The guy told me five dollars. I said, I know the fare is two, no more than three. He smiled widely, his gold caps shimmering in the light, and brought it down to four. I ended up walking to Ngoc Ha. It was only forty minutes, and I could watch the Old Quarter disappear to become long stately avenues, lined by gates with statements and fig tree shadows. Despite my incessant drowsiness – a mixture of jet lag, genuine fatigue, and the surreality of being brand new in a place as demanding and bustling as Hanoi – I was continuing the search for my apartment. I had already seen an elegant place in Tay Ho, a clean northern district known for being the most…