Travelling from Sapa to Hanoi is like being fired from a cannon straight into a brick wall. Or something like that, suffice it to say that the transition is rough. We finally made it out into the countryside surrounding Sapa on Saturday as the rains eventually abated. We took a nice trek down to Lao Chai village, where our little H'mong friends live. It was a stunning walk, as we quickly descended steeply down slick muddy slopes to the valley floor and the raging river. The hillsides were all covered in contoured rice paddies in a patchwork of smooth, rolling greens and yellows. The village itself was quite an interesting place to visit. The community consists of low, wooden houses, and the only structure that varies from the architectural norm is the school, which is a tall ochre French colonial style buidling. Needless to say, it is out of place. We were lucky enough to be invited to see our friend Soethe's (pronounce Xou-xou, I think) house. Ten people live in this wooden building, which was actually a little bit bigger than I expected. There was a main open room with a large shrine at one end, which is surprisingly free of furniture. Sleeping seemed to take place in a couple of side rooms. The main kitchen was to one side, though there was also a small 
fire cooking area on the other side. The house had electricity, but the two bulbs left the building incredibly dark inside, even though we visited in midday. Overall, the living conditions seemed relatively high, and the only concerning aspect was the toddler (Soethe's niece) who seemed to be the only one home when we arrived.
fire cooking area on the other side. The house had electricity, but the two bulbs left the building incredibly dark inside, even though we visited in midday. Overall, the living conditions seemed relatively high, and the only concerning aspect was the toddler (Soethe's niece) who seemed to be the only one home when we arrived.From that kind of atmospere (and relaxed, beautiful, comfortable Sapa) we took a sleeper train to Hanoi. We shared our cabin with two Korean men working in Hanoi and their "girlfriends" (we were a bit skeptical that the drop dead gorgeous 19 year old Vietnamese girl would (without monetary incentive) choose to marry a 46 year old man she couldn't speak to, as well as plan to move to his country). We were very happy to meet some Koreans, but a little sketched out by the whole situation. We arrived in Hanoi at 5 am thanks to the the wonderfully convenient train schedules, and were promptly scammed and basically robbed by our taxi driver. Even at just after five, the park where we decided to wait it out until things opened up was a flurry with activity. People were jogging, stretching, exercising, generally moving their bodies about in jerky and rapid fashions.
The tone for Hanoi was well set by this scene, save for the fact that not everyone (as I initially, pessimistically and rashly decided) is trying to rip us off. Hanoi is a lot to handle; to give the very definition to an adjective: intense. The streets are narrow, the traffic is constant, the honking incessant. The motorbike to car/bus ratio is at least 78:1. The only way to cross a street is to slowly and steadily wade your way into and 
across the steady current of traffic. Anything you want (or more likely, don't want) is constantly available from street vendors. All the sidewalks are primarily areas for motorbike parking/maintenance, or makeshift restaurants and bars. Intimidated at first, I have come to embrace the throbbing life of this city. Stepping directly into an onslaught of motorbikes isn't really as scary as it seems at first, and eating and drinking from a tiny plastic seat on a sidewalk isn't as dirty as it seems at first (and you can't beat the price; "fresh beer" is about 18 cents on the street). Getting outside of the super-tourist section decreases the bothering to negligable levels, and seeing the industriousness of the city's residents is incredible. Along every row of shops, people are grinding motorbike pieces, taking apart sewing machines, cutting up some sort of animal or vegetable, always working, selling, making, moving. It's impressive to see. Also, huge tropical trees line the streets, their roots snaking down and sometimes encasing fences and buildings.
across the steady current of traffic. Anything you want (or more likely, don't want) is constantly available from street vendors. All the sidewalks are primarily areas for motorbike parking/maintenance, or makeshift restaurants and bars. Intimidated at first, I have come to embrace the throbbing life of this city. Stepping directly into an onslaught of motorbikes isn't really as scary as it seems at first, and eating and drinking from a tiny plastic seat on a sidewalk isn't as dirty as it seems at first (and you can't beat the price; "fresh beer" is about 18 cents on the street). Getting outside of the super-tourist section decreases the bothering to negligable levels, and seeing the industriousness of the city's residents is incredible. Along every row of shops, people are grinding motorbike pieces, taking apart sewing machines, cutting up some sort of animal or vegetable, always working, selling, making, moving. It's impressive to see. Also, huge tropical trees line the streets, their roots snaking down and sometimes encasing fences and buildings.All in all, Hanoi is (once you get used to it) a pleasant place to be, but it seems worlds away from the quiet mountain pace of Sapa.
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