Siteline | From Vietnam With… Ambivalence

My husband, Adam, and I kicked off the Vietnam portion of our Southeast Asia trip in Hanoi, which came as a shock after orderly Singapore. Motor scooters are everywhere—heading the wrong way, running red lights, driving on sidewalks.

Their buzzing and beeping is constant. Whenever we were in a car, I occupied myself by marveling at what people carried on a scooter or bike. (You can even rideshare the back of a moped.) Besides the examples below, there were a pair of French bulldogs sitting on the seat, a widescreen TV, a 20-foot-long pole, a plastic bag with goldfish dangling from the handlebars, and a lot of plants….

Our timing was really unlucky. We had checked the weather before planning, so we expected it to be temperate and gray, but we never factored in the air quality—anywhere from 250 to 500 (i.e., very unhealthy to hazardous), due to the motor scooters, nearby industry, garbage incineration, and farmers burning fields the way they have for centuries, all compounded by an inversion. The acrid haze was omnipresent; indoors and out, we could smell, taste, and even feel the pollution on our skin. We are so fortunate to live where we do.

As a result, we walked around far less than we normally would. (Wearing N95 masks only helped so much.) Thankfully, the Capella Hanoi was one of the best hotels we’ve stayed at, decorated to the nines with service to match.

The level of detail is extraordinary. Both murals below were painted by hand.

The property has three restaurants; the glamorous one below is where breakfast is served, and I wish I lived as large as the quartet of baller Americans who ordered Champagne, oysters, pho, and heaven knows what else at 8 a.m.

We thought it would be wise to hire a guide for a day, and the company came recommended by a friend of a friend who had steered us well in the past. I knew we were in trouble as soon as our guide detoured us to a craft showroom, despite our stated lack of interest. Soon after, while stuck in traffic, I emailed myself a note to remember later: “Adam keeps trying to communicate with the guide, and I’d swear they’re talking about different things half the time. Adam expects intelligence when there has been little evidence of it so far.” Unfortunately, I sent it to Adam instead of myself. (“I agree with you,” he replied.)

The second stop was the Temple of Literature, which is apparently a temple dedicated to Confucius that was the site of the Imperial Academy, Vietnam’s first university. I say “apparently” because I tuned out early on and cribbed that description from Wikipedia just now.

The thing I will remember most from Vietnam, after the motor scooters, was the photo shoots. We were there in advance of the Tet holiday, when locals have a tradition of getting their portrait taken. People were posing everywhere—not just at landmarks, but in front of luxury boutiques like Patek Philippe and Louis Vuitton. I can only imagine how many times we had to be photoshopped out of the background.

After the Temple of Literature, we visited the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, where the guide explained that Ho Chi Minh was such a great man because he spoke many languages and handed out candy to children.

I quite enjoyed the nearby “Illustrations for the Law of Karma,” which would make fantastic wallpaper. To paraphrase one: “Preventing others from doing good deeds […] brings a paralyzed body later on.”

The tour’s nadir occurred at Hoa Lo Prison, where our guide insisted that American prisoners called it the Hanoi Hilton “because it was as comfortable as a hotel.” (He was up there with the Galápagos guide who was unsure about evolution.) The displays hewed to the same story, making much of how viciously Vietnamese prisoners were treated by the French while ignoring how the Vietnamese turned around and did the same thing to Americans. I suppose every country is entitled to frame its history however it pleases, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. And, to be honest, I was destined to dislike the experience, for I find it disturbing to see prison and torture treated as a tourist attraction. Below: a visitor trying out a cell.

Lunch was at a restaurant specializing in chicken pho. Our guide enjoyed the food more than we did, and we enjoyed a sign in the men’s room more than he did.

The tour concluded with a ride—without the guide—on a bike-powered cyclo. Adam and I had thought about skipping it because it seemed hokey, but we were glad we didn’t. The time-lapse video gives a sense of the chaotic streets, but not how slowly we moved, despite the manic pedaling of the driver, who looked around 80 and would smack us on the shoulder when he thought we ought to be noticing something.

This boutique was not on his hit list, but I’m still giggling about it.

Despite my griping, I can see why other people love Hanoi. The architecture is so varied, with French colonial remnants, Communist landmarks, run-down shacks, and more.

And the streets are incredibly lively. After the first day, I wasn’t surprised to see chickens roaming free, a sidewalk campfire, or a man getting a shave.

Or more photo shoots.

