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My First Visit to Hanoi and How it Changed my View of Vietnam

By Michael LaBounty


The week I spent in Hanoi was not even close to what I anticipated.

I gathered many thoughts about Vietnam over the years, having grown up watching the CBS Evening News throughout the 1960s and 1970s. The "Peace Movement" swirled all around me – in my classrooms, in social environments, and in popular culture. The discussions I was engaged in and listened to at the time were endless.

I was familiar with the anti-communist rhetoric that flooded the American landscape during the duration of the Cold War. I watched the Second Indochina War (1959-1975) bring down President Johnson and torture Richard Nixon. From my bike, after school, on my paper route, and on the weekends, I watched many B-52s takeoff and land – we lived near an active Air Force base. I always wondered which ones were going to, or returning from, the war.

Further, one of my good friend's brothers spent a tour near Đà Nẵng as a military water ski instructor at an officers' club. I listened to the stories my friend passed on, via his brother's letters. Most of these stories sounded like a vacation, as opposed to intense war duty. I also experienced the trauma of the combat death of a young man whose sister was a classmate of mine. We also attended the same church. I remember the adult conversations that followed the news of his death. They continued for months after his return and internment.

My friends and I often discussed what our individual plans might be if we were ever drafted. I eventually had my own draft card in my wallet – I was eligible for the last two drafts of the war and followed each lottery with keen anticipation. Later, in college, after watching the movie "Apocalypse Now", my views of Vietnam and its war were set in my mind. Before my arrival in Hanoi, I expected to feel at least parts of “the horror”, while in the country.

I arrived at Nội Bài International Airport, on the northeast side of Hanoi, late at night. I was taken aback a bit by how clean and modern it looked.

I departed by taxi for my hotel in downtown Hanoi, and as we left the airport, I noticed endless rice paddies as far as I could see, on either side of the road. Then there were the massive billboards, with only the names of recognized brands – Nike, Adidas, Samsung. I began to realize that I had not kept up with what was going on in Vietnam since the end of the war. For starters, I did not know Vietnam had instituted free-market reforms in 1986, also known as Đổi Mới (renovation), opening the way for commerce with the West.

I also started to become aware that I was ignorant of Vietnam's long history. Bordered by China to the north, it had broken away in the 10th century and flourished until colonized by the French in the mid-19th century. The Vietnamese resisted French domination and then Japanese occupation. It survived Japan's defeat, and then the failure of France's effort to restore its colonial empire after WWII. The United States eased into this perceived Southeast Asian vacuum. The aim was to cushion the ongoing collapse of British Empire, as well as mitigate the emergence of Communist China and the Soviet Union. Divided now into two countries in 1954, Vietnam erupted into civil war. America supported the South's struggle against the insurgent Việt Minh Front.

The next morning, I realized I could see the Red River to the north and northeast, as I looked out from my 20th-floor hotel room window. The long Red River Valley was an area of intense aerial combat between North Vietnamese and American forces during the war. I spent a good amount of time on the observation deck at the top of the hotel, where I could get a 360-degree view of the city and beyond. On the streets below, I could see a lot of moving traffic, comprised mostly of scooters and motorbikes.

I ventured out to explore the old town’s French Quarter. It was hot and humid. The streets were lively, as legions of individuals were coming and going. Many women were carrying or pushing sacks or parcels, large and small, on a flatbed bicycle or tricycle. A few were transiting by foot, some with equal loads hung at the opposing ends of shoulder-borne poles, balanced. As I walked, I understood the need for the large straw hats many locals wear. Given the heat and intense sunshine, providing your own shade is necessary at times.

The Colonial French influence in the old town was prominent. The tree-lined boulevards and colonial-era buildings and residences reminded me of Europe. I later learned that Hanoi was host to the first western universities in Indochina. A university, a medical school, and a school of fine art were established here in the first two decades of the 20th century.

Further down the street, I found a sidewalk cafe next to a French colonial house-as-restaurant. Here, large fans blew a pleasing mist towards patrons to counter the 90-plus degree, 90-percent humidity. Bottled beer was served in large buckets of ice, to combat the heat. I learned to also keep ice in my drinks, even beer to resist its warming. The food was amazing, and I'll never forget the fresh, gigantic shrimp. Some of the dishes, for which I'm still not sure what I was eating, were tasty. All in all, the atmosphere was enticing, relaxing, and quaint. I noticed a nearby couple kissing. Quite fitting.

