Postcards from Chiang Mai
My yoga teacher training in January was set in Doi Saket, about an hour east of Chiang Mai, in the beautiful countryside. I had three days off in the four weeks that I was there, and two of those days were spent in Chiang Mai.
I’d been to Chiang Mai a decade earlier and done the tourist things then, so my days off in Chiang Mai (three in the month) were set on spending as much time as possible by myself. I primarily went into town to take advantage of all the variety of food there — Burmese tea leaf salad, bowls of khao soi, interesting vegan dishes, and plenty of mango sticky rice
There’s not much scenery depicted in these postcards, but there’s plenty of food!
Postcards from Hanoi
I wasn’t prepared to fall in love or feel so at home in this city — many people I met on my journey to Vietnam warned me about the chaotic nature of Hanoi, but I absolutely loved everything about the city.
Hanoi felt like a good balance of East and West, the perfect blend for a modern city located in Asia. It’s a balance I’ve been seeking — and am still seeking — so it was fascinating to wander, explore, and examine Hanoi. There was the familiar sight of people who looked like me, familiar flavours that tasted like home, familiar characters written on buildings and streets, all which echoed my ancestral homeland. Then there was the comforting sounds of traffic beeping in the streets and comforting chaos of the people navigating the busy roads, reminding me of my home in New York.
I ate bowls of pho for breakfast in street stalls and sipped on delicious coffee in cozy cafes. I spoke to store vendors in English and chatted with locals in Chinese. I rode a motorbike like a local and took photos like a tourist. I was both at home and abroad.
Postcards from Ha Long Bay
The pictures really don’t do Ha Long Bay justice — there’s something that your brain does to process what you see in front of you that makes it more dazzling, more alive, than what is able to be captured on camera.
Postcards from Ninh Binh
A visual capture of my time in Ninh Binh; a written reflection here.
Postcards from Sapa
I envisioned gazing down on vibrant green fields of rice while hiking through lush mountains. Instead clouds obscured the view below as I slipped and slid through muddy trails. I was miserably cold at night on the trail, bundled up in multiple layers of sweaters and jackets, shivering under several tiers of blankets and comforters, and made the decision to head south to Hanoi the next day - the cold and the clouds were not worth it!
Food tour of Hanoi
First challenge of Crappy First Drafts: publishing when all I want to do is fall asleep in my queen-sized bed in the privacy (!) of my own room. Now all I want to do is fly back to Hanoi and feed my body and soul with delicious Vietnamese food.
My favorite thing in Vietnam
It’s not the food (though I love starting my day with a heartwarming bowl of pho with quay), the coffee (oh man could I go on about how much I love coffee here), nor the confident older ladies (I want to be like them when I grow up).
My favorite thing in Vietnam is…
Riding on the back of a Grab motorbike!
This is my absolute favorite thing to do in Vietnam. It’s so fun: here’s something exhilarating about riding on the back of a bike — I love the feeling of weaving in and out on the streets, rushing past the buildings stacked side-by-side on the road, feeling the wind surge on my face - it’s absolutely thrilling.
Grab is a ride-hailing app and transport service, similar to Uber in the US, common in Southeast Asia (I used in while in Thailand as well) but with the option to choose GrabBIke (motorbike, not bicycle bike!) or GrabCar (boooring!). They also offer food delivery services, so I’ll often see Grab drivers picking up a takeaway container from restaurants and food stalls.
I feel so present and alive when riding on the back of a bike. I get to be an observer of the streets whizzing by rather than be the driver focused on navigating Hanoi traffic; there are no rules, no lines, and barely any stop lights — it’s every driver for themself which is quite exciting when I’m just along for the ride, passing other cars and motorbikes, letting my body sway to the left or right as we take a sharp curve to the next street.
