Vietnam 24: Restaurants and Symphonies

Two recent examples of the Hanoi cultural scene . . .

Hanoi continues to modernize and grow, both for local residents and for the expat community. As more money flows into the city and tastes become more cosmopolitan, we are seeing the opening of many new restaurants, upscale shops and shopping malls. While there often seems to be parallel markets for expats and for Vietnamese residents (even the wealthy ones), there are areas of overlap. Dining can be one of them. For example, a number of years ago an Australian opened up a small chain of casual restaurants called Al Fresco’s. Featuring a menu of Tex-mex dishes, hamburgers and pizzas, initial customers trended heavily Western. However, these days, when we pop across the street from the Embassy for lunch, the restaurant now is packed with Vietnamese office workers happily munching on barbecued ribs or quesadillas.

At the upper end, Liz and I just attended the opening celebration for a new restaurant called “Don’s Bistro.” The chef has lived in Hanoi for many years and had been a partner in a successful establishment before splitting off and starting this new venture. Located in the Tay Ho area, home to many foreigners, the new 4-story restaurant attracted over 500 locals and expats to its location overlooking West Lake.

The celebration was a study in contrasts. Inside, guests sampled fresh oysters flown in from Australia, while a German DJ spun house music. Outside, a Filipino band played Pink Floyd covers at maximum volume while customers ate smoked hams, shrimps, and Vietnamese snacks. Little girls from the neighborhood clad in what looked like Communion dresses gathered around the desserts, while their older (and more scantily clad) sisters milled around the first floor bar. While waiting for food, I watched as an elderly-pajama clad woman thrust a dozen rolls into a plastic bag and set off home. Neighbors enjoyed the free beer, while many foreigners and richer locals went for sake or cocktails. All the while, motorbikes honked their way through the festive crowd (closing down the street was not an option).

Last month, Hanoi hosted the NY Philharmonic for two nights at the Opera House. While Hanoi is a fun town, we don’t get that many opportunities for high end cultural performances such as this and so happily forked over nearly $100 per ticket. The Ambassador hosted a reception for the symphony and I got to meet many of the musicians, most of whom had never been to Vietnam and some of whom expressed surprise that Vietnam was so different from North Korea, which they had visited a few years ago. Hanoi’s Opera House is a beautiful structure built by the French a century ago in the heart of the city. Around the corner from the Metropole, its front steps also serve as a gathering place for locals to sit and relax in the evenings to people watch and visit with friends. It also serves as a perfect background for wedding photos, attracting several couples every weekend. Last year, we saw “Porgy and Bess” with an all Vietnamese cast. Interesting watching them attempt southern Black dialect from the 1920s, but they had great voices.

The Opera House wedding cake architecture is a pleasure to look at. Its tiny seats are not a pleasure to sit in. Nevertheless, the hall was packed both nights and the local authorities set up two giant screens in the traffic circle outside the venue so others could watch. Inside, about 600 of us sat through performances of pieces by Brahms and Beethoven. Young Vietnamese in jeans, stuffing their motorbike helmets under their seats, sat next to Japanese in business suits and Westerners in cocktail dresses. 75 musicians performed for nearly 2 hours, including several encores.

Vietnam 23: Sapa

Liz and I recently joined our friends Mike and Susan Goldman to spend a weekend at the northern Vietnamese hill town of Sapa. Built by the French in 1922 as a retreat from the summer heat in Hanoi, Sapa is nestled in the mountains just south of the Chinese border in Lao Cai province. Over the past ten years or so, Sapa has boomed as a tourist town for its cool weather, beautiful mountain scenery, and access to numerous hill tribes, many of which (for now) retain their traditional way of life.

The most common way of traveling to Sapa is by overnight train. Departing Hanoi at 10 pm, the luxury coach of the Victoria Hotel arrives in Lao Cai city at 6 am. A one hour drive along scenic, mountainous roads and you arrive at your hotel. The Victoria boasts a comfortable dining car and nicely-appointed cabins. We couldn’t get one of the two-person berths and shared a four-person cabin with the Goldmans. Given my lovely wife’s occasionally antagonistic relationship with gravity, I volunteered for one of the top bunks. The bedding was comfortable, but two inches too little to completely contain my muscular 5’11” frame. Though Liz slept like a log (when doesn’t she?), I tossed and turned as the air in the car would switch from hot to cold.