Over time, at various sidewalk cafes or street food stands, I met up with and became accustomed to phở bò (beef) and phở gà (chicken). At one streetside vending stand, the cook even took the time to show me how to integrate the side vegetables served with these dishes, the right way.

I quickly noticed that in Hanoi, and assumed it to then be true of most of Vietnam, scooters were everywhere. Sitting in a sidewalk cafe, watching, I guessed the scooter-to-car ratio had to be at least ten-to-one. Mind you, these were not full-fledged motorcycles (I'm not sure I ever saw one). These were bona fide scooters, relatives of those I'd seen throughout the Mediterranean. To my surprise, there were many Piaggio Vespas from the 1960s and 70s. On occasion, I spotted a Lambretta or two. The older bikes looked good and were functional. There also were newer Honda, Yamaha, and Suzuki scooters.

Every intersection duplicated the start of a motocross race. "Scooterists" revved their engines in anticipation of the imminent green light. Bikes stacked ten, twenty, or thirty deep. Men, women, boys, and girls were sitting single, double, even triple – with or without extra cargo. And most wore no protection – no helmets, many wearing flip flops, some riders barefoot. (I understand that now helmets in Vietnam are mandatory for those that scoot.)

As I walked block-to-block, I was amazed at the mass of scooters zipping up and down streets, in all directions. At one intersection with five connecting streets, there were no traffic lights. I sat at a sidewalk café and watched for quite some time, the scooters maneuvering in a constant flow, in all directions, without incident. Though there were occasional instances of bikers "tooting" their horns. That said, I never saw a single accident, even the aftermath of one, during my stay.

I began to get the urge to find a Vietnamese scooter shop to find and restore a vintage Vespa for me. And then ship it back to the States.

My lone negative experience took place near my hotel. I had to explore a nearby street market which I had passed by on numerous occasions. It began pleasant enough. It was full of strange and exotic items, goods such as traditional clothing and hats, hammocks, knives, and slippers. There was an abundance of tropical fruits. The smell was also sweetly foreign, hinting at dried fruits and candies. There even seemed to be an occasional air of candle, incense, or perfume. I browsed, pondered, and poked. I also tried to do a bit of mental math as I converted đồng to dollars, dollars to đồng – without appearing to use my fingers or talking to myself.

As I ventured further into this side street market, the environment turned organic. I was moving from the clothing and knick-knack section into a food section. It was at this point that my senses went were alerted. I noticed a trough in the middle of the main thoroughfare, which now was a slopping, V-shaped walkway. I was following this trough and I could see increasing moisture ahead. Some type of drainage was seeping from both sides. There were caged chickens, rabbits, and other animals I could not identify. I wondered, is this a wet market?

Fortunately, I had a tin of curiously strong mints in my pocket, which were capable of offsetting any offensive odor. It was time to use them, as the terrible smell was overpowering.

A few steps later, I saw a chicken selected by a patron, which was then dispatched, de-feathered, wrapped, and whisked away. Yikes! In seemingly slow motion, a hose flushed remnants towards me. Then to my left, I looked and saw a meat counter, with several attending local butchers. They exclusively offered canine meat, prepared in various ways – some boiled, some roasted, some barbecued. The sizes were various too, as were the prepared cuts. There were even whole parts, of which I resist description. One could also order custom cuts, sliced on the spot. At this point, I had enough. I fled towards the light at the end of the market. I also made a note-to-self, to be more cautious as I dined out, especially among food vendors on the streets.

During my retreat, I began to ponder on my preconceived notions about Hanoi and Vietnam before I arrived, and what I was now thinking. I realized that I was losing interest in the war. I was now more curious about the present and future of Vietnam – its people, culture, and its alluring beauty.

I did have one remaining curiosity. I was told beforehand, to always barter with street merchants and vendors here, as it was a local custom, and it was expected. I did, and I was surprised at how all the people I encountered on the streets were polite and courteous, some with decent English.

As I was bartering with a local merchant, I noticed that his English was good, and he seemed more than willing to chat. So, I asked him what he thought of Americans. Smiling, he said, "I do not like America, but I like your money." Leaving, I thought about the use of military force to change the course of Vietnamese politics. Our politicians had preached the need to "change the hearts of minds" of the Vietnamese people. Yet, weren’t we ignoring a thousand years of its history, its antipathy towards China, and the failure of French colonialism? At what cost?

