I Left My Heart in Hanoi Along With Uncle Ho
December 26
It’s probably no surprise that after spending 24/7 with a handsome guy who loves independent travel and esoteric analysis of it as much as I do that, Eric, my traveling companion, evolved into a romantic interest. It’s probably also no surprise that spending 24/7 with just about anyone will slowly frazzle one’s nerves. Throw a little stress into the mix (purchasing and transporting motorbikes in a foreign country, beginning a road-trip only to discover that it’s too cold to continue, motorbike breaking down, constant language barriers of being in a foreign country, etc) and sadly, things just unraveled between the two of us. Of course there was more involved, but this is my travel blog, not my diary so let’s just leave it at that.
Who am I kidding? I’m a broken-hearted extrovert all alone in a foreign country so of course I need an emotional outlet! I’ll try to strike a balance between a diary and a travel blog; hopefully not one that Eric will find invasive of his privacy.
Given that we were together for 24/7, it felt like we had dated for closer to 6 months than the almost 2 that we actually shared. After experiencing such deep emotions over that actual or perceived time, I knew that immediately switching to “just friends” status and continuing to travel together would be torturous to my heart. I guess Eric felt the same. We both needed some space, but it was a shame for many reasons that this need arose on the eve of our month-long motorbike trip through Vietnam.
But when you need space, you need space. So we decided to part ways for some undetermined amount of time. I wasn’t ready to leave Hanoi immediately, but Eric was. We both had the same general itinerary (basically, head to Ha Long Bay and then South to Saigon – the same, but obviously more of a skeletal outline than an actual itinerary) so we decided he’d set out a day ahead of me, leaving us the option of joining forces down the road if and when we both decided we’d had the space we needed.
So there I sat, alone in the dark in my hotel room, on the eve of Eric’s departure from Hanoi. For some reason, out of the blue, a tidal wave of panic washed over me. My heart started pounding so hard in my chest, I thought it was trying to break out of its confines and start its own trip … to where I wondered?
Perhaps I was recalling the spill I took on my motorbike a few days earlier in the Hanoi rush hour traffic (It was minor. I didn’t even get a scrape. I simply got too far over onto the edge of the street and my tire got caught on the break of the asphalt. Luckily for all of us, the biker behind me and all those behind him had terrific braking reflexes.) Or perhaps I was having separation anxiety just from having lost my travel partner. Regardless of the cause, I was immensely afraid …. something extremely odd for me in general, but particularly after having traveled on my own throughout Southeast Asia for the past five months.
It’s amazing how healing a good night’s sleep can be. Thankfully, in the morning, I felt 90% better on the “fear factor front” and, through a Skype conference, my fabulous family pushed me right up to 100% (thanks Mom, Dad, John and Maria!). So I filled my last day in Hanoi with errands to prepare for my now solo motorbike trip of Vietnam: purchasing a compass to replace the one I’d lost a month back, better weather-proof gear to keep me warmer and drier when driving, an Allen wrench to keep my bike mirrors tight, etc. Supplies stocked, I felt much more confident and ready to launch.
With all the administrative to do’s complete, it was time to start checking off “touristy to do’s” before leaving Hanoi. I’d been playing around Hanoi’s Old Quarter for a few days enjoying the millions of photo opps, but had not gone to see a single touristic highlight.
I started with the most definite “must see”: the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where Ho Chi Minh lies in state, embalmed for all eternity against his wishes. Ho Chi Minh is revered like a god in Vietnam. He never married and had no children, always saying that all the Vietnamese people were his children. In return, the Vietnamese call him “Bac Ho” or Uncle Ho.
When I visited Brazil seven years ago, I stayed a few days with a delightful Brazilian woman named Rosangela and her family. Brazilians pronounce their R’s like H’s so her name was pronounced “Hosangela.” But of course that was a mouthful so when we met, she told me, “My name is Hosangela, but you can call me Ho.” On the third day that I stayed with her, I finally got up the nerve and the sufficient Portuguese to laugh with her about why calling her Ho was difficult for me at first.
Naturally, I reminisced about my Brazilian friend, Ho, as I went to visit Uncle Ho. The Mausoleum was fascinating. After Ho Chi Minh’s death in 1969, it took one year to embalm his body. The job was done by Soviet Dr. Sergei Debrov. Each year, Uncle Ho’s body is returned to Russia for two months to for maintenance … sort of an annual post mortum face lift. Apparently, the technology to do the job doesn’t yet exist in Vietnam. Luckily for me, Bac Ho returned to his bed in Hanoi just two weeks before my visit.
