08/11/2024
From a dear friend:
Red River Tea Room is not a room.
It’s a liminal space behind whose doors the mayhem of greater Hanoi can only tiptoe.
Red has had three incarnations, but has never moved in the affections of its patrons:
Day drinkers chasing hedonism, night drinkers seeking solitude or company. Or both.
Built on a foundation of tomato boxes and candles, it swooped in and landed on the wings of blue dragon kids, the puppy breath of a dachshund, the big-hearted stalwart presence of the key founder James. Jim to his friends. And there are many.
Red is the home we’ve retreated to when we’ve needed to say farewell: to the living, the dead and the dying. A school of ceramic fish over which to reconnect with old friends or reel in new ones. A safe space to sob in the bathroom or experiment with French pours or argue the finer points of a quiz question answer. A place of pop ups and pop ins. It attracts mosquitoes, comedians, the well-intentioned, barflies, slammers, poets, boardgamers, outcasts, in-crowds, writers, wildlife fundis, first dates, the best and the worst of bartenders, last dates, New Year’s Eve revelers (or those wishing to avoid all revelry), wide-eyed English students, an I-can-just-be-myself-here cocoon. All the while being serenaded by just the right music for the combination of characters assembled. Order your own food delivery? No problem. You need a place to launch a small restaurant to cross the Hanoi employment threshold? Please do come in! Steal in during COVID, yes please! Steal a serviette – no damn way!
Red is an institution. A sacred space to cut one’s Vietnamese teeth, to bitch and moan about the city we all secretly adore, to tear up when it’s time to leave. Under its roof live grumpy tirades, eclectic wall fixings, roses and their rocks, and half-filled bottles overlooking a freezer that’s a pun for the unhinged. It offers a reminder of what ‘good people’ constitutes; it’s always open in our minds – Jim and Hung acing Wordle while Frank twiddles his draincover and the rain falls.
Red River Tea Room is not a room.
It’s a loved man. And his beloved dog. And a wax and wane of servers, special in all senses of the word. It is a cornucopia that spills a dozen years’ worth of memories – sometimes messy, always true. Red’s lights will be switched off, its doors locked. But its groupies will never leave.
