Afternoon saw us at the Temple of Literature, something of an oasis of quiet in Hanoi. The traffic noise still intruded, but was muffled. The temple is dedicated to Confucius “in honour of scholars and men of literary accomplishment.” (from Lonely Planet). No women, as far as I know.

Inner gate:

This tree wins some kind of prize for matted roots, I think:

We liked these two joined specimens:

The steles over the distinguished scholars’ graves were fronted by decorative turtles, symbolising wisdom and awareness:

Before the temple there was a forecourt with bonsais and two topiary birds in pots, with which two very cute little girls were playing, picking up leaves that had fallen and were lying in the pot and sticking them back on the birds. We did get pictures, but I don’t want to post photos of children that were taken without permission — however, you can imagine it. Here are the bonsais, anyway:

The main temple had a red colour scheme without and within:

The temple complex was quite large. In one of the buildings a demonstration of classical Vietnamese music and singing was taking place. There was almost no audience, so I sat and listened for a while, feeling sorry for the performers who were playing to empty seats. I confess it sounded rather atonal and not very pleasant to me, but afterwards, when we were sitting in a courtyard watching this frog –

–we heard strains of something more familiar.
Me: That sounds like Thai hillbilly music.*
Stu: It is hillbilly music. It’s “Banjo on My Knee”.
So it was. The twangy instrument — I know not its name — suited the song quite well.

*Thai rural musicians play a kind of music that to my ear sounds like American hillbilly music at times. Same pentatonic scale, perhaps.

And then we went home and collapsed.

Something I forgot to mention in the previous post: at the merchant’s house was a piece of historical explanation saying that during the period of French colonisation the street the house was in had been known as Rue des Pavillons Noirs, the “Street of Black Chessmen”, so named because of “Black Chessman” troops stationed there. I think this is a mistranslation and that it ought to be “Black Flags“, an irregular force of mostly ethnic Chinese, who were used by the Vietnamese government to suppress indigenous tribes and fight the French. (If any French speakers are reading this, perhaps you can confirm or correct this.) But I liked the idea of a street of black chessmen — it conjures up all sorts of fantastical images.