The mood at the mausoleum was very solemn. Only groups of 12-15 were permitted to enter at a time. There’s red plastic “carpet” throughout giving an air of pomp and circumstance as though one were going to visit a king. For the Vietnamese, a visit to Uncle Ho, dead or alive, amounts to as much.
Many guards were stationed throughout the mausoleum. Unaware that viewing Ho’s body was taken so seriously by the Viets, I was chatting away with my guide on the way into the mausoleum, asking about Vietnamese homes and other aspects of their culture. The first guard I encountered “shushed” me. The second guard I passed instructed me to remove the hood of my rain coat from my head. Wow! This was really serious business. I was torn between not looking any more guards in the eye for fear they’d correct me further. Of course, I was equally curious to see what else they would correct me for so I couldn’t resist a few more peeks at them. Sure enough, I received further citations. I had been holding my long pant legs up a slight bit with my hands to prevent them from soaking up the rain water that had collected on the plastic carpet … and was instructed to drop them to the floor.
After many stairs and numerous twists and turns through hallways, I suddenly was in the room where Ho Chi Minh lay embalmed in his coffin. The light in the room was soft and slightly eerie. Nine guards were posted in the room; the four guards posted immediately next to the body were armed. Did they suppose someone would try to run off with Ho’s body?
After my guide and I emerged from the mausoleum, he began singing Ho’s praises as we toured the rest of the grounds where Bac Ho lived and worked. He told me that Ho spoke ten languages and described him as “magic.” The grounds were lovely but quite simple for a head of state. Of course, simplicity and humility were precisely what Ho was known and celebrated for. At first I found it odd that people would revere a man so much as to keep his used cars on display … until I saw that they were “regular old cars” like the farmer next door might drive, not limousines or fancy, expensive toys. I think their purpose in being displayed was less “Ho touched this item” than “Look at what a normal life he lived.” Ho’s house and office were likewise plain and simple. Ordinary in fact.
entrance gate to the lovely Temple of Literature
The museum was closed the day I visited (unclear if it was the day or just an early lunchtime that was the problem) but sadly, I wasn’t able to experience it. The rest of the was all quite interesting and a nice tribute to a man so beloved by his country. Unfortunately, it was raining that morning so I didn’t take my camera … so no photos. Sorry.
From there, I visited the Temple of Literature. I had no guide and, ironically, there wasn’t really any literature to explain what I was seeing, but it was beautiful and enchanting. To enter, I walked through an ancient gate into a lovely garden courtyard. I continued passing through several more gates into more courtyards. The second courtyard was fascinating with, what I later read, were 82 stone stelae mounted on tortoises. The stelae are large stones onto which are engraved the names of successful candidates for a state examination given from 1442 – 1779.
stelae at the Temple of Literature
A ceremonial hall in a later courtyard contained statues of to which many Vietnamese were offering incense and prayers. The statues looked nothing like Buddha, but he seems to come in many forms. I decided to ask one girl after she finished her prayers. She told me that the statue was Confucius and on his sides were his four main disciples. She told me that Vietnamese come to pray to the Temple to pray to Confucius for intelligence and success in school. She herself had an important exam the next day and had come to the Temple hoping to get an extra edge. Very interesting!
Although it wasn’t listed high on my guide book’s list of sights to see, as an artist, I couldn’t pass up the Vietnam Fine Arts Museum. I was amazed at the lacquer paintings, a specialty of Vietnam. In addition to the centuries old paintings and sculptures, I particularly enjoyed a section of the museum that specialized in folk art and the art of ethnic minorities.
Hanoi is an incredibly delightful city; one in which I could easily live. Wandering around it and enjoying its friend people and interesting sights was just the salve that my heart needed. By that evening, I was back on top of my game – or as much at the top of my game a broken-hearted girl can be. Hearts don’t heal in the course of a day, of course, but at the end of that day, my heart was a little less raw. Most importantly, my fears were vanquished and I was ready to hit the road to receive more of that salve that I knew exploring Vietnam would provide.
There are far more photos of lovely and interesting Hanoi than I have room to post here. To see more of them, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.
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