Translation: "Very beautiful, how much?"Last Friday I experienced Brazil in Hanoi.
Although tickets sold out within the first two hours and were only available on the black market after that, somehow Dave got 2 tickets to the “friendly” football (soccer) game between the Brazil Olympic team and Viet Nam.
What a great way to kick off August (no pun intended).
The game didn’t start until 8 pm, but by 4:30 Dave and I were already on our way to the Sheraton hotel. He works out at the gym there and therefore had gotten word that the Brazilian team was staying there during their time in Hanoi. We hung around the lobby with maybe 15 other fans and saw the team come out and get onto their bus to go to the stadium.
The team’s bus had backed up traffic on the street to a level of madness that I’d never seen before, so Dave and I barely had time to grab some pho bo (noodle soup with beef) on the street before it was time to get a cab to the stadium.
When we arrived, the roads were already completely filled by Vietnamese in red and white jerseys. Dave had changed into a Viet Nam jersey as well (he was wearing a Brazil one when we had been at the Sheraton earlier), so I was pretty outnumbered.
We got a lot of stares, probably also because I’m pretty sure most people think I’m Vietnamese here. (Possible explanation: our tour guide from the Central Region trip told me that I apparently look like some famous Vietnamese model/actress/singer.)
A little friendly rivalry.
Our seats were in the front row of the upper level – not too shabby for having paid less than $20 for them. I was the only girl in our row, and the Vietnamese team had an absolutely insane home court advantage, which is ironic since the Vietnamese also normally love Brazil, but I suppose national pride takes priority in this case.
All that was wasted, though, because Brazil ended up winning 2-0!
After the game, Dave and I had to walk for about an hour down the road to find a taxi that would take us back to his house for less than 200,000 dong (the cost was only 100,000 dong to get to the stadium, but since so many people needed cabs, the prices jacked up, of course – that’s Asia for you). By the time we got a cab, I had about six missed calls on my cell phone from people wanting to know how the game was live and where the hell we were.
First things first, though: we had to get Dave’s motorbike. Let me take this moment to talk about how fucking amazing riding a motorbike at night is.
For starters, riding around during the day is definitely still fun, but traffic can tend to get a bit insane, especially during the 5-6 pm time slot (aka the universal rush hour time). Hanoi as a city, though, shuts down rather early. Most people are home by 9 pm, almost all young women have the traditional 10 pm curfew, and all bars save maybe one or two that pay off the police are closed by midnight at the latest. So after 10 pm, you can be pretty much guaranteed that the streets are going to be more or less empty.
Could the conditions be any more perfect for completely gunning it down the highway?
Imagine: you’re on the back of a motorbike hitting maximum speed, the wind is singing around you, through you, tugging at the jersey you're wearing that's about two sizes too big, and whooshing by you is the city, the lake, the sky, the stars.
And you’re flying. There’s no other way to describe it.
Zooming around on a motorbike after hours is probably my favorite memory of the city. I actually feel myself regress to about age five, as I yell for Dave to go faster, faster, faster down the road, as we rip around the traffic circles, my feet almost brushing against the gravel as we turn.
As we leave Dave’s house, he tells me that we’re going to take a different route this time, and all of a sudden I’m overlooking the lake, the city sparkling in the distance. The street, which the locals call Lover’s Lane or Korea Street, is famous as a place where couples rendezvous for late night activities of the scandalous nature, and both the road and the sidewalks are covered with graffiti of the cutest variety from couples leaving their names and/or a message to their significant others.
After that detour (totally worth it), we finally met up with some of our friends at Nutz, a club inside the Sheraton, which was actually just about to close, so we all go up into the lobby area and hang around the conference room where the Brazil team is talking to the press, we hear.
We catch the team as they’re leaving and end up having about an hour long conversation with the Vietnamese team's coach in French, Portuguese, and English. He’s really nice and invited us all to his house in Portugal if we’re ever, you know, in town.
Oh. And:
RONALDINHO SIGNED MY JERSEY.
Just Ronaldinho signing my jersey and touching my waist.
No big deal.
The night ended with a stop at Solace for dancing and me getting shown “how they dance in Brazil” by a guy from Sao Paulo. Apparently, it involves a lot of twirling.
I got back to my room at around 4 am and found my roommate still awake, with a surprise for me on the table:
August is my birthday month.