I did visit the infamous Hanoi Hilton (Hỏa Lò Prison), which interred American POWs. It's reduced to a third of its original size, and it is now a museum. I toured the existing cell area and saw Senator John McCain's flight suit on display. (After his jet was hit while on a bombing mission over Hanoi, he parachuted into Hanoi’s Trúc Bạch Lake, with no means of escape.) But many of the exhibits featured focused on the French colonial period. A guillotine used against local insurgents was on display, along with the many images of the prisoners executed by the French.

From this point on, as I continued to drift around Hanoi, exploring, I lost my desire to see sites related to the war. I had expected to see outdoor museums with captured American military hardware. There were several prominent ones. I knew about a neighborhood pond that held exposed remnants of a B-52 shot down during the infamous 1972 Christmas bombing campaign. And there was also Hồ Chí Minh’s mausoleum, his body on display. I skipped them all.
 
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The Fall I Hiked Hadrian’s Wall and Discovered the Uniqueness of Northern England

By Michael LaBounty


I had always wanted to hike Hadrian’s Wall. I have degrees in history, and I've lived in England for a few years, doing graduate work in London and Cambridge. During my free time, I enjoyed walking local trails identified as Roman paths. I bought “Wellies”, a wool cap, sweater, and a walking coat, and put them to good use. Yet, I never made it beyond England's Midlands. Hiking the Wall became a dream.

Later, when my teenage daughter discovered I was going to hike the Wall, she made me promise not to do so without her. She had a strong interest in history and archeology, and spent a good amount of time outdoors, hiking with family and friends. Of course, I had to promise. She was born in England, though we left a couple of months after her birth. I knew this likely meant having to wait a few years, to get our lives and schedules coordinated.

The Plan

The Christmas following her graduation from nursing school, she gifted me a Hadrian’s Wall hiking guide. The Wall hike was on!

We began planning, looking for the best time of the year to hike the Wall. We debated whether we wanted to work with a travel agency. I had worked as a travel agent years ago, so I was not opposed to making and coordinating all the travel arrangements myself. That said, we decided to book with an English walking tour company (Mickledore) – one of our better planning decisions. Their preparation and support before and throughout the hike were quite impressive.

We chose the last half of September for our hike. We decided to hike the Wall with 60+ pound backpacks, foregoing any baggage transport between stops (a Mickledore service). I knew that planning a hike this time of the year was a gamble considering the nature of English weather, especially nine months out. But I hoped we would get a break with a good Indian summer, like the ones I had experienced before while living in England.

I also took a free six-week online class on Hadrian's Wall, offered by Newcastle University (via Future Learn), which was very thorough. Their archeology and history departments are very engaged in ongoing studies of the Wall, and its surrounding areas. So, before our departure, I felt well prepared for the challenges of the hike, with a good understanding of the Wall's Roman history.

Arrival in London

We flew to London and spent a couple of days recovering from the long flight and adapting to the time change. We chose a good central location at Imperial College London (South Kensington), with had a good accommodation rate. We toured major London sites, such as the British Museum, and even enjoyed a late morning cappuccino and scone in Harrods Food Halls. I enjoy London, and it has changed for the better over the years, given the 2012 Olympics – but it is always packed with people. So, after a couple of days, we were ready to dispense with the crowds.

The Hike

Day One. The start of our hike began with a prepositioning train ride from London’s St. Pancras International Train Station to Newcastle upon Tyne. A strong windstorm had damaged rail line electrics south of Newcastle the previous night. So, we had to endure a delay in York for a diesel locomotive to get us further north. We then transitioned to Tynemouth via light rail. At this point, I began to question my judgement about gambling with English weather.

Our first night’s accommodation, at first site, was a bit unassuming (Grand Hotel). But it was across the street from Longsands Beach, atop a cliff, looking out at the vast North Sea. We could see the long stretch of the beach running north, as well as remnants of a now unused sea-bathing pool below the cliff, extending out into the bay. It did not take long for us to figure out that this seaside area was, and still is, very popular with both locals and tourists.

