Last March I resolved to visit the famous falls of Zimbabwe, on my way to research and friends in South Africa. The drive from the airport struck me with the resemblance to my old stomping ground — in fact, it sits directly above Limpopo province, where Peace Corps trained us in isiZulu and rural living. The chief difference, I found, lay in its residents’ sunny confidence in safety from crime.
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After my day cruising Halong Bay, I opted to stick to the dense Old Quarter surrounding my hotel for a deeper dive into its chaotic energy.
On the packed streets of Hanoi, the traffic lights and crosswalks are there for decoration. Hordes of motor bikes swarm the roads; pedestrians must clamber over restaurant seating (plastic stools and tables) if they want to use the sidewalks. Walking three blocks exhausted me.
The higgledy-piggledy view from my hotel window encapsulated the hive of human activity.
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