At night we would try our best to find entertainment, so a night market seemed fitting. We decided that street food was on the agenda for supper and stopped at the first decent looking eatery. We were categorically placed next to another western couple. I sat down on my toddler sized chair and admired our pygmy table. I broke the ice by asking what was good on the menu, to which they replied “frogs legs”. It was then that I realized that they were French. We did not speak after that. We were handed an English menu with inflated western prices. The prices were still cheap so we went ahead and ordered. The food was some of the best that I have eaten in Vietnam and despite much searching, I have yet to find the place again. [edit: I found it.] After eating our full we hit the market, it was the true essence of Hanoi - Haggling, shouting, aromas, sights and colors in every direction. I was approached by a master salesman, he knew a lot about my home country and we discussed the recent world cup. After much convincing I bought an overpriced lighter from him. I credited his persistence and sales technique and went on my way. Half way through the market a certain rumbling in our stomachs forced us to rush home. We had not yet developed the iron stomachs that we own today.