ore no waifu ga konna ni communist wake ga nai

Impressions of hanoi/vietnam:
- A flat, charming country. The buildings with near identical roofs, so densely packed, angled obliquely against the main road facing a stark expanse of padi and sky. The buildings themselves face in all different directions as if distracted - stocky, rectangular houses in daring disarray.
- The flood of people pouring out into the streets on their vespas and mopeds, effortlessly parting and merging to make way for oncoming traffic and crossing pedestrians, like a stream in a river. They wear raincoats and ponchos of all colours as the rain beats down on them relentlessly, not with force but with such volume. The gray misty sky that gives the mountainous countryside an air of mystery to complement the mystical caves, caseating rock formations and pacific marshes.
- The casual jeopardy, their haphazard existence, comfort in chaos. Traffic on the roads weaving and swerving lazily to avoid each other, managing to miss livestock and other vehicles by no more than an inch. The buildings wear a fine sense of deterioration, a charming dilapidation. Age-stained concrete and freshly painted shop facades - the country can't decide if it is old or new. By no means does it give the impression of being a first world country - nor is there any attempt to call itself one. potholes punctuate the rural roads, stray dogs with squinty old eyes and tired ears litter pagoda courtyards and loiter around restaurants and roadsides, sleeping on their sides as if utterly exhausted and with spectacular disregard for decorum. Plump children clutching toys and lollipops stand dazed by the equatorial heat and humidity as tour buses brush past them with a breeze that lifts the hair on the backs of their precious, tiny heads.
- Hanoi gives off the unmistakable impression of a thriving city, bustling, shaking with life and the sort of growth that threatens to suffocate or explode. Perhaps it's the propaganda, or the unspoiled geographical treasures that surround them, or their gracefully embraced and integrated cultural heritage, but I see none of the haggardness - none of the world-weariness or despondency of the city in the faces of those who squat in doorways and outside storefronts peddling their wares or practicing their trade. Only prosaic contentment and genuine grins as they exchange daily gossip with their neighbour. It seems as though they have come to terms with the precarious preciousness of life, celebrating with careless smiles and by crossing the road without looking both ways, taking advantage of gullible travelers and cycling barefoot in the rain, leaving their doors open, basking in the heat of the day wearing pointy hats and lying in hammocks, answering the call of nature beside highways.
- A city of near collisions and floral facemasks. Everybody living their lives, not merely pretending to. Everyone seems to have somewhere to be, something to do, someone to see.