Though somewhat dazed by lack of sleep, I gawked at the remarkable scenery on the way to the hotel. We drove through a long, narrow valley filled with terraced rice fields giving way to forested peaks. The hotel referred to these mountains as the Tonkinese Alps, and while they don’t quite match up to the Eiger and the Matterhorn, this northern Vietnamese range provides stunning views. Unlike the mountains I encountered in my recent visit to Cao Bang and Bac Kan, these were a real mountain chain, not karst sentinels scoured by the winds. The tallest mountain in mainland southeast Asia, Fancipan, occasionally peered out of the clouds at over 10,000 feet.

The town of Sapa sports some old hotels and a photogenic church, but a lot of new construction. Vietnamese stroll around the town shopping for tea and traditional medicines and looking for places to sing karaoke. Budget tourists and backpackers pile into guest houses and converge on a street filled with western restaurants. Members of local hill tribes set up small stalls in the market and merrily stalk unwary tourists in order to ply their handicrafts.

The Victoria, at the top of the town, caters to high-end tourists and boasts a spectacular view of the northern peaks. The restaurant features local produce, such as Sapa mushrooms and duck. The cooler weather allows local farmers to grow temperate fruits, which are reflected in the plum preserves and fresh peach juice at the hotel

Of course, being the adventure travelers that we are, we were in no mood to just sit around luxuriating in the hotel. Ok, maybe we were in that mood, but the beautiful, cool weather beckoned us out for a mountain trek. Six hours later, sore feet and sunburned arms were evidence of an eventful day spent hiking in the mountain valley. Though we hired a guide through the hotel, 5 ladies from the local Black Hmong hill tribe attached themselves to us for the 5 hour trip. Speaking surprisingly good English, they quizzed us about our names, ages, and home countries. Though the friendly questioning was part of a long-term sales strategy, we eventually welcomed their company as they provided support during some of the more challenging moments of the hike. With largely blue skies, we could see miles across the valley floor, where rain-swollen streams splashed down the mountain sides over long, narrow waterfalls. We walked through more terraced rice fields, with green and yellow stalks rippling in the wind as harvest approached. The path moved up and down through open sun and stalks of bamboo and several Hmong women greeted our group as we walked by.

After washing up at the hotel, we drove back to Lao Cai to catch our overnight train back to Hanoi. 8 hours of tossing and turning later, we prepared to head into work. Just another relaxing weekend.

Vietnam 22: Hoi An

For many, August is the slowest month, a time for long weekends and summer vacations. Unfortunately, my biggest event of the year, the annual bilateral U.S.-Vietnam Joint Advisory Committee on Agent Orange/dioxin, takes place in early September. Therefore (cue violins), for me, August usually means trying to scrounge up a budget, coordinating logistics, and focusing on deliverables. However, my beloved wife and I escaped for a three day weekend to celebrate our 12th anniversary (we were teenaged newlyweds).

This year, we traveled to Hoi An, on the coast in central Vietnam. From the 17th to the 19th centuries, Hoi An was a major international port and you can still see foreign architectural and stylistic influences, particularly from Japan and China. Unlike Hanoi, the old quarter of Hoi An remains well preserved and pedestrian friendly. Gates prevented motorbikes and cars from disturbing us as we meandered down pleasant streets and alleys. On most thoroughfares, houses had been transformed into cafes, shops, and galleries. Some of the oldest homes, from the early 19th century, have been well-maintained and welcome tours. Instead of modern signage and commercial displays, front awnings are covered by yellow, purple and pink flowers. A footbridge spans part of the Thu Bon river and from it, during the day, you look back to a Japanese covered bridge or to rows of yellow buildings with dark green shutters and red slate roofs underneath a washed-out blue sky.

Of course, in the middle of summer it was incredibly hot, so we spent as much time exploring the restaurants as we did the streets. With all the Western tourists, Hoi An boasts a nice variety of places to eat. We sampled the local specialty of Cao Lau – roast pork and noodles – and also ate Vietnamese-American fusion along the river. In the evening, the cafes fill up with foreigners while groups of young Vietnamese gather together along the riverbank. Hoi An is famous for its colorful lanterns, which light up the streets and storefronts. Tunes from a group of local musicians and singers wafted along while we ate.

