Hanoi
Imagine flying into the airport in Hanoi, a woman alone, a child of the sixties who equated Vietnam previously with Walter Cronkite, MIAs, and napalm and seeing rising above the sea of dark hair…Fred Felman! This was my introduction to Vietnam and my brief foray into the life of the BikeBrats. Flying over Vietnam into the airport in Hanoi brought a lump to my throat. This country is astonishingly beautiful, fields of rice and vegetables broken up by villages and cities full of lakes and trees. It made me sad and embarrassed to have been alive during the era of America’s participation in the destruction of this country. It is hard to make sense of why we would see a need, especially 30 years ago, to get involved in a conflict in a locale so disconnected from the rest of the world. I feel very far away from America here. I can only imagine what the U.S. boys felt so far from home and during a time with so much less of an ability to connect.
It is a city of profound contrasts of the old and the new. There are very few cars and the bike repair shop for the hordes of cyclists is an old man sitting on the sidewalk with a bicycle pump! There are no fast food shops yet…thank god! But every one seems to be cooking pots of bubbling creations and setting up small tables in front of their homes. And then as a monument to the growth of tourism here is the magnificent five star Sofitel Hotel in the middle of town. It is still somewhat easy to stand out here as there are not the huge packs of tourists and perhaps because we have rented junker bikes (yes I can proudly proclaim that I rode with the brats!) and cruise the streets with the masses thinking we are blending in with our straw hats.
The images are somewhat surreal…walking down the street with Fred wearing his Castroville T shirt and a man walking by fist in the air proclaims “Viva Fidel!”. Eating lunch at an upper class restaurant on the lake with a drag queen eating fried shrimp claiming she is from Norfolk Virginia! Visiting the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh and walking single file without talking past the eerie waxy body of Uncle Ho. Buying the local Vietnam water which through some strange translation glitch is called “La Vile”. And watching Fred consume a minimum of three to four ice creams a day is unreal in itself!
It is time for the bikebrats in room yoga class as if we haven’t lost half our body weight already sweating like pigs on the street.
I hope I have conveyed my wonder, excitement and gratitude at experiencing Vietnam with brats.









