The fresh air settled my stomach and head. It was early, not yet steaming, and the air wasn’t rank with rotten vegetation. But we were far from either bank. The width of the river always surprised me. Not in Hanoi. A river running through (or marking the boundary of) a city ought to be wide, I thought. That was the point. It would demand great bridges, and long walks across them, from which either bank could be admired from different angles. Out here, I felt, the river ought to be narrow, with great trees towering above and shadowing it. But I didn’t know much about ‘out here.’