Once we dropped off our gear at our hotel, we took an inquisitive stroll down to the main street, opposite the ruins of Tynemouth Priory and Castle. As we knew we would hit the trail bright and early the next morning, we searched for a good fish and chips shop before turning in for the night. We found one (Longsands Fish Kitchen), and it did not disappoint. It is difficult to beat a British “chippy” shop, with fresh catch of the day served hot – cod or haddock, along with homemade tartar sauce.

In the morning, I enjoyed my first ever Scottish breakfast (toasted muffin with smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, and black coffee). My initial impression of the modest Grand Hotel began to change. The quality of our stay had far surpassed the hotel’s three-star rating. The staff even offered to configure our packed lunches to our preferences.

However, I began to get concerned about the quality of future accommodations, and how each day would compare with our brief stay in Tynemouth. As for our upcoming evening stops, I hoped we had not peaked too early.

Day Two. We began our day with a short light rail ride to Walls End, still a bit east of Newcastle, where our hike began. We picked up our hike passports (had to have proof of this adventure), at a small museum and site of the Roman fort, Segedunum. Much of Roman presence in this area still lies underground, undisturbed.

It was a comfortable, bright day, and we followed the River Tyne for our stop in Newburn, just west of Newcastle. In Newcastle, we stopped for an afternoon coffee break. While trekking along the river, we could see the remnants of Industrial Revolution-age factories. They were the results of the development of coal as an industrial fuel, with the source of the river’s water advantageous. Yet, the ecological toll at the time had not to have been considered. For me, I had focused on the area’s Roman period, but now wished I had explored a bit of Newcastle’s Industrial Revolution period.

We arrived in Newburn at The Keelman and Big Lamp Brewery, a rural traditional-style pub and
microbrewery. It was likely a century-old farmhouse, or country manner, with adjacent lodging. The staff met us with a warm welcome, and the ensuing pub chat with locals was enticing (we could not identify any fellow hikers). Our dinner and generous breakfast were a bit of a surprise, as was our day’s packed lunch. My concerns about end-of-the-day accommodations relaxed.

Day Three. This day turned rural, and we realized we had finally arrived in the North of England’s countryside. It was small village after small village, while transiting pastures and plots of timber. We appreciated the well-marked path, with signs and information, even if only an occasional reassuring acorn symbol to mark our way.

Two notable events happened on this day. First, we finally met up with the beginning remnants of the actual Wall in the east. Second, while we loitered at this spot, we met a local woman, who was walking her small dog near the wall, on the outskirts of her village. We had a lovely chat, figuring out who we all were, where we came from, and where were we headed. The little tidbits of village life were enlightening. I realized that my pre-hike focus on the Wall’s history may not turn out to be the best part of our hike.

We stopped our hike for the day at a point where our bed and breakfast was directly south of the Wall path. We had a coffee at a roadside pub (Robin Hood Pub), and then hailed a cab. We had a nice chat with the bartender, and then the taxi driver, with highlights, tales, and legends about the local area.


For our stay in Corbridge, we lodged in a traditional bed and breakfast. As we were on our own for dinner, our gracious host provided excellent tips on where to go on foot, especially emphasizing two of his favorite pubs. Our cab driver had also provided insight. Our choice was based on a pub’s prominent outside chalkboard advertisement for “traditional pub food” (The Black Bull).

At The Black Bull, we weren’t disappointed. The atmosphere was quite traditional, along with friendly pub chat, and we felt included as “tourists”. Dinner? I’ve never been keen on British cuisine, as I’ve always considered it adequate (except for fish and chips, Beef Wellington). I tried their British Beef and Ruddles Ale Pie, in shortcut pastry, with crisps, and green peas. My daughter took on Suffolk Pork and Parsley Sausages, champ mash, and beef dripping gravy with crispy shallots. Of course, we shared and sampled! And then we splurged with dessert: Sticky Toffee and Date Pudding with clotted ice cream; Triple Chocolate Brownie with ice cream. Impressive!

My focus for the hike was definitely shifting. At this point, I had no more concerns about having peaked in Tynemouth. Hike the Wall, I thought, okay – let’s get to our next village, our next bed and breakfast, our next pub!

And, if this was not enough, as we left The Black Bull, we noticed and checked out a nearby fortified vicarage. It is a “pele” (peel or keep), a defensive tower, this one built in the early 1300s to defend against frequent Scottish border raids. Today, it functions as a kind of pub and micro-gin bar, as well as a special events venue. We certainly could have enjoyed a little more time exploring it and the village! I began to think even more that the hidden gem in our hike was the people and culture of Northern England – and the unique history of each of our planned stops.

