So, officially, it's been 24 hours since I landed in Hanoi, and very little of that time has been devoted to sleep. I've had a chance to see a fair chunk of the city, being shown around by my friend Ben who has lived here for nearly a year, and at whose house I'm now staying at. One thing that you notice right away is the absolutely scary-as-all-fucking-hell system of road traffic. Oddly enough, it's less scary when you ride on a motorbike then in a car. I've since tried my hardest to let go to fate, and treat all the many of a long series of cringe-inducing, heart-stopping, "Ho-oly crap, we... just...so… BAAAAARLEY cheated death in a horrific accident by a minute fraction of an inch and some unholy luck" incidents with the same stoic ambivalence as the rest of the residents of the city. Traffic lights, road signs, and lane dividers, including ones delineating traffic direction, are mere suggestions at best. Motorists in cars and motorbikes seem to use every bit of drivable surface they can physically fit onto, employing the ethos that the best way to a destination is to follow the straightest line possible, road signs, traffic flow, pedestrians, and even buildings be damned. It's kinda like if every single person in New York decided to get from one place to another doing Parkour. In their cars. Huyen, Ben's Vietnamese girlfriend seemed to find amusement in his American friends' and families' utter paranoia about the madcap traffic system. "You just go," she conveyed, a tenet that evoked a Zen-like quality to driving. "What about accidents?" I asked. "Yes, we get a lot of accidents" she retorted, chuckling. Touché.

By the way, so far, everyone here is fucking awesome. While only being here a day, I've encountered a good deal of people. Some are pushy, some annoying, some are trying to scam you. But most, and I mean the great majority, are ridiculously nice and friendly. Huyen, Ben's girl, is awesome, and showed me around town a little too, when Ben was at work. She helped in buying a fold-out bed for me, which ended up being a glorified lawn chair. She drove all over the city with me, trying to find a place that's open. She ended up finding one, and after some haggling, we carted it back on her motorbike, with me in the back, holding it in front of me, while she drove. By the way, high-balling for prices seems like one of Vietnam's most viable exports, but it's all done with an air of apparent good-spiritedness. Haggling seems to be done less out of a desire to get as much money from someone, than as an excuse to engage them in conversation. It's like it's done out of boredom, rather than greed.

Also, every kid I've run into on the street says "Hello" to me. Not in any weird, I'm fucking with the tourist kind of way. If I respond, some try to engage me with the three phrases they all seem to learn. "What is your name?" "Where are you from?" "How old are you?" We went to the air force museum, and were mobbed by an elementary school trip, every kid asking those same three questions, every kid excited at meeting a foreigner and having the chance to try out their English. Besides feeling like a rock-star, it was the single most adorable thing in the world. They went ape-shit when I took pictures with them, and they even tried to teach me how to properly read the Vietnamese signs that were around the museum. I've been to other third world countries. When kids mob you, they're either begging or trying to jack your wallet. Here, it was out of pure curiosity and simple excitement of meeting someone different. It took a while to let my guard down, and try talking with them, but is was awesome. Ben stressed a sentiment that I wholeheartedly agree so far; kids in Vietnam rule.

The first thing I ate when I got here was bun-cha, a soup with rice noodles and grilled pork. Most places here usually serve only one thing, and most of it involves some kind of soup concoction. Also, every street here seems to specialize in selling one thing as well. We drove past the cleaning supplies street, then the silk street, then the dog street. And I don't mean the street that sold pets. It’s really unnerving, seeing row after row of street cart vendors, with roast dog piled behind glass. Head, tail, and everything. I know that in terms of fucked-upness , eating dog is really no less morally abhorrent than eating any kind of animal. But still. They also apparently serve cat in places too. They call it “little leopard.”

After getting a good whiff of roasted dog as we passed the all the street-meat vendors, we went to the Temple of Literature, Vietnam’s first University, a nice collection of really old buildings and gardens, now just a tourist site. Then went to the air force museum (with the school trip kids), where we saw shot down American planes, and ridiculously large Soviet helicopters that seemed more of a joke than a formidable weapon of war. I got my picture taken in a real Vietnam-war era MIG, and climbed another ridiculously large Soviet satellite truck. I felt like I was twelve again, and it like totally ruled. Later, I went out and got that cot with Huyen, and then we met up with Ben’s roommates, who happen to be Polish, for dinner and beer; Lau de, a goat hot pot, goat soup with rice noodles and vegetables, started off with pieces of marinated goat chest and udder, grilled on a small charcoal grill in the middle of the table. Downed it with Ha-noi beer, then went home and crashed. Today, I’m trying to learn to ride a motorbike.