The day starts early in country. Just how early, I couldn’t say. But the sun starts rising and the cocks start crowing around 5am. And by the time we finish our cups of 3-in-1 and wander out to walk around Truc Bach Lake—where John McCain was pulled from the water after his A-4 Skyhawk was shot out of the sky—to sweat profusely for our morning exercise, the streets are already packed with people—often entire families, plus the dog—on motorbikes, some of them (the motorbikes) laden with building supplies, fruits and vegetables, and other essentials that make the wheels of Hanoi turn. The sidewalks are thronged too, thronged, which I think is le mot juste, with people serving and eating pho, rinsing greens and washing dishes with hoses in large plastic pans by the gutters, and otherwise going about the business of early morning. Which it is clear is a serious business indeed. And which it is also clear that they are already deep, deep, into this serious business by the time we hit the streets. Because we are rich, slothful Americans—flaneurs who will surely get ours when the time comes. But until then, good morning, Vietnam!