Day Four. Unfortunately, on this day, the weather turned against us. As we transitioned from pasture to pasture, meeting legions of sheep, we hiked headlong into a 20+ MPH headwind. Fortunately, there was not much precipitation.

The landscape was becoming more open, with the elevation starting to increase. There were occasional picturesque stone farmhouses or an old stone church. In particular, St. Oswald’s Farm (bed and breakfast), and St. Oswald’s Church in Lee, were quite picturesque. Legend has it that it was here in the 7th Century that King Oswald raised a large wooden cross before his victory against an invading Welsh army at the Battle of Heavenfield (633, 634 AD?). We also spent a good amount of time strolling through the ruins of Chesters Roman Fort and browsing through its Clayton Museum.

Our evening stay, now in Humshaugh, was at another traditional bed and breakfast. Our host was also a local tour guide who specialized in local Roman history, with extensive knowledge of the sites in the area. We had a couple of chats about the history and many local stories passed down through the centuries. We could have stayed here for a few days too – chatting and exploring. Later, we enjoyed a traditional county pub, The Crown Inn, likely the only pub in the village (at least according to Google). It was an excellent evening, with another glimpse into small village life in the North of England.

Day Five. We encountered another day of driving wind, this time with rain – we had to break out our rain gear. But the landscape was magnificent, and this area of the Wall is rich with Roman archeology. Housesteads Fort, Vindolandia, and the nearby Roman Army Museum are excellent examples, with much to see. The visibility of Roman earthworks on both sides of the Wall was amazing. I could see mounds that were defensive in nature and roads and areas for military movement. Also, the National Trust has a dedicated 8-mile circle path here, the Sycamore Gap Path here. The Gap is likely the most photogenic place along the Wall. It features a lone, large Sycamore tree, which occupies a low gap in a ridge upon which Hadrian’s Wall sits.

We ended our day’s hike at the Twice Brewed Inn, in the village of Once Brewed.  There are several tales for these two names. Interestingly, the road sign for the village for those approaching from the West is Once Brewed, the sign from the East is Twice Brewed.

Of course, most of the tales explaining this topic swirl around beer. One, a story involving King Edward I on a transitory stop, that he enjoyed the beer at the pub so much that he ordered it brewed again. Another, involving foot soldiers from York, demanded the beer brewed again, as it lacked its usual “fighting strength”. Or, as one tale goes, locals tended to brew weak beer, so the term was a notice for patrons that an establishment’s beer was, in fact, brewed strong.

And then there’s an alternate explanation, which is related to the area’s hilltop crests, or brows, or “brews” (different dialects?). This area has two “brews” at the intersection of two drover roads (a drover is one who drives cattle or sheep). In this sense, the Sycamore Gap is the meeting of two “brews”.

In this part of Northern England, pub talk and opinions, are quite lively and robust. It was here that I found myself captivated by England’s North, where “history becomes legend becomes myth”.

We finally arrived at our accommodation for the night – a converted stone barn, Henshaw Barn Bed and Breakfast.

Day Six. This day was our planned rest day, the mid-point of our hike. We planned to get a good look at this area of the Wall, as well as relax a bit. The weather turned pleasant.

We spent the day re-exploring several sites in the local area, which we had cut short given our need to make our destination for the evening. We spent a good portion of the day at Vindolandia and its museum. It’s an active archeological site, with one of the best archeological museums I’ve ever visited. One area of the museum is where resident archeologists are working on recently discovered artifacts from active digs. For example, we viewed the only surviving ancient pair of leather boxing gloves, as well as horse armor and its likely leather face pad. And there were cow and goat skulls, used for target practice (arrows, ballistae).

As we only had one dining choice in the area, our bed and breakfast was one of two stops along the path which offered us homemade meals for dinner. A retired couple were our hosts – one a chef, the other a teacher. We had pre-ordered our meals a couple of days earlier, as required by the chef. The food was simply exquisite. I had never had blood pudding, for example, a dish I avoided. His partner recommended I give it a try for breakfast, as it was his own recipe and specialty. It was incredible. I thought, where am I?

