Today we have abandoned the Lonely Planet, the tourist trail and the comfort of Hanoi and have been cycling in the rice paddies. Gill had unearthed an ancient village called Doung Lam, about 70kms from Hanoi in the Red River Delta that was over 400 years old so we decided to explore. We thought we had left behind the really loud noises of the city – and yes there were no continual honking horns, but nature decided to keep our ears attuned – the noise of the crickets in the trees was absolutely deafening, even louder than the noise of the city. There were ancient houses, temple, streets and the tomb of their favourite king ever whose name escapes us but who is seen as Superman for finally getting rid of the Chinese a thousand years ago. However today wasn’t about big sites, it was designed to get us away, we saw no other tourists. We drank tea with the caretakers of a couple of pagodas after getting one of them sleepily out of his bed as we arrived – Gill held her nose and prayed as it was served. We share rice wine with the cottage producers in their back garden although declining snake wine…. Gill helped them thresh and polish their recent rice harvest, and we now aim to become self sufficient in rice as we were given some seeds. We are glad to hear the price of rice is shooting up, current plans include flooding of both gardens! We “shop” in the local village stall for chopsticks, yet another amazing bargain at 1p per pair, they will be very useful when we eat our own harvested rice…. We took sustenance of bananas and water (there was nothing else remotely edible unless you count the dogs being barbecued in the fields wrapped in straw, to be served with a shrimp paste.) We were also offered cat – that is to eat, not as a pet to take home, at a shack in the middle of the village opposite the Mia pagoda where the bemused locals looked on. The tables were also turned – we suddenly were the object of covert photography, we were thinking of asking for 1,000 dong for each photo as do some of the harder locals. The rice paddies we visit are in a neighbouring village called Mong Phu. Cycling through and standing in the middle of the startlingly emerald green paddy fields we delighted in the sight of the young men escorting their cows to graze the grass between the fields, seeing peanuts, sunflowers and corn growing, but realising what a hard life it really is. We cycle past a cock fighting training session – vicious! Not sure which of the two almost featherless birds we would bet on if it came to the crunch. Arriving back in Hanoi and moving back into the 21st century, we stop for a favourite Highlands coffee. The people in the café were young, trendy and glued to their mobiles and obviously on reasonable salaries for here – whilst outside two older guys who would have been veterans of the American war were on duty patiently, resignedly parking and guarding the youngsters’ motorbikes and we wondered how they feel about this. Their generation was one too early. We eat in a great restaurant called “69” – the numbers form the “yin yang” symbol. We then move on to be true backpackers again and, still in the Old Quarter, go to Bia Hai corner, a small crossroads where there is a collection of Bia Hai joints. This is the local “fresh” beer, made daily on the premises. We sit on low red plastic child seats on the pavement watching the world go by and enjoy a glass each of this Hanoi speciality for 9p – our second real bargain of the day! We make new friends as we chat to two local Vietnamese guys, one a driver and one a travel agent, both with excellent English, and swap stories about life in our respective countries. We reflect on a day of real contrasts as we climb wearily the 87 steps for Gill and the 107 steps for Ant to our cosy £10 a night rooms – ready to sleep soundly. We had been out for 14 ½ hours, with steps like that, these are not rooms to “pop” back to!