“How was the food?” everyone asked after we got home. I like Vietnamese food! But—and this is just how the cards fell for us, based on where we went and what we ordered—a lot of it began to taste the same, with an emphasis on pork, sugar, and fish sauce. Almost everything was sweeter than we expected, even a bag of Lay’s “Natural Classic” potato chips. That said, there were many bright spots, like the salt coffee (with condensed milk and salted whipped cream) and egg coffee (cream whipped with egg yolks).

Unable to get a reservation at Gia, we went instead to the impressive Chapter Dining, where the tasting menu included scallop slices sandwiched between kohlrabi (below) and fish in a sauce of fermented rice beurre blanc that Adam is obsessed with replicating. Fancier Vietnamese restaurants tend to leave printed materials about the establishment and its dishes on the table. One card at Chapter Dining began, “When we think back to after-work bondings, we inevitably remember plates of coconut-stir-fried snails….”

The restaurant also gave us a handout with its proprietors’ favorite restaurants (page one, page two), and we had lunch at one of them, a vegan place called Ưu Đàm Chay. The food was tasty—that’s a tofu-and-peanut dish in a rice cracker “bowl”—but the staff stuck us in a room by ourselves, possibly as punishment for being foreign. At least I could take photos of the napkin arrangement without being observed.

I would more highly recommend Chào Bạn, site of excellent pork ribs and the best spring rolls I’ve ever had.

We knew we’d crave nature after Hanoi, and Ha Long Bay appears seductive in photos. By all accounts, however, it’s wildly overcrowded, so we opted for a one-night Orchid Premium Cruise of nearby Lan Ha Bay. It was a mistake on many levels, starting and ending with the two-and-a-half-hour drive each way in a shared van. And while you might look at the photos of the boat, which has just five cabins, and think it seems nice, there was a dinge throughout. The whole experience was impersonal and ruthlessly efficient, an assembly line of travelers in a machine of mass tourism.

The geography, however, was unforgettable.

Drifting by the formations was occasionally sublime…

…but the joy of cruising is diminished when another boat noisily chugs alongside you.

Because if this was the less crowded bay, I can’t imagine what the other one is like. At times, such as while anchored at night, when we felt as if were in an RV parking lot.

The very worst part was the garbage floating in the water. The kayaking on the packed agenda sounded great—and felt good to do something active—until we stopped at a beach that was idyllic from a distance but riddled with trash. I understand that being able to prioritize caring about the environment is a luxury, and Vietnam, hobbled by injuries the U.S. helped cause, is still playing catch-up. Indeed, to its credit, the country is starting to do something about the air pollution. It’s just hard to see such a beautiful place mistreated. Oh, to have visited decades ago!

We couldn’t get to Ho Chi Minh City (a.k.a. Saigon) fast enough. In at least one way, it feels like Hanoi…

…but the air quality was far less of a problem. And we were more comfortable navigating the traffic. (Drivers in HCMC are obedient of the laws, which goes a long way.) When crossing a street, the best plan is to shadow a local, ideally without him or her knowing; walk at a steady pace, because slowing down or speeding up might confuse the drivers hurtling toward you; and never forget that the green crosswalk man only flashes three times before turning a hard red—at which point you run.

The exterior and public spaces at the Park Hyatt Saigon, the city’s best hotel, have an appealing grandeur, but it paled in comparison to the Capella in Hanoi. In the pro column: a “freshwater closet” on each floor, where you can refill water bottles, and an impressive breakfast buffet, along with à la carte Indian, Japanese, Indonesian, and Chinese dishes. (I didn’t order any of them, but I liked that they were there.) Cons: Nespresso machines not just in the rooms but also in the restaurants, and no body lotion. It could be argued the latter is unnecessary in a city that suffers from high heat and humidity.

Again with the photo shoots.

At Independence Palace (a.k.a Reunification Hall), we often had to wait our turn while a photo was being taken. It was worth it, though. The palace/hall’s website calls the place a “Special National Relic,” surely referring to its role in history, but for me, the midcentury interiors are the star.

Have you ever seen randomness in a floor?

The presidential living quarters were remarkably modest, and the basement bunker felt like something out of a David Lynch film.

The sultry weather limited our exploring, but we did hit quintessential sites like Book Street, the big Ho Chi Minh statue, and the Notre Dame Cathedral, encased in scaffolding.

We also checked out a mall, mainly for the air conditioning, and a market, where gold bar melons—a luxurious Tet gift—stole the show.

We were only in HCMC for 48 hours, and that was probably enough, but unlike most everyone else who visits Vietnam, I preferred it to Hanoi. The relatively breathable air allowed us to do the things I like to do—walk around, look at buildings, and hunt for amusing details. Never in Vietnam did we feel unsafe, and the only awkwardness came when touts would start barking “Massage!” when they saw two middle-age white men approaching.