I wonder if part of this exhilaration and excitement I feel is due to the thrilling sense of freedom. Freedom to go wherever I want, whenever I want, especially because there are no paint or lanes to restrict movement. A sense of freedom that comes from traveling and moving in open space, getting to breathe fresh(?) air (probably not, especially given that most riders wear face masks to protect from pollution - oops), feel the wind against my face while moving, and witness a 360° view of my surroundings. I think a big part of it too is feeling like I get to break free of the constraints I’ve put on myself that hold me back, whether they are due to unconscious conditioning or subconscious societal messaging, for a brief moment when perched on the back of a motorbike, completely present, wild, and free.
Questions from the parents
哎呀! Do you wear a helmet?!
Yes, of course! I don’t fancy dying just because I was an idiot. In Hanoi each Grab driver has a second Grab-branded helmet for their passenger. However in Chiang Mai the second helmet seemed to be the driver’s own - each driver presented me with a different option and none were branded. I found the chin strap to be too long each time I put on the helmet; either everyone except me has a giant head or not everyone ensures the helmet fits snugly. Again, I fancy not being an idiot, so I will take my time adjusting the chin strap, even if the Grab driver sighs impatiently.
Where do you put your hands?!
Ah well when I was a wee newbie I would grab the back edge of the seat, clutching it tightly every time we made a sharp turn or went over a deep pothole. However that was a dead giveaway for “hi I’m a tourist!” so I began to observe how local riders were holding their seat, especially when I noticed all of them looked bored, calm, or chill, gazing out to the distance, scrolling through their phones with both(!) hands, or holding a carry-on suitcase fitted between them and their driver.
Most riders will put their hands on their thighs if not holding anything, so I began to copy them. I realized it’s all about engaging your core, leveraging your thighs, and letting go of fear. To that point, I would not be surprised if every Vietnamese rider has a strong awareness of each and every muscle that makes up the core. Think of it like riding a horse without gripping the reins. Soon I got confident enough to text while on the backseat!
Is it busy on the road?
Absolutely, and I love it! There are many motorcycles and cars on the streets, and every road is a high traffic area, even the Old Quarter, a popular tourist area. I love crossing the busy streets and dodging traffic — it feel like (New York) home, where it’s all about confidence and assertiveness. It’s like a live version of Frogger, except you only get one life.
My GrabBike driver (in green) needed to refuel mid-ride, so he told me to wait on the side while he filled up the tank. Haha!
Is all coffee “Vietnamese coffee” in Vietnam?
The question came teasingly as I FaceTimed a friend from a coffee shop in Hanoi as I savoured my first sip of caffeine since December.
“Is all coffee ‘Vietnamese coffee’ since you’re in Vietnam?”.
Before you go lambasting my friend, please be advised I had told them I was reintroducing myself to coffee not through an espresso or cappuccino but a distinctly Vietnamese creation: egg coffee. Espressos and cappuccinos were options on the menu — Italian-influenced drinks are often listed on any coffee shop menu, even in Vietnam! — hence the teasing (however it should be noted that the beans are grown and roasted here).
It does bring up a question though that’s been rolling around in my mind the past couple of years as I’ve traveled around the world, one I’ve been mulling my whole life. My friend had unintentionally raised an interesting question by asking what makes Vietnamese coffee Vietnamese: What defines identity? Or given my birthplace and the recent inauguration in America: What makes someone an American?
If I’m to use the espresso/coffee bean example on the most basic level: Is it enough to be American if you are born, raised, and live in America, even if your roots, no matter how distant or recent, are from somewhere else in the world? While your origins may be Italian, you have an Italian name, and on the surface you look to be an Italian, you actually have every right to call yourself an American.
Granted it’s not that simple as this coffee metaphor. It’s a lot easier for the majority of the world to accept a stereotypically-looking Italian person as an American because of their whiteness rather than acknowledge that an Asian-looking woman can be an American — but maybe it is that simple.