We also noticed on our off day, as we traveled around by bus and train, there were many houses and yards decorated with scarecrows. We found out that there is an annual Fall tradition of displaying scarecrows in the area – even competitions and festivals. This encouraged us to have more pub talk with locals, though on a different topic!

Day Seven. This day proved to be the toughest of our hike. We started out with temperatures in the low 40s, with a direct headwind in the 30-40 MPH range, with an occasional period of stronger gusts. The windchill had to be in the low 30s.

Given the changing elevation of the terrain and wind, we made a couple of wrong turns along the path, even though the path is well-marked. Thankfully, there were “you made a wrong turn” signs. We also came across some aggressive cows, protecting their calves. We had transitioned into an area in which the cattle population had increased. Later, we learned that during the previous year, several Wall hikers lost their lives to rampaging cows or bulls.

We finally made our stop for the night in Lanercost, another traditional bed and breakfast. It was also a large working farm, with stables. By now, I was not surprised – another warm welcome, another gracious host, another round of homemade meals. The hot beef stew at the end of such a rather miserable day was a godsend!

Day Eight. We got a bit of a respite from the weather, as we made our way to Cumbria, visiting Birdoswald Roman Fort and Thirlwall Castle along the way. The pastures were a mix of cows and sheep now, with an occasional bull sighting – we also noticed “bull in pasture” postings. Obviously, a warning, but rather late I might add. Why weren’t there any “raging cows in pasture” signs?

We were now back in the lowlands, approaching Carlisle. We made a couple more stops in village pubs along the way, to escape the cool weather and the consistent wind that was coming off the Irish Sea. Entering Carlisle, we realized we were leaving a unique part of rural England and its Northern English culture. In this sense, Carlisle mirrored Newcastle, which should not have been a surprise. The surprise was the cultural experience between the two cities.

Our bed and breakfast for the night was again good and comfortable, and a nearby pub was also good for dinner (The Beehive). Yet, it was more commercial.

Day Nine. Out of Carlisle, we followed the south bank of the River Eden west. The weather was decent, but it was definitely coastal, with a prevailing onshore wind. The terrain was flat, and we transitioned through more pastures and villages. In a couple of villages, we encountered unattended rest stops for hikers. These had refreshments, available for cash left on the honor system.

The highlight of the end of our hike came as we stopped on a corner that had a bus stop, at which a few locals were waiting. An elderly gentleman approached us and asked if we were waiting for a bus or hiking the Wall. Since we were hiking, he recommended that we visit three significant churches in the area, which “many hikers miss”.

The first church was St. Mary’s Beaumont, the site of a Norman hillfort on the original Wall line. The second, St. Michael’s Burgh-by-Sands, where Edward I lie in state for a week after his passing. And finally, St. Michael’s Bowness-on-Solway, its bells stolen by a Scottish raiding party – replaced in kind by an English raiding party. All three churches were built with stone from the Wall. He also talked about Edward I at length (Edward Longshanks, aka “Hammer of the Scots”).

We took note and did make it inside two of his three recommended churches, viewing the third from a distance. He had also tipped us off to a piece of local history, that of area “border reivers”. These were raiders during several Middle Age centuries, who were both Anglo-Scottish. Then he pronounced that he in fact was a Scott. Later, I wondered if he might be a descendant of one of those hooligans, given his passion as a resident Scot in England.

There is a Walls End end-of-the-trail stop in Bowness-on-Solway, with a final passport stamping function. It faces the Inner Solway Firth, with a view across the water into Scotland. So, we arrived and we loitered a bit.

Our final bed and breakfast was as good as all the previous ones. It was a large, converted vicarage, next to its Anglican church (another St. Michael’s). And right around the corner, one last village pub, The Kings Arms. Our evening mirrored the village pubs we encountered along the way. There were more discussions with locals. Only this time there were a few fellow hikers, likely because it was at the end of Hadrian’s Wall Path.

Aftermath

This hike began with the idea of my experiencing Roman history. My daughter joined in on the idea. With all things considered, the hike was epic, despite the few days of challenging weather.

What I learned is that the best travel experiences are well worth repeating, in more focused detail on an area’s culture. I will repeat my hike of Hadrian’s Wall, more likely in parts. But my focus will shift, to village areas in Northumbria, Cumbria. I will always be in the mood to see the Wall and walk around Roman ruins. But my new desire is to go back and hang out a bit – exploring villages, chatting with locals, and taking in more of the culture which is Northern England.