After the pristine guest house and ways in general of Tokyo, we plunge into Ha Noi’s old quarter. I was here 20 years ago with Jennifer who was adopting Mai how was a mere 6 months old at the time. Ha Noi is both insanely busy and chaotic and daring and completely unknown, and then, it is like coming home. I recognize the chaos, the grittiness of a place build over and over upon itself. The layers of history, of living, of what is decaying underneath what is thriving.
And we’ve been here since 2 a.m.
We are staying in a very funky place—the absolute opposite of Guest House Wagokoro in Arakawa.
Autumn House is down a very deep and dark and narrow alley. A house of three narrow floors—one room per floor—the only “window” in each room is a floor to ceiling french door that opens to a tiny balcony and another back alley. Right now it feels a bit unnerving, but give me a few days to see how I feel.
20 years ago, I stepped out of our hotel and a shot of terror ran through me at the idea that if I was not careful I would could make an unthinking turn and never find my way back to the hotel. This morning I am not as fearful, but I do carefully take a picture of the entrance to our alley and note the building across the street.






















































