"St. Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi is an atmospheric place to stop and pray to the patron saint of terrified pedestrians"
Hanoi is noisy. A lesson learned for me.
We’re here in December and I wonder if the hundreds of honking, buzzing motor-scooters are swarming out of some seasonally-driven impetus to breed.
Hanoi is noisy. A lesson learned for me.
We’re here in December and I wonder if the hundreds of honking, buzzing motor-scooters are swarming out of some seasonally-driven impetus to breed.
The streets and sidewalks are chaotic, at least to us. But the Vietnamese know how to get around. In fact, picking up on our body language of fear, an elderly man took Dan’s arm to guide him across the street and I latched on to Dan’s other arm.
The narrow sidewalks are given over to parked motorbikes forcing you to pick your way along the gutter. Roadside, you weave to avoid the vehicles; curb-side, you skip over kitchen waste that is tossed out of people’s homes after meals. By comparison, the streets in small town China are safe and orderly. A few blocks removed from the worst of the traffic, St. Joseph’s Catholic Cathedral offers sanctuary, respite from the Hanoi travel experience. It’s an atmospheric place to stop and pray to the patron saint of terrified pedestrians.
The architecture in the French quarter is the first thing I notice about Hanoi, that is, when I feel safe enough to look up, rather than around me for motor-scooters.
The streets are lined with townhouses. Both the nineteenth-century colonial buildings and new infill constructions are typically six or seven stories high and as wide as a single room. The net effect is that residents appear to have burrowed into a slice of bread. Ten of these units together are more of a loaf than a city block. At least that’s the image that comes to mind, particularly since at every corner, someone is selling delicious, crusty baguettes.
One of these old buildings is our hotel. I've learned that it’s becoming common to renovate and convert the townhouses into boutique hotels. Since our strategy for finding good accommodation involves walking around, viewing rooms, and negotiating, as mature travellers, we’re in for some serious cardio here. There’s no elevator. By our third hotel, we’re huffing and puffing so much upon reaching the seventh-floor suite that the attendant is moved to say: “Sir, maybe you are too old for this hotel.” 
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