We actually stayed a few miles up the coast from the city at one of Vietnam’s nicest resorts, the Nam Hai. Normally reserved for those wealthier than us, special prices during the low summer season caused the room rates to slip (barely) into our price range. We stayed in an ocean-view villa of the type that make you want to lay around all day without venturing outside. We did force ourselves up and out to one of the three infinity pools and to walk along the beach. Very relaxing. Now, if only we can get back after my big meeting.

Vietnam 21: The long and winding road . . .

The long and winding road . . .

. . . that leads to Cao Bang

Far northern Cao Bang province doesn’t seem that far from Hanoi, but maps can be deceiving. 300 kilometers of narrow, winding, mountainous roads separate the two areas, that in many ways are worlds apart. Hanoi is a city of concrete and glass buildings. An urban landscape filled with motorbikes, huge advertisements and government offices. Cao Bang is a province of stone, wood and thatch homes. A rural landscape with fields of rice and corn, surrounded by rocky mountains.

First, the roads. Generally, of surprisingly good quality, though as they wind up and down through the hills and valleys they remind me of when I used to drizzle chocolate syrup over ice cream mountains as a kid. But, that’s often the problem. An improving road system is used for much more than simply car traffic. I wrote earlier about how crossing the street in Hanoi reminded me of the old video game “Frogger.” Game creators could put together a new adventure based on the driving challenges faced on rural roads. Gamers would have to avoid chickens, pigs, water buffalos (and their excrement), dogs, small children, and larger children darting into the road, while steering around corn and rice placed by villagers on the roadside to dry. Of course, you can’t yank the wheel too much in the other direction or you’ll hit the helmetless motorbike driver who turns into the road without even checking oncoming traffic or the speeding bus in the wrong lane as it tries to pass the slow moving dump truck on a mountainous hairbend turn. Be careful of the vegetable and fruit stands the line the roadsides and the occasional piles of soil and rock from the recent mudslides.

To get to Cao Bang, we first passed through Thai Nguyen and Bac Kanh provinces. Thai Nguyen, famous for its tea, shifts from Hanoi suburb to agricultural land in a flash. Soon after passing into mountainous Bac Kanh, we noted dozens of bright, yellowy-orange corn cobs drying from the eaves of every house or on the side of the road. National highway 3 at first follows a lazy brown river before starting its uphill climb. We drive though bamboo groves and small villages with sawtoothed mountain ranges fading in and out of the distance. After so long in Hanoi, it’s strange to look out and not see crowds.

My assistant, Ms. Tu, was surprised to find traffic lights in Cao Bang town, but the city is growing rapidly, though its population still can’t be more than 40,000. Our hotel, the largest and most modern in town, was located in the city center. Like most facilities outside of the major cities, it hasn’t been that wonderfully maintained, though my room had a functional (if low flow) air conditioner, hot water and a clean bed. I opened up the mini-bar to grab a drink. Hmm. Winter melon juice. Not exactly what I was craving. What, else? White Fungus and Bird’s Nest drink. Exactly what I was not craving. How about some water? At a local restaurant, I note an interesting collection of vodkas. Vifranco’s advertisement appears to be Tom Cruise from Top Gun photoshopped in front of the Eiffel Tower. “Men” vodka, brewed locally, uses an American cowboy montage. Again, maybe I’ll stick with the water. I collapse into bed only to wake up at 4:45 the next morning from the noise from the town’s central market, directly underneath my window. After 30 minutes of listening to bargaining, gossiping, and squabbling, I give up all hope of sleep. Like many Vietnamese markets, you can find a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, meats, and spices for sale -- purple eggplants, giant jackfruit, frogs hopping in nets, and dried fish. In the meat section, cleavers fell like the percussion section of an orchestra (ok, an out-of-tune orchestra).

This being a work trip, I spend the morning in meetings with local officials. In the afternoon, we headed north to the Pac Bo caves, where Ho Chi Minh re-entered Vietnam in 1941 to lead the revolution. Just south of the Chinese border, its only 50 kilometers from Cao Bang, but over 2.5 hours, by car. Cao Bang is one of the poorest provinces in Vietnam, but in the warm late-afternoon sun, it looked positively idyllic, with peasants scattered through the rice fields. (Note: I realize it’s more idyllic to look at the hard work of peasants from an air conditioned SUV than to actually be doing the hard work of peasants). My camera taking skills, such as they are, could not do it justice, so I’ll just write down what I couldn’t photograph: boys splashing in a mountain stream, water buffaloes wallowing in the mud, a grandmother and a baby sheltering from the mid-day sun in a large concrete cylinder designed for a culvert, teenage girls gathered in front of a school, bright flowers exploding in red on vines covering a one-room house, waterwheels irrigating fields, and hill tribe women crowded at a local market.

