Our last night in Hanoi was amazing. Knowing it would probably be my last time in Hanoi, Vietnam in probably many years, I talked in everyone to have a fun night. We decided to go out to bars and clubs that were recommended to me by our hotel receptionists, who happened to be very attractive young ladies. I noticed that every time I walked by, one of them was always smiling and looking at me as if she was very attracted to me. A man always knows when a woman is attracted to him, it's something about the look she gives you, it’s truly distinguishable from any other look on the planet, but I digress.
The bars we decided to attend for the night were called, “Cowboy Bar” (a bar/club hyprid that was a mimic of American cowboy saloons from eras past, that contained dim lights, scantily clad women in female cowboy garb, a stage in which these girls danced and sung old 80’s rock ballads, and female waitresses that were some of the most gorgeous Asian women I have ever seen) and “Dragonfly” (a bar/hookah lounge complete with almost no lighting, Aussie tourists, pool tables, good music, great bartenders, and hookah). Our first stop of the night was the Cowboy Bar. We arrived all dressed for the occasion, ready to drink the night away. It must be noted, though, that we were al very tired from all of the exploring we had done during that day. The guys’ and I immediately noticed that hostesses selling their expensive bottles of liquor for the “VIP” service surrounding us, ready to make commission off of our “rich” American wallets. They sat us, and quickly flirted asking us to buy them drinks; seems like the Las Vegas way of doing things have reached Hanoi.
Honestly, the women singing on stage (as well as the drummer) made me want to stay. I felt like I was in an old school Quentin Tarantino flick; Guns ‘N Roses being played by a Vietnamese band, barely speaking the English correctly but the voices of the singers clearly outweighing the negative aspects of the incorrect English, waiting for some eerie thing to happen. It did not.
Some of the girls in our group, in my opinion, were very uncomfortable. This uneasiness, I think, can be attributed to two reasons; one, I think they really didn’t like the fact that there were beautiful girls all around the guys getting all of our attention, and two, I don’t think they dug the place. To be honest, I loved it, but I understand why the girls didn't; the drinks were outrageously expensive. After finding this out, sadly, the girls made the decision for our group to leave. While we were playing the tab, one of the waitresses told me how frustrating it was for us to leave after only one drink and asked me to say, I told her I couldn’t, smiled, and left with the group.
Dragonfly was a place that reminded me of almost any bar in Mexico; almost no light, cheap drinks, good vibes, and great music. Artwork of very gnarly pictures of Che, Marilyn Monroe, and Jimi Hendrix were painted on the walls. “Billy Jean” by, Michael Jackson playing in the background, our group went our separate ways in the bar; half of us going to the 3rd floor hookah lounge, while the other half taking a seat at the bar stools. The waiter, speaking marginally good English asked, “What you drink?” Knowing what he meant, we ordered some local beer on tap. Vietnamese beer is surprisingly good by the way; light, tasteful, and containing a high alcohol content. The four of us, the other part of our group joining the rest to smoke hookah, started talking with the locals. We drank, talked about sports, and traded our opinions of what it was like growing up in the areas we were raised in. The night quickly turned into drunkenness and laughter. Charles and I, being relatively drunk, met some Japanese people that came in and sat next to us. One of them worked in Vietnam for the past year, while the other was just visiting her. They barely spoke English, but since Charles was raised in Okinawa he broke the ice by asking them what there names were; Watanabe and Doro from Kyoto, Japan. I must say, our charm quickly made them huge fans of us. I quickly thought to myself, “I can’t believe I’m gaming up a girl from Japan, maybe I can get her home with me tonight!” As ghastly as that may sound to some of you, my only excuse is, hey, I’m a guy, can you blame me?
To my dismay, though, after talking for what seemed like eternity, they asked us our age. I don’t know if you’ve ever met female Japanese natives, but they look very young. Because of this, Charles and I felt no need to lie about our age (because if we knew they were older, we would surely increase our age to meet the ones of our Japanese friends). We told them that we were 23, and as sure as the night arrives every day, they turned out to be 28 and 27. When they found out our age, the palpability of the disappointment in their voice was clearly evident, saying, “Aww, so young!” Quickly after this, they bid farewell to us, and Charles and I were only left with each others accompaniment.
