the seed, the beginning of a special event already harbors the further course. I should always pay special attention to emphatic first impressions.