Despite their importance to modern Vietnamese history, the Pac Bo caves are little-developed as a tourist attraction. Recent rains had led to minor flooding, which caused some challenges as we crossed a swollen Lenin Stream before heading up hundreds of steps to make it to the legendary caves. On a 95 degree day, I was covered in sweat by the time we saw the desk where Uncle Ho worked and slept while guiding the Viet Minh guerillas.

The next day, we headed 90 kilometers to the east to the Ban Gioc waterfalls. After passing through mountain passes overlooking terraced rice fields, we reached the falls at mid-day. This being a frontier area and me being a foreign diplomat, I was asked to register at the border guard station for my protection, but was allowed to enjoy the falls unmolested after that. Many Vietnamese believe the entire falls are within Vietnam’s territory, but the Vietnamese and Chinese governments agreed to a border with a chunk of the waters within China. China has built a hideous hotel with a tram leading to a viewing platform. Vietnam has a small restaurant that will kill and boil a chicken for you.

In the rainy season (now) the falls roar down over 53 meters and you can hire a boat to take you up close into the spray. Chinese boats cross into Vietnamese territory, while our boat touched Chinese soil. As an international border, locals row small skiffs out to the tourist boats to hawk duty free cigarettes. Nothing like the cool pleasure of a non-filtered cancer stick to enhance nature’s beauty.

Vietnam 20: Our Neighborhood

Our apartment is in a great location. A short walk into the Old Quarter and a quick hop from Uncle Ho’s mausoleum and the Temple of Literature. About a 15 minute walk the other way and you’ll come to Truc Bach Lake (where the local residents fished out a young naval aviator named John McCain about 40 years ago) and the larger West Lake. Our back window faces a large tenement, mostly inhabited by military families. During the day, pajama-clad women water plants and hang clothes out to dry on makeshift balconies. On holidays, flagpoles sprout up festooned with dozens of Vietnamese flags.

As Hanoi has few neighborhoods that are strictly residential, commercial or industrial, our block sports numerous small retail establishments, a small beer hall, and many streetside stalls. In the evenings, little kids run around playing on the sidewalk, while older women set up tables to sell lottery tickets. Our apartment building on Tran Phu Street, named after an early Communist revolutionary who died in a French prison in 1931, is on property owned by the Ministry of Defense and if you turn the corner either way you quickly come to military buildings and a few streets permanently shut off to incoming traffic. Right at the end of our block are train tracks, still in active use. Trains leave the nearby station throughout the day, south to Ho Chi Minh City and north to the highland vacation spot of Sapa. Just beyond the train tracks lies Food Street, a collection of mostly modest Vietnamese restaurants, many of which specialize in hotpots. Very popular with our Vietnamese neighbors, we’ve eaten there a few times. It’s one of the few places active with patrons after 11 at night, though for a pedestrian thoroughfare there sure are a lot of motorbikes zooming by.

Early in the morning, next to our apartment building, a lively, small market attracts local housewives shopping for fruits, vegetables, meat, and flowers. Though some merchants operate out of tiny storefronts, other hawkers (almost all women) set up shop on the sidewalks. Periodically, the police come by to chase them out and I have come across them dropping their wares and running past to avoid fines. For those looking for Western products or more upscale (read: sanitary) produce, our neighborhood is a bit lacking. I can walk to the CitiMart in Hanoi Towers (next to Hoa Lo prison, John McCain’s “home” for several years), but normally need to catch a cab to do any serious shopping. Humorous side note: During Senator McCain’s recent visit to Hanoi, the local press asked residents their opinion of Senator McCain. One man said he liked McCain because he “lived in” Hanoi for several years.” Not sure that’s how the Senator would describe his stay here.

On a nice day, it’s a very easy walk to the old quarter, with only one or two potentially fatal intersection crossings. If you stay on a main street, you’ll pass by upscale art galleries, cosmopolitan silk shops, and the inevitable tourist traps. Step onto a sidestreet and you’re quickly transported into a maze of crowded, narrow alleys filled to the brim with hawkers, merchants, local shoppers and overseas visitors. It/s loud, colorful and hot. You can come back having spent 30 cents or $3,000. You never know.

