The New Coffee Capital of the World... Hanoi, Vietnam 🇻🇳

Mopeds and motorbikes wizz past me with only a few inches to spare. I'm sat on a miniature deck chair on what was once intended to be a pavement. In front of me, a cream cheese coffee from VHN Coffee in Hanoi's Old Quarter. It is an unlikely combination, but ends up being one of the best coffees I end up having on the trip, perhaps ever. 

The VHN Cà Phê a.k.a. cream cheese coffee. 

The coffee culture in Hanoi and, in turn, Vietnam, is next to none. Coffee culture in the English language uses loanwords from perhaps the most well known country when it comes to coffee - Italy. For a coffee with milk, we say "latte", which directly translates to "milk" in Italian. We also use "mocha" short for mocaccino and also cappucino, directly from Italian. But perhaps we should look further afield for our coffee inspiration. 

During my six days in Hanoi, I tried a number of coffees which opened my mind to a new way of thinking about coffee. Each drink brings out a new memory of the various spots I went to - starting with the famous salted cream coffee. 

Jetlagged and extremely tired having caught the flight to Vietnam directly off a night shift, my first Vietnamese coffee was something I'll always remember. At 80+ Coffee Roastery, I ordered the Ngà coffee - which was a shot of coffee, condensed milk, and salted cream foam. It was muggy and hot in Hanoi (see scene from Good Morning Vietnam below) and as such I ordered it iced. After mixing it all together, and taking my first sip - the moment became transformative and I wasn't sure I could ever enjoy a solitary flat white ever again. At first, it was refreshing in the humidity that was unrelenting. But then came the taste, the sweetness of the condensed milk is perfectly balanced with the saltiness of the salted cream. Neither taste overpowering the other, but in fact a perfectly blended mix. While I didn't want it to end, I couldn't wait for the next Vietnamese coffee either. 

A delicious salted cream coffee at 80+ Coffee Roastery

The next stop was sort of accidental. Despite not meaning to, we somehow ended up around the corner from the world famous Hanoi Train Street. A woman saw me struggling to cross the road and helped me, which although the cynical part of me likes to think was a rouse to get me into her cafe, was actually also just a genuinely nice attempt to help a lost tourist. As such, we rewarded her kindness by sitting down at her cafe not too far into Train Street. Upon reviewing the menu, I settled for an egg coffee - a coffee I had heard much about before coming to Hanoi. In essence, it is made by pouring coffee over whipped egg yolk. Where better place to try one than here, I thought? Not at that cafe it turns out. The after taste was strange and the coffee strangely thick. It felt more like some sort of protein drink than a coffee. This was the only coffee I had during my trip which I did not like and it put me off trying egg coffees for the remainder of the trip. Was it because I did not like the egg coffee or was it because the location just made a bad egg coffee? I'm not sure. Nevertheless, sipping it as a train passed within inches of my face and legs was a unique experience.. and more scary than it appears in photos and videos too!

Egg coffee... not my favourite!

Tuck in! Here comes the train down Hanoi's Train Street.

A part of me worried that maybe these "coffees" were gimmicks, losing the essence of what a coffee is. But I was glad to be proven wrong time and again at various cafes and institutions in the city. The banana coffee I had at Langbiang Coffee, just down the road from our AirBnB, risked going into milkshake territory if not done correctly. But as with all coffees and meals I had in Vietnam, it was freshly made and blended to order. A shot of coffee, blended banana, and condensed milk (the go-to it seems) - all it takes for a good coffee. No additional banana flavouring or ice cream added, basically an ice latte with some blended banana. It was basic, but it was damn good. Once again, neither flavour overpowering the other - just two flavours complementing each other very well.

Banana coffee - looks normal, but plenty of banana bits and goodness floating about

Most coffees in Hanoi tended to be made with condensed milk, which created a unique flavour on its own. On a particularly hot day, I enjoyed an iced coffee with no other flavourings apart from condensed milk. It was sweeter than would be expected from a normal coffee, but so uniquely Vietnamese. While "European" style coffees are available, why resort to a boring latte when in (what I consider to be) the new Coffee Capital of the World? The style of Vietnamese coffee is clearly spreading in popularity around Asia as I witnessed Starbucks and other international coffee chains offer 'Vietnamese Cold Brews' in stores in India in the next part of our trip. 

And why shouldn't it? The stuff is good. It's creative but not unnecessarily loaded with sugar and additives. Scrap the pumpkin spice and black forest sugar-loaded monstrosities we have here in the UK. Replace it with high quality, genuinely creative coffees from around the world, starting with Vietnam. We don't need whipped cream, cocoa dust, and a boat load of syrup for a unique coffee. Just swap the whole milk for condensed and whipped cream for salted cream and - voilà - you have something unique and delicious. 

