The Temple of Literature, also a temple of Confucius, is Vietnam’s first national university. It felt like a scaled down version of a palace in Seoul, a very scaled down version. So, while it was nice and a lovely respite from the chaos that is in every Vietnamese city, we acknowledged that “Well, it’s no Gyeongbokgung…” and that perhaps, we might have been spoiled with the sights of Seoul. (Obviously we are also biased.)
I had to agree when Andrew said, “Kung Fu Panda called, it wants it’s Master Crane back:”
After meandering through the temple, we made our way across the city to check out The Hanoi Hilton. The Hanoi Hilton is what the American prisoners of war sarcastically called the Hỏa Lò Prison. It was first called Maison Centrale (a traditional name for “prison” in France) thus, used by French colonists for political prisoners. These origins explain the guillotine housed inside the prison, and statues of shackled Vietnamese prisoners that you see in the video. There are only two smaller rooms that divulge information about the Vietnam War prisoners of war and of course, they gloss over what really happened to them. Which I found annoying. Sure, it’s perfectly ok to represent the poor conditions of the Vietnamese who were housed there unjustly- but thanks so much for the pictures of Senator John McCain and President Clinton smiling in front of the prison several years after the war. Because I’m sure McCain was smiling the whole time he was kept as a POW. Good one, Vietnam.
We hustled it back near our hostel, so I could (most importantly) go purchase the bag I couldn’t stop thinking about. (I know, I know… I have a problem.) We waited for some Banh Mi sandwiches, which turned out to be quite entertaining because the Banh Mi lady must have been operating without a permit… A siren started to wail, and someone barked information out of a speaker causing vendors to go into a state of panic, moving their makeshift operations into hiding. We watched her move her cabinets off of the corner down the street, then walk back out to check for signs of trouble, before moving her cabinets back to the corner to resume business. Then we got our sandwiches and waited for the bus.
Of course, when we were on time (early, even!) for the bus, we had to wait 40 minutes or so before a man led us to a taxi that would take us to the bus, that was not even there when we arrived. Of course. Then, once the bus did arrive, we had to wait another 40 minutes on board, before it left. And THEN we realized our two seats/beds were next to a very (VERY) smelly bathroom. Which had a door that seemed to be too difficult for every Vietnamese man (who had to pee at least three times each before the bus left) to latch closed. So the door to the smelly bathroom would randomly swing open sending a strong waft of urine out over the six or so settled into seats on the back of the bus. Andrew being the closest, would have to reach over and shut the door every time. I’ve since decided urine is my least favorite smell, and after this bus ride swore I could pick up the scent EVERYWHERE.
This led to a very heated (not really at all) between Andrew and myself. One that I will present to you: Would you rather: sleep next to a smelly bathroom on your sleeper bus OR not have a bathroom on the bus? After being sick on the two previous buses, I quickly decided I’d rather have the bathroom. Andrew (not yet sick at all) having had to close the bathroom door repeatedly throughout our 12 hour overnight bus, quickly decided he’d rather not have the bathroom.
