I woke up in the morning thinking about all the lore and fantasy that Huế had to offer. And the fact that I could spend time in that city indefinitely just to uncover all those mysteries made me impatient to dive and wallow into all that sea of culture.
I had the free breakfast down at the reception where I got the chance to chit chat with 2 Australian girls about their experience in Vietnam. It took me around 2 minutes to realize that we didn’t have much to talk about. They didn’t bother trying many of the signature Vietnamese flavors, such as egg coffee or Phở. One does not simply come to Vietnam without eating at least a boiling hot, juicy bowl of Phở. Other than that, the conversation was just bland. They couldn’t really say much or at least name any monuments or landmarks encountered in Hanoi. But I sure bet the efforts put for their Instagram pictures in the city had been tremendous.
The two gals had a pleasant, quite pretty countenance but delivered rudimentary intelligence, which made me wanna hurry up on my breakfast and just make it to the Huế city center. Since it was quite difficult to have an intelligent discussion with the average drifter from that hostel, I found 0 reasons whatsoever to spend a minute more there. To me, that place was just for sleeping and the free beer happy hour. One does not simply refuse such a chance, especially in the midst of the South East Asian burning summer.
While the green engine was enjoying some well-deserved rest in the shadowy parking space from the hostel area, my feet carried me all the way to the walls of the old citadel. The second I crossed those imposing walls, the realm behind them struck me right away. Boys and girls were going about wearing traditional Áo dài[1] outfits in various colors, mostly red, beige, white and light blue. Some of them were carrying oil paper umbrellas, which contributed even more to the time machine effect created by the whole citadel complex.
Finding myself in that fine corner of premium heritage made me look so out of place. A bearded European guy with scruffy hair, Converse sneakers, wearing an average t-shirt and headphones had no place in that decorum. I felt so unnecessary. The more I walked along the citadel’s walls and its surrounding moats full of blooming lotus flowers, the more I wanted to give up my own ancestry and switch to the Vietnamese one. As I immersed myself into that ancient fantasy, I began having an unusual yearning to bear the name Đăng Nam instead of Danny. I pretended I was wearing linen clothes made in Vietnamese style while walking in wooden sandals that made their distinctive echoing sound with every step made on the pavement, the silent witness of the proud Nguyễn dynasty.
For the next 3 hours or so I made sure I would cast my eyes on every bit of architecture that was to be seen behind the massive gate of what used to be the king’s residence. It’s worth mentioning that when one bears the “king” title, one sure makes the most out of it. And you didn’t have to be an intellectual to figure that out once you were on the other side of those wholesome ornamented gates.
The whole complex must’ve been the size of my grandma’s village back home. But it sure had more class than that, or most the other villages I’d ever been to if I’m honest. A whole labyrinth of spotless alleys bordered by either flowers or trees was there to unite all the structures designed for different purposes.
Now, suppose you have your own little house with all the necessities to satisfy your fragile little soul. Every chamber has its own thing to offer, depending on what you’re in need at one time or another. But one day, it so happens that you become king. Your fragile little soul and your needs to satisfy don’t change one bit but suddenly you have so much gold in your vaults that it would be enough to buy half the Indian ocean and even then you’d still have some change left to get you a few lonesome islands just for the sake of having them. So, what do you do? You leave your old house and you switch your whereabouts to a grand patch of land where every mighty edifice serves the purpose of one room in particular. And you can hire experts to decorate it with all the lavishness there is out there because why not? You’re the king. You can do whatever you want. And the Vietnamese king sure had it his way in that very complex.
As I walked by, I marvelled at some temples for worshipping and praying, a house for reading and a house for crafts and other assorted practices. One could see that the reading spot was so fit for nothing else but what its name suggested. It was a combination between a respectful, archaic city library and a tranquil, lonesome meditation sanctuary where one could hardly hear anything, except their own heart beat and the occasional birds chirping and the leaves’ and branches’ rustling made by the wind. Everything was wooden made. There was almost no exception. Architecturally speaking, it was as if a solemn Asian temple perched on a mountain had an offspring with a casual wooden cabin lying in a forest. I sure wished I could sit at one of those wooden tables in the dim light and read some of my favorite philosophers or simply write a few thoughts with regards to how wholesome it felt to be there. However, the best I could do was take a picture and use that as inspiration later on just in case I’d ever get the chance to make my own reading chamber.
Not too far from the reading cabin I found myself in an epic garden with glorious patches of different flowers, bushes and small trees. Most of them were carefully trimmed to convey a visual poetry for any wanderer passing by. There was a little pond with a red wooden oval bridge used to cross it and eventually get you to a tiny hill on top of which there was a lonesome tree, the sole guardian of a tiny monument, probably a memorial of some sort. I climbed it through a set of windy stone stairs, eroded throughout generations by the unforgiving time. I could see the whole garden in the shadow of that tree and I sure didn’t want to leave that spot too soon. Whoever created all those arrangements showed some good taste and I was nothing but grateful for the nameless architect.
Later on, I took my time walking around some square ponds before eventually arriving at the big cherry on top from all that empyreal estate. The palace. The ruler’s abode. The royal family’s sanctuary. The house of the one deemed worthy to represent the land stretching from the rocky northern bay to the swampy southern delta. Coated in yellow tapestry, red framed windows and orange tiled rooftops with edges crested with arctic blue ornaments, that whole structure was as appealing to look at as it was for little kids to look at Christmas candies put on display behind thin glass.