After dancing, much more drinking, and getting our asses handed to us in pool by some local Vietnamese guys that vaguely reminded me of Japanese Yakuza members, we stumbled out of the bar drunk. There were five of us; Charles, Dennis, Tom, Albert, and Chris, the girls leaving by way of taxi many hours ago. Being drunk, we decided to try and find some late night Vietnamese food to feed our hunger. Motorcycle lights, people, and vendors that lined the streets prior to our going into the bar, now were gone; the city was as quiet as a library. Our voices could be heard echoing off of the buildings from blocks onwards. As we walked down the eerily quiet streets, a man on a bike asked us if wanted to buy marijuana or opium; how convenient. After our initial shock, we happily declined his offer. Later, we happily stumbled across a small restaurant of humble means, with only 2 other people eating on the corner of the small place. We ordered “Com Bo,” or rice with beef.
It has to be noted that because Charles ate pork, instead of the beef, he got food poisoned. Turns out, we (only Charles) are not immune to the dreaded travelers’ diarrhea.
Great night…Beautiful people…Good times…
Live from Vietnam, Sonny
Dragonfly was a place that reminded me of almost any bar in Mexico; almost no light, cheap drinks, good vibes, and great music. Artwork of very gnarly pictures of Che, Marilyn Monroe, and Jimi Hendrix were painted on the walls. “Billy Jean” by, Michael Jackson playing in the background, our group went our separate ways in the bar; half of us going to the 3rd floor hookah lounge, while the other half taking a seat at the bar stools. The waiter, speaking marginally good English asked, “What you drink?” Knowing what he meant, we ordered some local beer on tap. Vietnamese beer is surprisingly good by the way; light, tasteful, and containing a high alcohol content. The four of us, the other part of our group joining the rest to smoke hookah, started talking with the locals. We drank, talked about sports, and traded our opinions of what it was like growing up in the areas we were raised in. The night quickly turned into drunkenness and laughter. Charles and I, being relatively drunk, met some Japanese people that came in and sat next to us. One of them worked in Vietnam for the past year, while the other was just visiting her. They barely spoke English, but since Charles was raised in Okinawa he broke the ice by asking them what there names were; Watanabe and Doro from Kyoto, Japan. I must say, our charm quickly made them huge fans of us. I quickly thought to myself, “I can’t believe I’m gaming up a girl from Japan, maybe I can get her home with me tonight!” As ghastly as that may sound to some of you, my only excuse is, hey, I’m a guy, can you blame me?
To my dismay, though, after talking for what seemed like eternity, they asked us our age. I don’t know if you’ve ever met female Japanese natives, but they look very young. Because of this, Charles and I felt no need to lie about our age (because if we knew they were older, we would surely increase our age to meet the ones of our Japanese friends). We told them that we were 23, and as sure as the night arrives every day, they turned out to be 28 and 27. When they found out our age, the palpability of the disappointment in their voice was clearly evident, saying, “Aww, so young!” Quickly after this, they bid farewell to us, and Charles and I were only left with each others accompaniment.
After dancing, much more drinking, and getting our asses handed to us in pool by some local Vietnamese guys that vaguely reminded me of Japanese Yakuza members, we stumbled out of the bar drunk. There were five of us; Charles, Dennis, Tom, Albert, and Chris, the girls leaving by way of taxi many hours ago. Being drunk, we decided to try and find some late night Vietnamese food to feed our hunger. Motorcycle lights, people, and vendors that lined the streets prior to our going into the bar, now were gone; the city was as quiet as a library. Our voices could be heard echoing off of the buildings from blocks onwards. As we walked down the eerily quiet streets, a man on a bike asked us if wanted to buy marijuana or opium; how convenient. After our initial shock, we happily declined his offer. Later, we happily stumbled across a small restaurant of humble means, with only 2 other people eating on the corner of the small place. We ordered “Com Bo,” or rice with beef.
It has to be noted that because Charles ate pork, instead of the beef, he got food poisoned. Turns out, we (only Charles) are not immune to the dreaded travelers’ diarrhea.
Great night…Beautiful people…Good times…
Live from Vietnam, Sonny
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