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| First, a prayer. |
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| Second, a smile. |
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| Third, a wedding. |
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| Fourth, a child. (Or two, or three, or four...) |
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| Yep, let's do this. Let's be tourists. |
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| The Huc Bridge |
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| A cat watches over a venerated dead - |
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| - the legendary giant turtle of the lake, who, even in death, looks aghast that he/she should suffer the indignities of taxonomy and mass tourism. |
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| I guess Monet was hired to decorate Hoan Kiem Lake, too. |
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| Sing for me, my meadowlark... |
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| Chris along Hanoi's postcard-perfect boulevards, yummy butt. |
// Lake of the Restored Sword, Hanoi //
"I'm all templed out," I announced to nobody in particular, because I knew that whether I liked it or not, we were, in fact, gearing up for a touristy day.
"We at least have to see something," Chris announced to nobody in particular, because he knew full well there was no basis for argument. Our Hong Kong home is within spitting distance to a grand total of two temples. It's not like not seeing another one in Hanoi would be detrimental to our spiritual well-being in any way.
If anything, Chris was nominally firm about at least seeing something only for my sake because while it was my first time in the city, Chris makes several work trips a year to Hanoi.
"Hoan Kiem Lake is a popular cruising spot for gay boys," Chris pronounced slowly, watching my reaction from underneath his beautiful eyelashes.
"Oh...?" I raised an eyebrow, still pretending to withhold interest.
"There's an urban legend..." Chris continued.
I was a goner. I was hooked.
"And? Go on, you can tell me the story while we're walking," I practically yanked him away from his coffee so I could behold with my own, two eyes what this popular-cruising-spot-with-an-urban-legend looks like.
"A cute local boy would come up to a tourist who's obviously on the hunt and invite him to a 'secret bar' for a drink," Chris began. "The tourist, flattered at the attention and thinking perhaps that this was Vietnamese gayspeak for 'Come-to-my-place-for-a-sexy-time,' would accept the boy's invitation. He would then be led up to a place that's not much of a bar, really, but a dodgy, hidden watering hole. They drink, they talk, but so far, the tourist still isn't getting why there isn't a progression to the cute local boy's bed."
"So what happens?"
"The tourist asks for the bill," Chris continued, "which would be brought by a big, burly man with a bat, who wants him to pay 100 million dong. For two beers."
"How much is that in US dollars?" I asked with great trepidation.
"About 5,000," Chris replied. "Actually, it's not just urban legend. It happened to a friend of mine. He was kidnapped whilst cruising by the lake and had to pony up his own ransom. And so he warned me to be careful."
"Shit!" I swatted Chris on the arm. "Why the fuck tell me the story at all?? Can we please not get victimized whilst we're here?! Let's go see the temple!"
And so we did.