I'm sure it won't be long before the phenomenon spreads to coffee shops here in the UK and I'll be glad to see it because, if anything, the Vietnamese deserve it. They've been through a lot. Although I'm not sure I'll be first in line to try a salted cream coffee from a machine at Greggs... 

Is Delhi The World's Worst Capital City?

There is no guidebook, video, tour you can book, or even person that can accurately describe the culture shock that takes place when you arrive in Delhi, India. After six days in Hanoi, Vietnam, my friend Izaac and I ventured onto our next destination, India. 

A huge Indian flag over Palika Bazaar

Even for me, as someone who has travelled to places one might describe as 'off the beaten path' like Iraq, Syria, Zambia, to name a few, India was a complete culture shock. 

When picking a new country to travel to, a good first destination may in most cases be the capital. Usually due to it being the seat of government, embassies, and historical/cultural sites, capitals host foreign dignitaries, sporting events, usually have the biggest budgets to spend on things like infrastructure and housing. As we soon found, none of this applied to Delhi. 

Landing in Delhi is an experience in and of itself. Even in the night sky, a yellow haze which is the smog that looms over Delhi is clearly visible. It is one of the most polluted cities in the world, if not THE most polluted city in the world. 

The yellow smog visible in the night sky as we approach Delhi.

Once you set foot out of the airport terminal building, it becomes a constant battle to avoid being scammed, harassed, and touted for your money. Luckily, our hotel organised a free pickup from the airport (included in the price), which is just about where our luck ended. 

The drive into central Delhi was extremely haphazard, even taking into account the fact we had been in Hanoi for the past six days where the driving was, so we thought, already quite crazy. While the Vietnamese seemed to have mastered the art of 'organised chaos', the Indians just seemed to be driving chaotically unorganised. Our hotel's car had no functioning seatbelts as he sped through the busy streets avoiding rickshaws, tuk-tuks, cyclists, motorbikes, cars, and lorries. Our driver flashed cars in front, beeping near enough constantly, meanwhile other drivers did the same to us and so forth. Indian driving seemed to be a constant battle to get in front of the person in front you no matter the cost, by any means possible. It was to become a regular theme of our trip.

Cows, supposedly a holy animal in Hinduism, are allowed to roam the streets eating rubbish.

As we got closer to our hotel, the driver began giving us the spiel on why it would be so kind if we gave him a tip, how hard he worked, and how much it would be appreciated. Given the above reasons, including that he had to refuel en route (surely this could have been done en route to pick us up), we got out, thanked him, and walked into the hotel. Anyhow, I kind of zoned out of his speech when I noticed a man stood in the middle of the road, knob out, taking a leak on full show in front of everyone. This too would be commonly seen around India unfortunately. 

We were quickly greeted by some other bellboys who quickly took our, already light, backpacks and ushered us into the lobby where we went through the usual procedure with the reception, including checking in, payment, etc. We went to grab our bags but were intercepted by the bellboys again, who insisted that we need not carry our own bags. Tired and hunrgy, we reluctantly accepted, although knowing there would be an expectation for a tip once again despite never having requested or asked for this service. It was an awkward ride up the elevator,

"First time in India? Where are you from?" with the traditional Indian headshake. 

"Yes. From the UK."

"Nice."

This interaction was painfully long as both bellboys just stared at us as the elevator slowly took us to the third floor, where our room, number 308, was a ten yard walk away. They showed us into our room, dropped our bags, and made perhaps the most awkward exit one could make. Four grown men in a small hotel room, two of whom were expecting payment, delayed their exit as long as possible, even going as far to show how to turn the tap so that hot water would come out... Eventually they left, and Izaac and I contemplated leaving the room and going to another hotel altogether given the room was covered in dust, questionable stains and black mould in the bathroom. 

Ultimately we decided to suck it up for the next two nights and we reluctantly went to sleep... we awoke to the noise of cars beeping and work going on in the streets below. We were in Paharganj, perhaps the worst district in Delhi. It is located in "Old" Delhi, is fairly centrally located near the train station and in between a number of key Delhi landmarks such as Red Fort and India Gate. 

It also has the cheapest hotels, which was another key reason for staying there. A walk around Paharganj the following morning after our arrival soon confirmed why this shouldn't have been a factor in my decision making. It wasn't long before we kept being accosted constantly by people. Men would walk alongside us, asking where we're from, how long we're in India, before trying to direct us to their tuktuk or shop. Upon declining, the next would take their chance, and this went on before we managed to get to the cafe we were looking for. 