I went inside and massive chandeliers were dominating each and every room. The whole building was fit for hosting balls of complete and utmost prestige. I couldn’t help but imagine I was at a royal party. I saw myself having a porcelain tea cup in my hand and my defining quest for the day was to somehow get the princess make that one eye contact with me so I could just smile back and then I’d be at peace for many days to come.
Anyway, I couldn’t push my imagination too far as the palace was pretty packed with fellow tourists so I simply went for the exit once I had a quick look through every chamber.
When I was out of the palace a sudden realization struck me. I was famished. My body was out of fuel and something had to be done about it. I walked back to the main gate but I got lost on the alleys. I kept forgetting how big the whole estate was and how tricky and deceiving those alleys could be. But lo, for eventually I managed and out I was of the king’s realm.
I randomly walked around and found a place that served the legendary Bún bò Huế[2] noodles, one the city’s pride. Bún bò Huế was a dish I dearly had in Hanoi many a time and it had never let me down. But in my starving state and having that in its place of origin, that particular bowl of Bún bò Huế noodles felt like there was no better bowl of noodles in the whole wide Universe.
After the feast I reckoned I needed some rest so I headed back to the hostel through the scorching heat. I reached my destination with blisters on my feet, but that didn’t matter, as it was almost 5pm and that meant only one thing. FREE BEER HAPPY HOUR. And I reckoned in those circumstances those few beers I drank were more cooling and refreshing than any beverage I’d ever had. Recharging for the soul. Soothing for the mind. Redeeming for the body.
I slept with the sun and woke up with the party hubbub outside. I went for a walk far enough from it around the river and got me some Huế style Bánh mì[3] which was like none other Bánh mì I’d ever had. Eventually, I returned and forced myself to sleep in the midst of the raging music from the street.
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I woke up with the check-out on my mind. Two nights in that hostel were as much as I could take. Following the glorious breakfast, I packed everything and took the engine out of its beauty sleep in the garage. I drove around the centre of Huế, just for the sake of it. And for the sake of getting some footage from my GoPro camera mounted on the helmet.
After checking out two temples encountered along my aimless ride, I remembered I had talked with a friend before about some place she deemed worthy for a visit. I was a bit skeptical because not all the recommendations from that particular friend matched my taste entirely. It was hit or miss. But I was in a good mood and I was willing to give that one a chance. It seemed to be a charming old tea garden so what did I have to lose?
I took my green two-wheeler to the exact location. A cozy stone arched gate was there and a long narrow alley leading to a house. Everything was so green.
There was no designated parking spot so I simply left the engine on the pavement next to the gate and hoped for the Gods’ protection to keep my motorbike from being stolen.
I went through the gate and it seemed I had just unlocked a door to a fantasy. After a few steps I see far ahead on the other side of the alley a figure clad in pink coming my way. It was a young lady wearing Áo dài and a traditional bamboo hat. Her raven dark hair was loose, moved casually by the breeze. She gave the impression of a mirage. However, she proved to be quite real.
“Welcome to the house of the princess. I will invite you to a cup of tea and tell you about the history of this place.” She told me.
“Are you the princess?” I asked casually.
“No.” She was laughing.
We went inside the old house where a beautiful porcelain tea set was standing on a big wooden table. The girl poured two tea cups, as promised, and began telling me how once upon a time, the daughter of one the kings had decided to have her own little estate, away from the grand citadel, away from the strictness of the big palace. A place where the princess could live in solitude and drink tea, facing a small and intimate garden, just like me and the lady in pink Áo dài were doing at that very moment.
I finished my tea and the “princess” told me I could wander around the garden and explore the place. And that I did. It was really peaceful and unlike the big complex everyone knew about, there was absolutely no one else in that estate. I began to like it. I thought about my friend and how that time the recommendation had been actually really great.
I loved the simplicity and the coziness of it. It wasn’t built at the request of a mighty king, but at the one of a princess who just wanted a spot for her piece of mind. And I sure had my piece of mind while going through that homely residence. My friend had truly given me a wholesome recommendation for Huế. Without that friend, I would’ve never been aware of such a secret. I could see once again the real value for having local friends in that fascinating land of Vietnam and I couldn’t be more appreciative.
I walked out of the princess’s land as if redeemed and rejuvenated. I took one last look at the small gate who hid that charming little secret so well before I hopped on the motorbike. I looked at the time. It was lunch time, which meant I had the chance to enjoy another Huế dish. This time it was Hến xúc bánh đa. That funky groovy name translates as minced mussels with a few herbs and spices put together, consumed with crispy grilled rice paper. If cooked right, it’s nothing short but an unforgettable flavor and texture. That dish right there would rank high among the truly memorable tasty treasures that Vietnam had to offer. It sure stood on a pedestal according to my personal taste buds at least.
When I was through with my glorious culinary discovery, I reckoned I still had enough time to make it to Da Nang via the Hai Van Pass before it got dark. I would cross the mountains separating the two cities right when it would be sunset, so I told myself there was not a second more to spare. The road was calling me once again, so I responded by revving up the engine and gone I was with the wind. There was no stopping until I’d reach the golden sands of Da Nang, where the city meets the ocean.
Part III: https://andyvansen.com/2024/08/motorbike-notes-part-iii-road-to-da-nang/
[1] Áo dài: a modernized Vietnamese national garment consisting of a long split tunic worn over silk trousers. It can serve as formalwear for both men and women
[2] Bún bò Huế: a Vietnamese rice noodle dish with sliced beef, pork sausage, and sometimes pork knuckles
[3] Bánh mì: a short baguette with thin, crisp crust and a soft, airy texture, often split lengthwise and filled with meat and savory ingredients like a submarine sandwich and served as a meal