Maybe it’s as simple as acknowledging that the world has become more interconnected than ever, and the beauty of this is that people from all over can move and migrate and pursue an opportunity to seek a better life for themselves and their families, searching for a better future. Maybe it’s as simple as acknowledging that much of America is built on being a melting pot of people and diversity, whether intentionally through immigration, from 300 years ago to now, or forcefully through slavery. That if you truly want to get technical about who is actually an “American”, then the only people who have that right are the Native Americans who’ve been uprooted and torn away from their ancestral land.
What does it mean to be an American?
I am still figuring that out. Despite living in Sydney, I still identify first as a “New Yorker” and last as an “American”. It feels shameful to identify as American given the current government (regime is likely a more accurate descriptor) and I don’t want to be associated with its values (can they really be called values? It feels wrong to even use the word “values” here - corrupt ideologies feels more apt). But isn’t that what they want, to associate “American” with whiteness, maleness, and fear instead of diversity, equality, and freedom? What might it be like to take back ownership of what it means to be an American, to remember that there’s so much more to what it means to be American and what America stands for rather than what we see happening right now?
“Yes,” I laughed, “all coffee is ‘Vietnamese’ coffee in Vietnam”.
Coffee time!
Surprise but should not be a surprise: Vietnam is the second largest producer of coffee in the world (after Brazil) and the largest producer of Robusta beans. Robusta beans are the most popular coffee beans grown in Vietnam and known for their strong flavor and powerful kick (almost double the caffeine of arabica beans!).
The menu at Loading T Cafe.
I originally associated Vietnamese coffee as only coffee + condensed milk, but I quickly founded out there is so much more than that. There are so many unique creations invented in Vietnam and served in their numerous coffee shops - though I can only speak for Hanoi from personal experience. I love love love Vietnamese coffee and am so glad that it was my reintroduction to coffee. An overview of my experience so far, although it should be noted that I have sampled the tiniest fraction of the menu and visited the tiniest fraction of coffee shops in Hanoi:
Egg coffee: Coffee topped with whipped egg yolks and condensed milk. You may balk at the mere mention of egg, but it is a creamy frothy creation that tastes like a luscious and frothy whipped cream. This Vietnamese creation was invented by Nguyen Van Giang in 1946 during French colonization when milk was scarce.
My favorite: A deliciously caramelized version at Loading T Cafe.
Salt coffee: Coffee topped with salted cream and condensed milk. Not as sweet as egg coffee and reminds me a bit of Starbucks’ salted cold foam.
My favorite: my first and only at Hidden Gem Coffee.
Coconut coffee: Coffee blended with coconut cream and condensed milk, topped with toasted coconut flakes. I believe you can get this hot or iced; I only tried the iced version and found it just okay.
Espresso with condensed milk: Exactly what it says. Why would you use milk when you can use condensed milk?!
My favorite: my first and only at Tranquil Books & Coffee (note there are multiple locations).
My favorite coffee shop is Hidden Gem Coffee because of its trifecta of beautiful venue, delicious coffee, and (in my opinion) the best vegan banh mi in Hanoi.
Third time’s a charm: Laughter yoga in Hanoi
The first time I heard of laughter yoga, or laughing yoga, was when I volunteered at a yoga and meditation center in Pokhara, Nepal.
Laughter yoga was part of the daily schedule for those volunteering at and attending the center’s yoga and meditation retreat. We’d all sit in the outdoor courtyard, watching the owner lead us through multiple rounds of laughter yoga. We started sitting cross-legged on our mats, heaving big fake belly laughs as we waved our arms up above our heads and then slammed them down to the mat. The first several laughs were fake but as I listened to everyone hemming and hawing around me, my laughter turned real as I basked in the joy filling up the courtyard. Another type of laughter yoga was practiced on our backs, legs and arms moving in the air as if pedaling a bicycle or cranking a gear (or flailing around like a flipped bug) as we again heaved great big laughs, making them as hysterical or as wacky as we wanted, slowly transforming them from fake into real laughter.
