7-13 Hanoi Day 3

It rained really hard overnight and by 10am, had become sporadic downpours. We hung out in the lobby with the girls, who by now had asked each one of us, half jokingly, to take them back to America with them. Despite the rain, I grabbed a map, my compass, and headed out into the flooded streets. I wandered for an hour or so, getting lost with an American couple, then chatting with two cute French girls stranded at a coffee shop. Many streets were flooded to the point of being impassable on foot without wading through knee-deep water. At the lake, water was bubbling out of exposed manholes. A 6 inch wall of water was cascading off the streets into the lake.

We wandered around for dinner and finally settled on a corner restaurant packed with locals. Mike choked down some rubbery chicken feet, but otherwise everything was awesome. Matt met another traveler who we invited out with us later on.

We took a lonely planet recommendation and hit up a popular bar that night called Funky Monkey. It was a Euro/American flavor yet cozy with DJ, bar, and booths, but pretty empty so we piled in a taxi in search of a karaoke bar. The first one we came to was like all in SE Asia: private rooms. As we piled in to our room, a line-up of 10 girls formed outside. We were informed that for $10 per girl, we could force them to listen to our horrible attempts to sing & dance, as well as make them sing whatever we wanted. The thought of rocking some MC Hammer to 5 Vietnamese girls was very tempting, but the real expense is when they try to get you to buy them drinks. We opted to try a different kareoke bar and were successful a short ways down the street once we ditched our untrustworthy cabby. We loaded up with a bottle of Chivas and wasted no time, but the track listings were absolutely terrible: lots of techno pop and Euro garbage. After just 2 songs, Chris and Matt managed to get grabbed into another kareoke room on their way back from the bathroom. It was occupied by 3 guys and 2 women whom were their wives. Once again, the attention created by Chris' cowboy hat has exerted it's influence on our travels. We all piled into their room and were mixing fine Scotch with a bucket of their Heinekens. I absolutely nailed "I'm a barbie girl" and stuck all my dance moves. Matt and Chris sang "Help" by the Beattles, but what I saw was a clip from Brokeback Mountain--- the cowboy hat pulled it all together like that perfect rug you can never seem to find for your living room. Our new Vietnamese friends spoke a bit of broken English and were loving our company and antics, but one guy was especially enjoying our company-- in the worst way.
The guy in the tank top was stinking drunk and was a quintessential face-talker, abandoning all convention of buffer zones and rules which all heterosexual males must abide. Mike got stuck with talking to him. The guy looked like a 6 year old trying to hop into Santa's lap and whisper in his ear what he desperately wanted for Christmas. Mike looked like he was about to lose it, but held his composure while the rest of us snickered and were happy it was no longer us he was torturing. We had a great time with them and in the end, they wouldn't allow us to pay for the extra alcohol we all ordered. That night at the guest house, we said our goodbyes to Mike, who was beginning his journey home the next morning. We were in bed by 3am, but the scotch and Vietnamese coffees kept us up until 5am. We filled the void with some funny observations, stories, and goofing around that made it a memorable night.