Snake head soup, anyone?

If there's one thing that outnumbers motorbikes in Hanoi, it's motorbike helmets. A helmet law was passed some months ago and, while you might see an occasional bare head in the city, bareheaded biking occurs mainly in the countryside where policing is sparser. The helmets come in all colors and shapes, from mullet-shaped Tour de France bike helmets with a gold sparkle finish, to visored pink-checked polo helmets, to green WWII vintage Red Army helmets, to white construction hard hats. One thing you almost never see, though, is a round, skull-enclosing honest-to-goodness motorcycle helmet, with or without a visor.

I'm starting to feel like a resident out on the streets. I'm sure some of the locals recognize me on sight now even if I don't know their faces yet. What makes the biggest difference is my relationship to the traffic. While I recognize that the anarchic Vietnamese way of swarming through the streets like schools of fish is quite dangerous (a judgment attested by a very high rate of traffic fatalities), I also see that accidents occur much less often than you'd suspect after watching the chaos for just a short time. Hanoians don't want to crash and most of them have developed considerable skill at avoiding crashes. Knowing this makes it possible to lend a little trust to the "system" and, while not abandoning prudent vigilence altogether, at least find the courage to step out in front of a hundred oncoming motorbikes with a fair certainty they're all going to miss you…this time.

I went looking for the Hoang Ngoc Hotel yesterday because it was one of the hotels I considered booking before I arrived. When I saw it was only 10 feet wide I was intrigued enough to go in and ask to see a room. The hotel was actually quite beautifully designed and built, with efficiently laid out rooms, clean modern bathrooms, and built-ins of dark tropical hardwood. The quality of the place didn't tempt me to switch hotels, as I would have to pay almost twice my current rate for half the space. I was inspired, though, to start checking out other hotels in the neighborhood. I've learned that my hotel—at 20 feet wide—is one of the widest hotels around!

I ate dinner at a restaurant called Oriland. It was ordinary by Oakland standards, but extemely hightone for this neighborhood: booths covered in tasteful fabric, embossed beige wallpaper, full bar (Bailey's, Hennessy, Cointreau…), piped in samba music, electric fans, and a terrace shielded from the street by huge potted plants.

I would have pegged it for a tourist trap except I was the only Westerner in the place. I suppose these places also cater to wealthy Hanoians, of whom there must be a sizeable number. I get the impression from what little I've seen that neighborhoods here are less segregated between haves and have-nots than in the US. Apparently Vietnamese who come into money don't move to a better neighborhood. They just fix up the place they're in. Somebody correct me if I'm wrong.

Anyway, here's what was interesting about Oriland: When the samba album finished, somebody put on the Best of the Beegees. That was followed by a rousing rendition of the William Tell Overture. I don't know what Vietnamese music sounds like because I haven't heard any yet. Here's another interesting thing: I had the curry chicken with steamed rice and it was really good. It came with a bowl of soup, a side of steamed celery, and some carrots cut up to look like roses. With dinner I had a tall beer, poured into my glass by the very attentive waiter with the bow tie. My bill, including the beer, came to $3.50. As is the custom here, I left no tip. Back home, $3.50 in a place like this would have got me a beer and an scowl from a stiffed waiter.

The beer I had was a Ha Noi, a local beer, obviously. It cost $1.20. For $1.32, I could have had a Heineken—or for $3.30, a Corona. I watched a Vietnamese customer drink 3 Coronas: conspicuous consumption, Hanoi style.

Also on the menu: fresh lemon juice with milk. Does this sound right to anybody? Maybe it was just a loose translation like the one I saw yesterday: "Wide selection of 6 dishes to fulfill your lunch with joy." On my way home from Oriland I passed JQK's, a squalid little eatery with one of those backlit signs with pictures of food that have faded until they look most unappetizing. JQK's slogan was "You name it, we serve it." I believe them. I haven't looked at a Hanoi menu yet that didn't mention either snake head soup or pig's trotters.