Breakfast was a short break from the constant harassment we experienced since stepping out of the hotel room. We were barely 50 yards from our hotel in some cafe and our first impressions were not great. We decided to get the hell out of Dodge (Paharganj) and got in the first tuktuk that offered us a reasonable price to get to Palika Bazaar, a known fake goods market. Just as we flagged down a tuktuk, a man somehow accosted us into his friend's tuktuk and offered us 100 Rupees (£1ish, maybe slightly less) which we accepted and confirmed. There was something fishy and the man constantly asked our travel plans, how much we were paying for our Taj Mahal tour, and more. It felt as if he was going to try and sell us something. He did lie to us as we later learned by trying to say that Palika Bazaar only sold electrical goods on a Sunday... the cricket shirt I bought later on said otherwise. 

They didn't actually take us to Palika Bazaar, but it was close enough. They tried to get us toward their friend's shop and after giving the driver 100 Rupees he looked disappointed, but I didn't care and I walked off - he agreed to the price after all. We were only five minute walk from the bazaar and as such headed that direction but on the way we were offered shoe cleaning by atleast two people, and a further three people attempted to take us in the direction of their shop inside some mall. Unperturbed, we carried on to Palika Bazaar, the indoor market. 

We passed through a "security" checkpoint, and I say security loosely. The metal detector went off on everyone who passed through where a security guard then hovered his hands loosely around everyone's trunk before letting them through. If an attack were to happen, it most certainly would not get caught out by the checkpoint! Nevertheless, Palika Bazaar was not just an electrical goods market - there were fake rolexes, fake luxury brands, and what I came for - a fake Indian Cricket shirt. Despite being, what I would consider, a relatively experienced traveller I still got scammed! I went in unprepared, not knowing how much I should pay for a knock-off cricket shirt and also with no clue what the exchange rate was. I knew I was getting ripped off when he said it would be 2900 Rupees, but when I offered back 2500... he must have known he'd got me hook, line, and sinker. In the end, I paid 2700 Rupees (£23) for a knock off Indian cricket shirt, which was far too much. I found this out when I asked an Indian friend what a local would pay and he said no more than 400 Rupees if the quality is really, really good. The biggest kick in the teeth was when Izaac bought an original Cashmere blanket of the highest quality the following day at a tourist shop near the Taj Mahal and he paid... 2500 Rupees! I really did get rinsed. But it is a lesson learnt. 

With a sour taste in my mouth, we made our way to India Gate, which is quite a spectacular memorial to the Indian soldiers who died in the First World War. The arch towers into the sky and is faced by a 28 foot high statue of Subhas Chandra Bose, an Indian Army commander during World War II. Upon further reading, I found out that it was originally a statue of King George V that stood facing India Gate up until the 1960s. 

The statue of Subhas Chandra Bose, faces India Gate.

India Gate is a relative space of calm from the hustle and bustle of the streets that surround it, but it isn't long before a woman is attaching a paper Indian flag to our sleeves stating that it is free, only for her to change her mind 30 seconds later and claim she is raising money for an orphanage. Again, I walk off... can you see a theme building? Luckily, India Gate is only a five minute walk from the Havemore Restaurant located at Bikaner House. I heard the butter chicken here is some of the best in Delhi but I did not expect the extravagance of its setting. Bikaner House has its roots in the British Raj and, while it is now open to the public, it is clearly a relic of Britain's colonial past in the country with an excessive number of servants, waiters, and staff generally. Nevertheless, it's fair to say the butter chicken was indeed very good. 

India Gate

Overstimulated, full of butter chicken, and running on poor quality sleep from last night's late arrival, we headed back to the hotel for a good rest before we headed off for the Taj Mahal the following day. But not before we would once again have to deal with an attempt to scam us on the tuktuk back to the hotel. Upon agreeing on a price of 300 Rupees from Bikaner House to Paharganj, the driver then increased it to 500 once already driving. When I threatened to get out, he suddenly reduced it to 400 but I was still adament on 300 (which was still probably a complete rip off when compared to what a local would pay). After he dropped us off at the wrong place, he still only gave me 50 Rupees change for my 500 Rupee note. At that point, I quite simply lost the will to live so gave in. 

While I'm sure there is more to do in Delhi given more time, it is such a hassle as a foreigner to actually enjoy anything. The noise and dirt is constant. The touts are everywhere and everyone is looking to make a quick buck out of you constantly. I understand times are tough and poverty (and extreme poverty) is rife. Many people are starving or living on less than a dollar a day. But even then I find that no excuse to piss in the streets or harass people. I've been to other poverty stricken places in Africa where people lived in similar circumstances but kept their environment clean and did not harass anywhere near as much. It is relentless and tiring and for that reason, out of the 38 capital cities I have visited (according to NomadMania), I have to rank Delhi as the worst.