As I’ve mentioned before, one of the joys of living in Hanoi is that by simply walking down the street you get such a full picture of how people live. Around the corner from our house is a small park of roughly two acres. Across the street from the Chinese Embassy, half of it is paved over in front of a large statue of Lenin. Yet, morning and evening, both the grassy walks and marble promenade fill up with our neighbors. In the morning, groups of older women gather to practice fan dancing. Middle aged men in their undershirts walk briskly in circles, while a few couples set up badminton nets. As the day wears on and heats up, small groups gather on plastic stools for a tea break. One guy pedals in on his bike to sell snakes. Tourists wander over from the military museum across the street to take pictures in front of Lenin.

Things liven up as the sun goes down. The wide area in front of Lenin is divided up roughly into three. In a leafy corner nearest our house, groups of teens gather to practice dance moves, usually hip hop, but I’ve also passed a team practicing their cheer routines, complete with pom poms. Next to them, about a dozen young Vietnamese men take up a makeshift game of soccer. Further on, local entrepreneurs have set up businesses renting out little battery powered cars for little kids and on almost any evening you can see dozens of happy 2-6 year olds slowly circling around, nervous parents or elder siblings in tow. Badminton games continue on the sidewalk and small crowds gather round men playing traditional board games.

Vietnam 19

So, You’ve Been Thinking About Traveling to Southeast Asia

Liz and Drew will only be in Vietnam for another year. Wouldn’t it be great if we got out to see them? Yes, yes it would be great. So, why aren’t you making your plans? Oh, it’s so far away and I just can’t imagine how we’d travel half-way around the world. Well, no more worries, here’s a guide on how to get out to see us.

Now, this guide basically can also be applied for trips to visit us the next time we serve in sub-Saharan Africa or if we ever are posted to India. It’s for itineraries that include long flight plus long flight. Non-stop travel is for wusses. If you’re only going from Chicago to Tokyo, this guide isn’t for you. If you’re flying to Europe, please exit this e-mail. Your subway car is pulling up to the station for your short commute.

Which routing is best?

First, you need to pick an itinerary. Most flights to Vietnam go through Seoul or Tokyo, though I’ve heard of people with more exotic routings through Hong Kong or Taipei. Flights from the East Coast to northern Asia leave in the late morning or mid-day, so you should be plenty rested before you begin your journey. If you have to make a stop before reaching an international gateway in the U.S., you have my sympathy (been there, done that). Anyway, now that you’re wide awake, enjoy the next 12 hours cooped up in a metal cylinder hurtling through the north Pacific jetstream. You’ll be able to use all your energy sitting, snacking, stretching, and wondering what on earth the person before you in the toilet could have been eating. Then you get to wander around a strange airport for several hours as you try to locate your connecting flight, which, inevitably, is in another terminal. At least it’s only another 5 hours to Hanoi, right?

Going back, you’ll wish you were arriving again. Flights from Vietnam to Korea and Japan leave in the late evening. Theoretically, you’ll get to sleep on the plane. Of course, theoretically, flying should be a pleasurable experience. So, for me, at least, I’ve got 2 sleepless nights to enjoy.

What airline to take?

Several U.S. and foreign carriers fly across the Pacific, though no U.S. airlines fly into Hanoi (Delta and United fly to Ho Chi Minh City). Would I be unpatriotic if I recommended a non-U.S. carrier? While we’ve had some good experiences on United and American, their level of service just doesn’t match that of their competitors. American flight attendants tend to be the grizzled veterans, who normally (though not always) have about had-it-up-to-here with years of silly passenger requests. You’re quite confident they can get you off the plane in case of an accident. You’re not so sure they won’t try to strangle you when you ask for a second blanket. Foreign flight attendants, on the other hand, are more likely to cater to your whims. And, probably get you off the plane in case of accident.

How should we fly?

Is it worth it to fly business class? Yes it is. If you’ve got miles to use or can upgrade for a reasonable amount, do it. Economy class sucks the life force out of you before you even make it to your destination. Would you prefer a half-day contorted into a medieval torture device enjoying the sweet symphony of crying infants? And the food. A friend flying on United recently reported the meal in the main cabin consisted of packaged ramen noodles. I know that U.S. carriers have hit a rough patch, but c’mon man, show some pride in your product. On rare occasions, you may catch a lucky break on an empty plane and get an entire row on which to stretch out (happened to us one time on a flight from Entebbe to Brussels on Christmas Eve). But, that’s not going to happen.