At a different, bygone point in life, we might have tried one of the city’s many street kitchens, although it has been a long time since I’ve been comfortable on a stool of that height.

We did better with more Western-style establishments, such as Bosgaurus Coffee Roasters, home of the best coffee on the trip.

XLIII Coffee, meanwhile, made the most memorable coffee. You enter into an empty room, then climb a flight of stairs to find a laboratory-like space where coffee is taken very, very seriously. Adam was strongly encouraged to leave a Google review (“five stars!”) while we were still there.

There are two other places I’d recommend. First, the lovely Ivoire Pastry Boutique. I took photos of the trompe l’oeil pastries but ordered a pain au chocolat. While I wouldn’t wish colonial rule on any country, it did pay one dividend in Vietnam.

Second, you must go to Little Bear when in HCMC. We sat at the kitchen counter and opted for the chef’s tasting. The food was astounding, worth far more than the $52 per-person price. One dish successfully combined cuttlefish, stracciatella, and lemon-basil sorbet; the strawberry shortcake tasted even better than it looks.

As much as I love a city, I was ready for intense R&R at a beach resort. But first, I should point out that Vietnam Airlines, which we flew several times, was a delight. Sitting in business class obviously helps, particularly when you factor in—something I had never seen before—the tarmac bus reserved for business class passengers.

Amanoi, a 75-minute drive south of Cam Ranch International Airport, was built in 2013 and has held up well. It’s centered on a main pavilion, site of the primary restaurant and bar.

There’s another restaurant at the contemporary-style beach pavilion.

The adults-only pool is handsome, but we didn’t use it. The wind blew hard as soon as we arrived, which bummed Adam out because he hoped to go sailing or kayaking, or even lie on the beach. (The good news, for Hanoi, was that the AQI there dropped to 50.) I didn’t mind the wind so much; it felt refreshing after the air in the cities.

You can summon a golf cart to take you around the 100-acre property, but we preferred to walk. It’s within Nui Chua National Park, so nature abounds. The birds are white-crested laughingthrushes, which jabber and yap. Only on the second night did a staffer suggest we take a flashlight to walk back to our room after dinner—apparently snakes are not uncommon.

Speaking of our room, our villa had a pool that was somewhat protected by the wind.

The hotel was decorated for Tet with strings of colored lanterns and pots of red and yellow chrysanthemums that the wind played with like toys.

And sure enough, there was a woman getting photographed in every conceivable location—outside the central pavilion, at the beach pavilion, by the pool, in the gift shop, at the spa…. We couldn’t determine if the photographer was her father, lover, or hired help.

Our lone activities were a visit to the spa and the Ba Tang Waterfall Trek. We told the staff in advance that we like to hike quickly, and the guide moved like he was on fire. He and the porters complimented us for being so fast (for our age, natch), but the porters did it even faster and in flip-flops.

If you go to Amanoi, I have two pieces of advice. One is to do the Goga Peak hike from the hotel. It’s short and leads to amazing views. The lights in the bay are used by fishermen to attract squid.

And you’ll want to brace yourself for the service. Not because it’s bad—on the contrary, it’s extremely attentive, full-court hospitality that takes some getting used to.

Wherever you go, a staffer greets you by name (Mr. Adam and Mr. Erik)—impressive, if a tad more intimate than I’d like. And every conversation involves back-and-forth expressions of appreciation and gratitude: Thank you for taking the menu. Thank you for giving me the menu. Thank you for thanking me…. It can get absurd fast, what with our mutual language limitations.

Housekeeping services the room every time you leave for a meal; the day of our departure, our room was freshened at 9:45 a.m., even though they knew we would be leaving at 10:30 a.m. When I hung up the do not disturb sign to discourage them, our restaurant server doublechecked that we hadn’t done so by mistake. I like a clean room, but three times a day verges on OCD.

Perhaps I’m a privileged jerk for complaining about service being too good. One should be so lucky! But it can feel smothering, and even judgmental. To wit…. When we were first shown our room, we agreed to having our sheets changed every two days, as per Amanoi policy. At lunch one day, our server appeared at the table brandishing his phone. The housekeepers discovered a blemish on our sheets, he informed us, producing photos as proof. Did we want them changed now? What I wanted was to crawl under the table. I have never felt more like a dog getting its nose rubbed in its mess.

P.S. The next person to have us over for dinner is getting a real treat.

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