We had it every day for breakfast, and many days for lunch or dinner. Pho ga was my go to for the week.
4 comments on Un “Pho” gettable
Category: Travel
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In which we ate many delicious things and walked about the city for almost four hours…
Garlic and Onions
Cut of beef, anyone?
So Many Fruits
Mother and daughter making rice pancakes
The finished product – sausage, rice pancakes stuffed with beef and mushrooms, and sauce
Walking along the train tracks
Durian is hard work
Grilled meats – duck hearts, suckling pig, and garlic shoots wrapped with beef
Hanoi at night -
We headed to the lake after a breakfast of fruit and pho. As we began to stroll around the lake, if I looked to the right, my eyes were met with a calm, peaceful lake lined with trees, rumor of a magic turtle residing there. If I looked to my left, motorbikes and cars whizzed by, honking loudly. We walked leisurely, occasionally stopping to take pictures, thrilled by the fact that we were in Hanoi. Hanoi! We came upon what appeared to be a dance class of elderly Vietnamese ladies. Morning exercises, perhaps? We stood and watched as they gracefully performed somewhat synchronous moves, shuffling feet and waving arms in their mismatched velour leisure suits and baseball caps.
The music stopped, someone shouted, and they quickly formed a circle. We watched in utter surprise as the chicken dance blared from their makeshift boombox. And that meant one thing. When the chicken dance starts playing, how can you not join? We started dancing from our watching place, and once the ladies saw us, they pulled us into the circle with them. We laughed hysterically as we performed the quacking moves, then swung each other around. At the end of the dance, they motioned for us to stay. And the familiar tune repeated! From the top, ladies!
Photo credit to the fabulous Michelle Weber
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“Houston, we have a problem.” This was the first time I had uttered this phrase in a non-ironic way. I was in a bona fide space suit, suspended in a harness in mid-air, attempting to repair a broken satellite antenna.
I was at Space Camp.
Let’s back up a bit. I didn’t know Space Camp for adults was a thing. Until two years ago, when I happened to be walking the trade show floor at SXSW, where NASA had a booth. I poked my head through the astronaut cardboard cutout, had a friend snap a photo, and as I started to walk away, the booth attendant (in his NASA flight suit), said, “If you tweet your picture, you’ll be entered to win a weekend at Space Camp.” I smiled, thanked him, and told him I didn’t have children. “Oh, but we have Adult Space Camp as well.” I turned around. “Really? Tell me more.” He did, gave me a brochure, and it was all I could talk about for weeks. I wanted to go to Space Camp.
I grew up in the age of NASA. I remember successful, and unsuccessful, shuttle launches. I remember exactly where I was, and what I was doing, the day the Challenger exploded.
On my birthday, a group of friends gave me a gift bag with dehydrated “astronaut” ice cream. And a coupon to go to Space Camp. I was elated. Space Camp!
The dates didn’t work out last year (adult space camp is only offered a few weekends a year), but this year they did. We booked Space Camp, we booked flights, and we were on our way.
We arrived to Huntsville, AL on Friday morning. We performed the nicety chatter with the Enterprise clerk that is required when you’re in the south. “Ya’ll from San Francisco? I visited there once. Big hills.” “Yeah. Big hills everywhere. Nice city, though.” “Real nice city. Ya’ll driving out of state?” “No, we’re just goin’ to Space Camp.” (My southern accent returns with a vengeance when I’m south of the Mason Dixon line.) “Well, welcome to Alabama. Have a good time, now, ya’ hear?”
As we were driving, I suddenly shouted, “Oh. My. God! ROCKET!”
There, looming in the distance, was a lone rocket. We were closing in on Marshall Space Flight Center.
It was all I could have hoped for and more. A true camp experience, with bunk beds (I’m too old to sleep in a top bunk), cafeteria food (tator tots and fried chicken strips with every meal), and shared bathrooms. And SPACE!
We were Team Columbia. We had team members from all over the US, all ages, all professions. We had (somewhat) successful missions (we had fun – that’s what counts – right?!?!?).
We built rockets. Some even actually launched.
We experienced G’s. We spun around. We “walked” on the moon. We played “Space Bowl,” a Jeopardy like game challenging our space knowledge. We explored the Space Center at night, after it was closed, and all had gone home for the day. We flew in a flight simulator (I crashed – multiple times – as well as lost the airport; I guess I’ll stick to HR). We watched a space IMAX movie narrated by Tom Hanks. We ate Dippin’ Dots (the ice cream of the future, that I ate 30 years ago as a child at Epcot Center at Disney World….).