The second time I practiced laughter yoga was at my yoga teacher training in Doi Saket, a town about an hour east of Chiang Mai in Thailand. That time we danced and moved wildly in circles, making wild, hysterical sounds of laughter as we zoomed in and out of the shala, creating funny faces as we looked at each other, and turning our fake laughs into peals of joy.
I take a deep breath of fresh air as I step outside my hostel in Hanoi, grateful to be away from the humidity and stale air of the dorm. It’s my first day waking up before 6 am since ending teacher training in January, and I’m excited to get back into a daily routine of early mornings, moving my body and being outside before the city comes to life with the beeps of passing motorbikes and the chatter of hawkers.
Today is the Lantern Festival, the 15th day of the Lunar New Year when the moon is full in the sky. In Chinese culture, and back at home with my parents, we eat 團圓 (tang yuan), glutinous rice balls filled with a sweet filling, red bean, peanut, or black sesame, that are as white and round as the full moon. It’s the first year — maybe ever — where I haven’t had plans for New Year, but never mind: I soak in the red decorations, colorful lanterns, and painted Chinese characters that frame shops on the street because the Vietnamese celebrate the Lantern festival too. I’ve already noticed many similarities between Vietnamese, at least in Northern Vietnamese, and Chinese culture during my first week, here. Part of it is likely due to prolonged Chinese rule of Vietnam from 111 BCE - 939 CE which influenced Vietnamese language, religion, and art.
I begin my walk around Hoan Kiem lake but at the last second decide I’m going to be rebellious and walk counterclockwise so I can people watch people’s faces rather than people’s backs. As I walk around the lake I notice the grannies and older ladies dancing and exercising to the blare of music from large boomboxes you typically see on stage at a high school auditorium. They are still going about their morning routine despite today’s rain - some are moving underneath the shelter of the trees’ branches, others are dancing under the overhang of nearby stores.
I veer a bit off course and wander into the French Quarter away from the lake. Five steps in and it doesn’t look interesting, so I make a plan to turn around at the next intersection when suddenly I hear peals of laughter: a group of grannies are gathered in a circle, raising and lowering their hands while launching into big belly laughs.
This group meets at 6am every morning for laughing yoga. Due to the rain, they’ve moved location to the sheltered overhang of a nearby department store where I stumble upon them. I approach with a big smile on my face - their joy is contagious and it’s hard not to catch it. They invite me in their circle and I join, echoing their movements in their version of laughing yoga. I feel their joy and their sisterhood as they move their bodies and chant and laugh to welcome the day. We hold hands and dance in a circle; we give each other back massages in a massage train; we close our eyes with hands in prayer as we give thanks for this moment.
Afterwards one of the ladies asks me where I’m from, and I say “Taiwan” - I’ve learned that usually when someone asks me the question “where are you from?” what they really want to know is “why do you look they way you do (Asian)?”. Another woman comes over and shares that she can speak Chinese, so we begin to chat and get to know one another. I’ve always been glad to speak another language, but I’ve never been as grateful to speak Chinese in a non Chinese-speaking country. While traveling in Vietnam, I’ve encountered several locals who speak Chinese (with a Taiwanese accent!) and as result I’ve had more meaningful conversations than if I’d spoken only English. My Chinese enables me to form a connection with Hai, and learn more about her group of laughing yoga practitioners.
Other grannies come over and distribute oranges and cookies and red envelopes to celebrate the Lantern Festival. One smiles and presses oranges in my hand - I feel a sense of familiarity and community, as if I’m being welcomed home. The ladies eagerly wave me over to join their photos to commemorate this morning’s practice. We pose and I marvel at how they all know how to set up their best angle, popping an ankle or flaring an elbow to get the most flattering photo.
Soon it’s time to disperse - the ladies to the rest of their day and me to the rest of my walk. I’m invited to come back tomorrow and join for another round. I feel at home.