Business class is a remarkable step up. They treat you like a human being. And the movies! As people coming from countries lacking vast cinematic options, we love the ability to scroll through Hollywood’s almost-latest, even the Adam Sandler comedies. Food is generally pretty good. I like the Japanese bento boxes and one of my favorite flying memories is the make-your-own-sundae bar. Liz, who is able to sleep on planes, loves the down pillows and blankets. For me, they’re just added ballast that toss about while I try to doze for 30 minutes.

First class. I have no idea what goes on up there. I have a friend at the World Bank (you know exactly who you are) who occasionally travels in the front cabin, but whenever he talks about it, I drift off into a green haze of raging envy and don’t remember a thing that he says. I can only imagine red-cheeked cherubim feeding you grapes while angels play the harp as you lounge on your cloud-bed.

Business class lounges

Ah, the hallowed refuge of the moderately successful. A sanctuary away from the unwashed masses, where you can mingle with corporate VPs, frequent fliers, and couples splurging on anniversary vacations. I mock, but I love. At least, I love when done right. American Airlines in Tokyo does not do it right. All the connecting flights from Southeast Asia arrive around at 6 am, but the lounge does not open until 7 am. So, you stumble off your red-eye flight, onto the inter-terminal train, walk another 15 minutes to . . . wait in line for a half hour for a single agent (its always a single agent) to s-l-o-w-l-y process everyone in front of you. Your three hours of relaxation was just cut in half. American Airlines – stop this madness! Japan Airlines, on the other hand, gets it. Drinks are free. (American charges for sodas). So is the food and it’s pretty good. No cookies and crackers. Asiana Airlines in Seoul highlights their beer on tap. Anyway, each business lounge has a shower. That is a beautiful thing. However, you need to remember to bring a change of clothes. There is nothing more disheartening than coming out refreshed only to realize you have to put on a used pair of underwear.

What to do on the plane?

As I’ve already mentioned, you can watch movies or try to sleep. What else is there to do between meals? Maybe talk to your neighbor? Yes, I know you can chat with your wife/husband/traveling companion, but after 20 hours of schlepping across the world with too little sleep, your “chats” may devolve into “bickers.” My wife is a natural talker, open and gregarious. She’ll start talking with her seatmate and will soon have a friend for life or a valuable business contact. I’m more introverted and whenever I do try to engage the person beside me, they usually turn out to be infectious.

I like to look out the window. I like to observe cloud formations. I like to study the topography over which we are flying. I like to gaze into the multi-hued distance as the sun disappears over the horizon. No one else, it appears, likes to do so. Even on mid-day flights, as soon as the plane takes off, the shades go down. Maybe to enhance the romantic mood-lighting so natural in an aircraft interior, I suppose, though most people do it to void the glare on their video screens. I’m reduced to the occasional, furtive 5 second glance, which normally brings a dismissive harrumph from my beloved life-partner, engrossed in her “Friends” marathon on the 9 inch screen.

Arrival in Vietnam

We love living in Vietnam. We think it’s a great place to visit with many beautiful sites and an ancient, complex culture. Just don’t expect to see any of that on arrival at Noi Bai airport. Built in 2001, it’s already over-capacity and under-maintained. If you arrive in the mid-evening rush, you might not see your bag for a while. If you head to the rest room, you may not find any towels or hand driers. However, what you will find is Liz and me waiting for you when you clear customs. Isn’t that worth it?

Authors note: Sorry for the lack out of output over the last few months. Busy at work and then on leave. Hopefully, production will improve, though I can’t vouch for quality.

Vietnam/Malaysia 18

Malaysia

As Tet rolled around, Liz and I took advantage of the weeklong national holiday in late January to visit warmer climes. We enjoyed the Lunar New Year in Hanoi in 2008, but wanted to escape the normally chilly weather and desolate streets for something different this year. We joined our good friends Don and Bird for six days in Malaysia (photos: here) , a country that I had briefly visited 18 years ago while backpacking through Southeast Asia after law school.

This quick hop actually involved a day of travel as it takes three and a half hours to fly from Hanoi to Kuala Lumpur, roughly the time it takes between DC and Denver. Maps can be misleading things. It takes 5 hours to fly to Tokyo or 11 hours to Australia. Not so close. And yet Bangkok is 1.5 hours, closer than Ho Chi Minh City.