But most important of all, we had fun.
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I opened the French doors to my tiny balcony just slightly. The rain had finally stopped and I wanted to get some fresh air. I laid out my yoga mat on the hotel room floor, and began doing one of my favorite routines. As I lay there, knees to one side and head turned to the other, I felt as though someone were watching me. I slowly turned my head towards the French doors and was surprised to see quite a large peahen perched on the railing of my balcony, staring down at me. Very quietly, I stood up, picked up my phone, and snapped a picture through the crack in the two doors. The peahen simply continued to stare at me, then slowly turned and flew away.
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Several weeks ago, Krista, the team lead, pinged me on Skype. “Would you like to go to these baths while we’re in Granada?” Um, yeah.
And today we went. Ahhhhhhhh. A tall, slender, dark-haired Spanish woman showed us each room: cold, hot, steam, and medium (not hot, not cold). And the most important thing, “Silencio!”
We slipped into the medium pool first. She was correct, it wasn’t hot and it wasn’t cold. It was perfect for leaning back, lounging, and completely forgetting all cares in the world. After many minutes, I left the medium pool and entered the hot pool. After a few minutes, the heat was too intense, so I exited and poured myself a cup of mint tea, relaxing on a marble slab and sipping the sweet, minty liquid in the tiny plastic cup. I braved the cold pool for a matter of seconds, then headed back to the medium pool.
As I laid there, I drifted in and out of consciousness. I stared at the ceiling, rounded, with cutouts of stars shining down on me. I listened to the choruses of Arabic music softly coming through the speakers, taking me back to the time I spent in the Middle East, so many years ago. A faint spice smell filled the air – cinnamon? anise? – I never could place it. I stared at the columns rising from the pool of water, elegant rows of alabaster rising to the ceiling, reflections spread across the tranquil pool. I wished that cameras were allowed in the tranquil spot; I wanted to capture this serene image forever. Alas, they were not. Archways met my eye, cascading from the pool room where I was, to the showers, to the massage rooms.
A man massaged my back with rose oil and strong hands and arms, then escorted me back to the baths. I entered the steam room, breathing the damp steam in, relaxing on the marble benches. The steam was so thick, you couldn’t see anyone else in the room, you could only hear muffled whispers. It added to the mystique. Hearing, yet not seeing.
This routine continued – steam room, warm water, hot water, cold, repeat – for an hour an a half before the attendant rang the bell, informing us our session was done. We dressed and went outside into the chilly afternoon. No words were necessary to describe how relaxed and happy we were. We simply looked at each other, smiled, and said, “Ahhhhhhhhh” in unison.
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“Cinco churros y cinco chocolate caliente,” I ordered.
The waiter looked at me quizzically. “Cinco?”
“Si, cinco. Por todos.”
A moment later he returned with five cups of rich, steaming, thick, velvety hot chocolate. And two platters of churros, piled high. We all stared at each other. We had assumed that an order of churros equaled one churro. Evidently, an order of churros equaled multiple churros. We laughed, and dug in.
Silently, we dipped our churros in thick chocolate, making sure to fill each nook and cranny with delicious chocolateness. We mostly ate in silence, enjoying the richness of the combination, somewhat amazed we were sitting beneath a Tiffany lamp in a Churreria, a restaurant whose purpose is to serve delicious, elegant logs of fried dough. After we had each eaten as much as we could, six lone churros remained on the plate.
I asked for the check, and was ever so grateful that the waiter had ignored my request, and brought us only three, not five, orders of churros.
churros and chocolate -
The pathways were lined by legions of slender towering cypress trees, dark green tips meeting the deep blue sky in stark contrast. The hedges, so neatly trimmed, sharp edges lining the gardens. Orange trees, with bright citrus orbs peeping out from so many green leaves. A magnificent view of the city showcasing tiny buildings lining the hillside. Opaque white fluffy clouds floating against a deep blue sky. Beautifully patterned stone paths greeted our feet. We wandered in and out of shaded gardens, relishing spots of direct sunlight, then slowly meandering on. At every turn there was a gentle trickle of water, making me suddenly feel calmer, more serene. We oohed and aahed at courtyards, at arches, at views. We stopped for long moments, staring at the views before us.
Our ticket for the main palace had a time stamped entry for 16:30. We got to the line at 16:15. There was no one in line, no other tourists in sight. We approached the ticket taker. “No. Not time.” We shrugged, then sat down on a bench nearby, basking in the sunshine. I was drifting into sleep when the others said, “It’s time” and we re-entered the line.
