Hanoi – Siminka's View

Leaving Da Nang wasn’t easy. We’d really grown fond of it and settled into a nice routine. The weather seemed to match our mood—it poured on our last day, adding a touch of melancholy to our departure.

We arrived at the airport 2.5 hours early, following the standard two-hour recommendation. We ended up waiting 30 minutes just for a staff member to show up and open the check-in counter. Exactly two hours before the flight, they started processing passengers. We were second in line, so we were through pretty quickly. Then came the usual long wait for the carry-on security check. Once we verified our gate, we headed there to wait. Part of the family went to grab breakfast since we’d left the apartment so early, while I stayed with the luggage and Simeon. At one point, I panicked because I heard a final boarding call for a flight to Hanoi at our gate. I frantically called Johnny to get back with the kids. They rushed over, tossing their unfinished ice creams, only to find out it was a flight for a different airline. Our boarding wasn’t even supposed to start for another half hour. So, we sat back down and waited. Simeon and Arthur were running around, while Johnny and Leo were on their phones… until Matyas suddenly asked Johnny what our flight number was. Johnny told him, and Matyas pointed out that the board was now showing a final call for our flight—but at a completely different gate! We grabbed the bags, I scooped up Simeon, and we sprinted as fast as we could. We made it. In the 30 minutes since we’d last checked the board, they’d changed our gate. We almost missed our flight. Matyas saved the day!

We arrived in Hanoi during what they call “humid spring.” It means it’s constantly overcast. It’s warm and damp, and while it doesn’t rain hard, it mists frequently. The sun never comes out, and it’s gray all day. To make matters worse, our apartment was on the darker side, so we constantly felt like it was evening and struggled to wake up and function. The kids wouldn’t crawl out of bed until 10:00 AM. Even the most uncomfortable beds we’ve ever encountered didn’t stop them from oversleeping. Instead of actual mattresses, the beds were topped with EPE foam—the kind of material used to wrap glass for shipping. It’s only slightly softer than Styrofoam.

We stayed in the Times City area, a residential district for the middle and upper classes. Unlike our previous locations, there were almost no expats here—just locals. For the first time, we actually felt a bit like “exotic” visitors to the residents.

Right beneath the high-rise buildings is a massive shopping mall. Arthur immediately discovered his dream play area: Eco Kids Farm. I had some ethical reservations about the live animals kept in tiny cages and pens, but otherwise, it was great. The kids played at planting, hoeing, and “farming,” and there was even a market section where they could “sell” their produce. Simeon and Arthur had a blast. The mall, called Vincom Mega Mall, had so much more: a gym, billiards, bowling, countless other play areas, an aquarium, and even roller skating. We started to feel like we never had to leave the complex—we could spend our entire Hanoi stay underground.

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The area itself is actually very pleasant—an oasis of calm. Traffic is minimal since it’s a gated zone used mostly by residents. Unlike the rest of the city, the kids could move around freely and safely. Every building complex has a small playground, tennis and badminton courts, and street workouts, with grocery stores and cafes on every corner. It was a great place for the kids to socialize a bit.

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For a cultural experience, we treated ourselves to a performance at the iconic Water Puppet Theatre. It’s a unique art form that originated in northern Vietnam around the 11th century, when farmers would perform in flooded rice fields. The show depicts scenes from rural life and mythical legends. They perform every hour from morning until night, and it’s always sold out—especially the front-row seats. Unfortunately, the theater seating has a very shallow incline, so if you aren’t in the first row, your view is easily blocked—especially by enthusiasts holding their phones and cameras high above their heads. The kids struggled to really enjoy it because of that.

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The theater is right in the city center, which we explored as well, but we didn’t find it particularly enjoyable. It’s mostly a tourist trap now—a few overpriced restaurants and a massive market for clothes and souvenirs. We did a quick walk-through and had no desire to go back. we also visited the temple on the lake, but it was a rushed experience as we were pushed along by a constant stream of tourists taking their mandatory photos.

Escaping the tourist chaos, we stumbled into a tucked-away alleyway that seemed to be for locals only. There was a tiny “stall” where some women were selling coffee and fresh juice. They squeezed the oranges by hand and used a small home juicer for the pineapple. It was sweet and authentic. They were so happy to see us and went out of their way to make us feel welcome.

The two youngest kids had brought some viruses with them from Da Nang—one had a stomach bug and the other a respiratory infection. They took turns passing them back and forth all week, so I spent the first half of our Hanoi stay cooped up in the apartment with two miserable patients. We didn’t have much time left for sightseeing. We did manage to visit the Temple of Literature, Vietnam’s oldest university, which features stone stelae where young scholars once studied. During the war, the stones were hidden for protection, but no one thought to shield them from the elements afterward, and now the inscriptions are mostly unreadable. They’re essentially just useless boulders now, and visitors have to rely on signs to know what was once written there. To hold a high office in the country, one had to graduate from this university and pass exams that involved writing an essay in Chinese within a set time on a topic chosen by the examiner. Each student sat in a tiny tent—presumably to prevent cheating—with only parchment, ink, a pen, and their own knowledge. Only a handful of students out of hundreds would pass. Criminals, singers, musicians, and those in mourning were forbidden from studying there. Next to the temple is a nice little park with a playground where the kids got to run around.

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Conclusion

Hanoi felt very different from the southern cities. It was more fast-paced and less “stroll-friendly.” The street food was entirely different, and we had to start over finding things we liked. We saw a lot of roasted pigeon (or maybe other birds) at the stalls, which didn’t exactly appeal to the kids. Our beloved Phở is also prepared differently here. While the southern version has a lighter, sweeter broth served with a huge bowl of fresh herbs, the northern version is a hearty, salty broth with no herbs on the side. Of course, Hanoians insist theirs is the only “real” Phở, but our kids much preferred the version in Da Nang. The city is larger, more spread out, and the traffic is intense, making travel more of a chore. And that permanent gray sky didn’t help our impressions. We mostly stuck to our residential area because it had everything we needed for a comfortable life. It was also easier for the two youngest to socialize there. Arthur even made a friend who started coming over to visit. The first time he showed up unannounced, we were all lounging in our underwear because of the heat—Simeon was napping, I was homeschooling Matyas, and Johnny was on the throne. The poor kid must have been quite shocked by this glimpse into the “wild” life of white people.

In general, we felt very welcome in Vietnam. Kids of all ages would greet us with a “Hello” and were thrilled when we responded. Women would fawn over the two youngest, especially Simeon. They were obsessed with him, and if they had a child or grandchild nearby, they’d practically force them to interact with him, though he wasn’t always thrilled about it. I also love how much the Vietnamese enjoy themselves—they love karaoke. Walking down the streets, you’ll frequently hear someone joyfully (and often very off-key) belting out a song. It was also so sweet to see groups of women with instructors dancing together in public spaces. The fact that they just do what they love without worrying about being perfect is wonderful.

One final lesson learned, courtesy of Johnny. I won’t go into too much detail, but he was out one evening and his phone fell out in the taxi on the way home. He didn’t notice until he got back because the phone was dead and Leo had ordered the ride. He couldn’t call it, and he couldn’t reach the driver since there was no contact info in the app; all he could do was message support and hope for the best. He was devastated—not because of the phone itself, but because it had his Slovak SIM card, which he couldn’t replace from abroad, and all his bank accounts were tied to it. We would have been stuck without money. Luckily, it ended well—he managed to get in touch with the driver, who brought the phone back. But if you’re planning a long trip like this, you have to think about those single points of failure and be prepared.

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