Needless to say, this visit, in which we stayed at a five star resort on the northeast coast of Peninsular Malaysia and at the Mandarin Oriental in Kuala Lumpur was far different from my earlier journey spent primarily in hostels and budget hotels. Of course, my financial situation is not the only thing that has changed in the last 18 years (though the current global recession is bringing me closer to my twenties than I might wish) and I saw just how much Malaysia has developed over the past two decades.

We loved the resort, but who wouldn’t. Beach. Great food. Ocean front room. What’s not to like. No, what really impressed us were the clean bathrooms in the regional airport at Kuala Terengganu and the smoothly-paved, honking-free roadways leading from the city to the beach. Hanoi has much to recommend it. Modern public hygiene and courteous motorists are not on the positive side of the Hanoi ledger. Though it was overcast for much of our time on the shore, we relished the quiet and the clean air of the Malaysian seashore.

Unlike my previous experiences in Southeast Asia and Africa where our high-end vacations were largely spent among other expats or western tourists, we noted that our expensive and exclusive resort was patronized largely by local Malaysians, primarily extended families taking a break over the Chinese New Year. Though still a developing county, Malaysia is relatively affluent with a per capita income of nearly $6,000. By contrast, Vietnam just announced that after a decade and a half of high growth, per capita GDP had broken the $1,000 barrier.

Visible to even the casual tourist, Malaysia is a multi-ethnic community, made up largely of Malays, Chinese and Indians. Within these communities are additional fractures. For example, Chinese immigrants speak 8 different dialects depending on which region their ancestors came from. At the resort, young Chinese women paraded around in bikinis while Muslim Malay women suited up like they were about to go on a scuba expedition before entering the pool. On TV, Malay morning personalities questioned Chinese community leaders about Lunar New Year traditions. A visit to one of KL’s high-end malls found Malay families in the food court, Chinese teens texting one another in front of clothing shops, and groups of largely-male Tamil and Indonesian laborers taking group photos in the central atrium on a rare day off. At the same time, ethnic instability remains and news headlines focused on protests involving the death of an ethnic Indian robbery suspect in police custody.

Let me put in a pitch for Malaysian food. For some reason, unlike Thai or Vietnamese cuisine, there aren’t that many Malaysian restaurants in the U.S. Perhaps it’s because there is a smaller Malaysian émigré base that serves as a catalyst to introduce the food to the general American population. Whatever the reason, it’s a shame, as the food is terrific. Spicy curries, fresh seafood, fragrant rice, exotic fruits. South Asian and Chinese influences. Western cooking techniques. Great stuff.

When I last visited KL, the city had begun to develop, but nothing like today. From our hotel window, we gazed up (and up) at the Petronas towers, until 2004 the tallest buildings in the world. While they no longer hold that honor, they remain dazzling, incorporating Islamic design with modern technology to anchor the city skyline. Dozens of other skyscrapers dotted the landscape, which resembled a cross between Singapore and Bangkok – perhaps leaning more towards the cleaner and more open Singapore. Who knows? Maybe KL will be a roadmap for the development of Vietnamese cities. Or maybe it will be one of the Chinese metropolises or a city in India. It’s exciting to think of the possibilities.

Vietnam 17

Hanoi is located in the Red River Delta, one of the most densely populated areas in the world. It is also poor, heavily urbanized, and seriously polluted. Perfect for running.

Liz and I both work pretty long hours, much of it involving typing on a computer while sitting at a desk. We both also like to eat – a lot. If we didn’t exercise, we’d be rather large. Actually, take out the “rather.” Therefore, we’ve got to do something. For us, it’s running. Liz has been running since college. I’m a fairly recent convert, but am trying to catch up.

Hanoi is an interesting place to run. There are no real natural running paths. You have to create your own routes. We have friends who live a bit north of the city and who often run in the fields near their development. I joined once or twice, but quickly soured on the mud-puddles, thorns and quizzical looks from farmers tending their plots and chuckling at idiotic foreigners running in the heart of the day’s heat.

Liz and I have two main running routes – in Reunification Park and along Truc Bach Lake and Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum. Running in Reunification Park (or, as it used to be called “Lenin Park”), is great on a weekend day during the winter or early in the morning before work. Located in the heart of the city, it’s the largest green space in the downtown area and can attract huge crowds. For the cost of the 4,000 dong (16 cents) entry fee, you get a birds-eye view of how Hanoi residents relax or exercise.