The palace, so unassuming on the outside, was magnificent on the inside. Glazed tile in deep blues, greens, and yellows lined the walls. Faded blue tile peeked up from the floor. Ceilings offered intricate wood carvings. Views of the city appeared through intricately carved windows. Fountains met us at every turn.
Clouds and Fountains
Lori and Krista and Landscape
Sweeping Landscape
Archway ViewEach time we entered a new part of the palace we stopped in our tracks, amazed by the beauty before us. How did they make such incredible architecture? How did they carve such intricate designs? How did they coordinate work teams with no smart phones?
Chair in hallway
Reflection
Door in the sun
Shadows
Inscription
Repeating
Door number two
Wall
CourtyardWe walked back to the city, quietly reflecting on all the beauty we had seen.
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“Titties. Ass. Beer.” The barker saw me walking with the five guys. “You can come too, lady.” Southern hospitality. Nothing like it.
Walking down Bourbon Street We walked into a bar advertising a ridiculous special. 3 drinks for the price of 1? 5 for the price of 3? I can’t remember. Beau walked up to the bartender. “Could you make us 5 of the most ridiculous tourist drinks possible?” Her reply? “Double?” Why, of course. Minutes later we had stadium cups full of sweetness, in all colors of the rainbow.
A Rainbow of Tourist Beverages At one intersection, sipping our ridiculous tourist drinks, we glance to the right, greeted by a looming shadow of Christ. It appeared as though he was coming back from the dead to haunt the revelers on Bourbon Street.
Christ over Bourbon Street With half an hour before our dinner reservation, we decided the most prudent course of action would be to order beignets and cafe au laits, of course, at Cafe du Monde. We sat down, placed our order, and moments later were greeted by steaming pillows of fried goodness dusted with powdered sugar. A fresh beignet is like a taste of heaven. The powdered sugar simply melts in your mouth, along with the steamy hot fried dough. Ahhhhhh.
Beignets and Cafe au Lait We made our way to Arnaud’s and were seated in the Jazz Bistro. The trio approached each table, taking requests, or, in our case, playing their favorites. After performing Hallelujah I Love Her So for us, complete with spinning bass and knocking, they moved on to the next table, embarking on What a Wonderful World.
Hallelujah I Love Her So Our dinners came, full on New Orleans style – alligator sausage, frogs’ legs, fish with crab, gumbo. Completely stuffed, we insisted we couldn’t have dessert. Until we saw the flames at the nearby table. Bananas foster? Why, yes, please.
Bananas Foster. And Flames. All in all, a remarkable, memorable, evening on Bourbon Street.
Team Social Takes Bourbon Street -
I told the cab driver, “We need to make two stops. One at the Verizon store, then the second at a house on Napoleon Ave.” The taxi driver nodded and started off. While Justin was inside the Verizon store, I told the taxi driver the exact address of the house: 2203 Napoleon Avenue, cross street Loyola. “Cross street Loyola? That’s not possible; that’s far away.” I shrugged. “Maybe. It could be far away. That’s the address I have.” “No, it must be close by.” I questioned his logic. Theoretically, a destination could be far away from the airport.
Justin came back to the cab and we set off once again. We came to West Napoleon. We cruised up and down. The cab driver stopped. “West Napoleon, right?” “No, I think it’s just Napoleon. Cross street Loyola.” “No, Loyola is too far away.” Once again, I wondered why he thought we couldn’t be staying at an address far away from the airport.
“Okay. Let me call my co-worker.”
“Hey, Mike, where is the house? On Napoleon, or West Napoleon?” “Umm. I think Napoleon. Let me check.” Wait. Wait. Wait. “Yep, Napoleon, cross street Loyola.” I conveyed this information to the cab driver. Exasperated, he said, “But that’s so far away! You didn’t tell me that.”
In my head, I thought, “You’re a cab driver. I thought that I could give you an address and you would take us there.” Externally I said, “Could you please take us there?”
More exasperated, “I gave you the near-by fare. That was to here. The address you’re telling me is far away. That’s the far-away fare.” I thought for a moment. “Could you please take us there? We’ll pay the far-away fare.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay.”
We arrived at our destination. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought you were going near, so I told you the near-by price, but you were really going far.”
I’ve never had a taxi driver explain the fare in near-by or far-away terms, and was simply happy we arrived safe and sound.
LoriLoo 