Cyclo Drivers - 2, Andrea&Dave - 0

We missed seeing Uncle Ho's body. We were going there first thing this morning. Out of the door, at the complex, before 8am and the crowds. We got in the wrong line and didn't check out the title on the tickets - Ho Chi Minh Museum - not Mausoleum. We should have pointed to the picture in the book, not just walked around saying, "Ho Chi Minh. Ho Chi Minh." But I'm jumping ahead now. I've missed two full days and one instance of "too tired to go out at night".

It's Saturday, 3:30 pm here. On Thursday we went to the "village" of Bat Trang. Bat Trang village has been eaten by the export shops. We walked down one little alley area and watched someone pour the slurry into molds. More interestingly, we got to meet two families which make the ceramics. Our guide, Thin, actually knew them. Apparently she, a brother and her sister-in-law had worked with them at one time. One family created pieces for internal use, another family made work for export.

During the purchase process, they served us green tea, we played with the baby, and they prepared and served me an areca nut wrapped in a betel leaf. This is what makes for those fantastic pictures of the smiling old woman with the black mouth & red lips. I bit down and the nut broke apart into a woody mass. It was a peppery taste, but I didn't want to swallow. I also didn't want to spit it out on their floor. The whole family - grandmother, husband, sisters, brothers, babies, just about died laughing. I was smiling a bit too hard and worried about drool. Luckily, there was a garbage can near by. I spit out the mass into my hand (because I dont' spit very far or very well). My spit was red, which meant I'd just made my hand & fingers red. (I always carry wipes with me when I travel, so "tragedy" was averted.

Bat Trang is down the road from Hanoi, so we actually made it out of town. The "highway" was actually wider than those we'd driven in Croatia or in the Italian alps. That said, there were more bicycles, farm stands, people walking, cows, and motorbikes than cars. The paved portion of the road was actually quite narrow - the sides eaten away into potholes and dirt. The driving was slow and comfortable. It's the dry season here. The Red river is down, and people have moved into temporary shelters to plant in the alluvial soil that's bared during this time. When the rains come, the fields will be covered and they'll move on. There's no houses allowed to be built in this planting area, however these temporary shelters exist so that people can guard their plantings. Apparently agricultural theft is common.

The temperature's dropped down to the 70's. It's been grey every day here. We did see some blue sky yestrday, but we could hear someone yell "Fake!" Good thing too because this humidity is curling my hair. There's quite a few tourists here - Indians, Germans, French, English, Australian. We all seem to be walking with a glazed look across our face, ignoring each other, as we all wander through the Old Quarter eating at the same twelve restaurants recommended by Lonely Planet. Dave & I haven't braved sitting down at one of the street vendors, but we're not the only chickens.

Yesterday, Friday, we had our cooking class. It was really quite the surprise for us. We didn't understand what we'd signed up for. It started out with Thinh and our driver picking us up at the hotel & taking us to La Verticale. There we met Didier Corlou, the chef and owner. He'd been head chef at the Sofitel Metropole before he opened up his own restaurant. I'd heard about him from the Food Network. Dave (yes, my Dave) took to him right away. The man collects spices, has a 15 year old Nuoc mam. He let us sniff his tumeric and taste his 5 spice. He took us shopping at the December 19 market (no the fat lady in the cyclo isn't me - startling resemblance though ain't it?). There we wandered the stalls while he spoke about the variety of spices and herbs in Vietnam. Dave & he talked about different kinds of preparation. We watched catfish being clubbed, squid being cleaned, ofal separated. He's interested in preparing all parts of the animal for consumption. Alot of this he learned from his wife, Mia, who's Vietnamese. She'd dropped us off & then picked us up. It was with her that we had the cooking class.

She took us back to their house. Again, we left Hanoi and crossed the Red River. This time we stopped at a "suburb" just out of Hanoi. Behind high walls, their home was the ideal of a tropical house. The first floor was one great room with huge glass doors & windows which would open up to capture the breeze. After that was a small courtyard with two different kinds of alcove and an oven. This cooking "wall" was made out of brick Both alcoves were vented with chimneys. We came to find that the one alcove which had a shelf at waist height was there to take a charcoal brazier. The other one opened up for even more cooking surface. Behind this, they had their catering kitchen. The catering kitchen had a roof and monster / professional cook stoves & wok burner & baker's area, but they weren't enclosed with walls on all sides, they were open to the air in traditional Vietnamese kitchen style. Makes a lot of sense when it's 90 degrees in February.

Mia took us through the steps to prepare what we'd been eating on the streets - bun cha with nem - the grilled pork meatballs in a sauce along with fried eggrolls. We also made a chicken wrapped in lemon leaves. The whole cooking process was very well organized, enjoyable to watch & participate in with tasty results. Yes, we brought the recipes home with us. And if you're good little girls & boys we'll prepare some for you when we get home.

The hour is up. It's time to go. No pictures due to slow connection speeds to U.S. sites.