Running early in the morning reminded us of our runs in Lumpini Park, Bangkok’s giant urban park down the street from our old apartment. Like Lumpini, Thong Nhat is packed before 7 am with walkers, joggers (shufflers), ballroom dancers, hawkers, and flag wavers (photos here). Groups of older men sit on small plastic stools drinking tea, while older women perform slow-motion rhythmic exercises and younger women aerobicize to dance tapes. While running, we often see women exercising while walking around the lake. It’s like something from the old Monty Python skit “Ministry of Funny Walks” as women flap their arms, wag their hips, and bring their knees up to their chests while moving along. Later in the day, particularly on weekends or holidays, vendors slowly walk around selling colorful balloons to kids, while others sit and make colorful and intricate clay figurines. Photographers pose visitors for pictures, while peddlers wheel around mobile scales to weigh people. Liz and I paid 5,000 dong (30 cents) to find out that we were fat. A small children’s railway circumnavigates the park and little kids like to waive at us as they pass by. If the weather is nice, brides and grooms converge on the park in tuxes and bridal dresses to take their wedding photos. I’ve counted up to six at one time. I sometimes try to sneak in the back of the shots. Unlike Lumpini, we haven’t seen early morning karaoke. Instead, we normally see dozens of matches of badminton, pitting old and young, male and female against each other. I read an article recently which said that the company that developed the giant resort we stayed at in Nha Trang has plans to develop the park into an entertainment area, modeled on Disneyland, a ridiculous and inappropriate idea for a densely populated city that desperately needs “green lungs” and open spaces. Hopefully, it will remain as is and Liz and I will get to learn a bit more about our neighbors.

One morning on my way into Unification Park to run, I was accosted by a group of teenaged huggers. “Huggers?” you say? Yes, huggers. A group of about a dozen boys and girls wearing red bandanas were outside the entrance to the park offering passers-by cookies and a hug. They seemed to enjoy my Vietnamese, though they were looking to improve their English skills. Anyway, a biscuit or two later, after a well-photographed hug (sadly, I did not bring my camera), we were able to begin our run. I wonder what has become of that photo? Gracing high school girl’s locker, like Justin Timberlake? At the bottom of a parakeet’s cage?

The Truc Bach run is the quintessential urban run – dodging cars and scooters as we cross streets (or run in the streets), trying to avoid mysterious potholes and ankle-breaking gaps among the pavement, enjoying the smells of grilled pork, not enjoying the smells of urine. We usually run this route in the evenings after work, hopefully after traffic has died down. It can be scenic – we pass the Military Museum and the Citadel, run around Truc Bach lake and across from West Lake, and finally salute Ho Chi Minh as we jog by his tomb. We pass dozens of restaurants and beer halls, families out enjoying themselves in the relative cool of the evening, balloon sellers and fruit hawkers. On the back side of the lake, there is little motorized traffic and families and friends gather on the banks of the lake to enjoy drinks and various hotpots. As we run by, the touts sometimes try to lure us over for a snack. I guess it appears that I’d rather be eating stewed turtle than running. Though I sometimes feel like we’re running in stew due to the humidity, we’ve been able to fight off the desire for frog legs and snails long enough to finish our run.

Post-run routines vary depending on time of day. A morning run may be followed by a bowl of pho, particularly welcome in the winter cold. Vietnamese love to point to us as we walk along in shorts and t-shirts in what they believe to be Arctic conditions (read 60 degrees). Anyway, it’s a good way to rehydrate. Another way to rehydrate is by drinking beer. After an evening run with my friend Joaquin, we sometimes gravitate towards one of Hanoi’s numerous bia hoi stalls. Imported into Hanoi from the Czechs during the period of socialist solidarity, these Hanoi institutions, or beer “halls,” may be as small as a few plastic chairs in the sidewalk or may be large enough to seat a thousand boozing Hanoians. We walk in, grab a stool, and order. The beer is low alcohol lager – all the more refreshing. Goes nicely with fried tofu or sautéed morning glory. We try to avoid the roasted dog, steamed chicken ovaries, or boiled beef penis. It’s a convivial atmosphere and occasionally a group of men (it’s mostly, but not quite exclusively men that go to bia hois) will wander on over to try out their English or enjoy our conversational Vietnamese. After an hour or so (or after we’ve restored our electrolyte balance), we head home feeling good about our strenuous exercise.