When we return to Hanoi, it's pouring. But we don't want to stop; there's so much more to see.
We pass the old opera house and other restored colonial buildings, tramp along the wide, embassy-lined avenues in the French Quarter, and haggle for silk and lacquerware. We slog through ankle-deep puddles until we are drenched and cold.
We try to hold on to everything we pass — the old women balancing baskets of bananas from their shoulders, the mad motorbikers splashing past, the red, yellow-star flags flapping in the wind.
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