Author's Notes

Suddenly, at some distance, the Red River appeared. When the light is right, the name seems well deserved, indeed. We drove over the bridge. The Metropole’s Mercedes limousine swiftly reached the outskirts of Hanoi. We passed lakes, tree lined alleys. Old villas, magnificent buildings in the European style of the turn of the century made my head turn. Here and there the occasional modern office block. Bicycles, motorbikes, busy traffic. Then the car pulled up in front of the Hotel Metropole. A friendly smile, ‘Welcome’, and there I was. Franck Lafourcade, who has taken over from Richard Kaldor as General Manager, says hello. I get my preferred room, (one with a 15 at the end; 115, 215, 315) and I do not take the elevator. Staircases in historic hotels have so much character and the late Cyril Gardiner of the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo fame always said: “Andreas; take the stairs, it’s better for your health.” These stairs in the old wing have carried many famous characters upstairs: Graham Greene, Somerset Maugham, Jane Fonda, . . .
A first stroll through the mild Hanoi night. The old Opera House gleams at a distance. It has been exquisitely restored to its former grandeur. Back at La Boutique I meet Tiana Silliphant, the charming Vietnamese Hollywood export. She tells me all about the shooting of Graham Green’s The Quiet American, Michael Caine, Brendan Fraser, US$ 30m, Sidney Pollack, screenwriter Christopher Hampton, . . . Within seconds megabytes of information flow. Where is my voice recorder? Tiana turns round: ‘Meet Nicole Routhier, she wrote The Foods of Vietnam, an excellent book!’
The next morning (talking about food): work-out at the gym, a dip into the pool. The calory gaining wonderful kitchens under Didier Corlou require some extra laps. Breakfast at Le Beaulieu. Lunch at the Spices Garden, the Met Pub or the Club Bar. Walking around the hotel takes you to the hotel’s own delicatessen, a Vietnamese silk fashion shop and Louis Vuitton’s elegant shop.
I retire to the pub. A Jazz band performs. Until the 1880s there was a lake where I am sitting right now. The French spared no efforts to cultivate this area. ‘After a visit to Hanoi one is curious to learn what the French would have done to Singapore or Hong Kong if they had possessed them?’ wrote Alfred Cunningham in 1901.
A stroll through the mild Hanoi night. Towards the dyke that protects the city from the regular threat of floods of the Red River. Behind its walls flows the mighty waterway. Once the river provided the only means of transportation between the outer world, the harbour at Haiphong and Hanoi. Then the Correspondance Fluviale plied its services up- and downstream. This was where they arrived. Paul Bert, Paul Doumer, and all the others. Gold-diggers in their own right. Adventurers, civil servants, explorers, visitors. So many characters, so many destinies. Here, one early morning, Gustave Dumoutier must also have stood. Waiting.

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