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He opened up the throttle and the pair whipped passed our taxi. It was around 9pm and the bridge connecting the airport to Hanoi’s heart was littered with a only a few other vehicles.  Without the collective mass plumes of exhaust or threat of collision from the vehicle hordes of regular hours; the duo left their bandanas off their mouths and stowed away their helmets. The girl wore her long curly hair untamed and let it dance over her dark brown leather jacket. She pressed her head against the boy’s back and held her eyes closed.  He was hunched over the bike squaring his black leather shoulders to the handle bars.  His eyebrows furrowed in concentration to the road ahead. I wondered if they were in a hurry going or leaving. I hope they make it.

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The eight of us sat hunched over on little plastic footstools surrounding only slightly larger plastic tables.  This particular sidewalk restaurant specializes in hibachi style cooking.  You’ll be hard pressed to find a food stand like this one (one of the many that post up on sidewalks around the city) that will offer you a menu.  You sat down here because you saw what the previous patrons were eating and lucky for you you’ll get the same because that’s all they make.  The owners gave us a casual once over, but stopped and stared at Hensel. Their gazes of concern ending at their rickety plastic chairs beneath the 6’5 240 pound bearded American.  “We call him the bear,” I told them in Vietnamese. Nervous laughter in response.  The father of this family run space helped Nik and Hensel start up their grill and slapped their hands away when they aimed for a piece of pork belly that was still under cooked.  Now having the hang of it, he let the boys enjoy their meal and retreated to the background for a cigarette.  An hour later we were happy, satisifed, and the last of his patrons.  We each paid our $5, gave our thanks and rejoined the other walkers on the streets of Hanoi.