There's a classy triangle of town near to the Opera House. Pretty much every door is manned by one or two black-suited figures either ensuring their patrons don't strain a muscle on their way in or perhaps bracing themselves against the handles to keep the scruffs out. Bentleys line the kerb, the pavements are clear and clean, and Hanoi's wealthy elite stroll or totter past and through the doors to throw their dong away.


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