I opened my eyes and looked at my watch. It was dead. My phone was lying on the bed, not plugged up, and my portable charger was also lifeless. At the painful conclusion of yesterday’s journey, I had failed to do my Pre-sleep preparations. I stumbled up into the windowless room and turned on the light. I hurriedly plugged everything up, threw on some clothes, and realized Diem was not back, or so I thought. She was getting herself together in the mini bathroom on this lazy Monday morning. After we were both presentable, we stepped into the elevator and headed to the elevator’s last possible stop, the seventh floor. 
It was a flight and a half of additional steps to the rooftop hotel restaurant. As we stepped onto the landing, I could see St. Joseph’s cathedral off the balcony of the rooftop terrace. I walked to the edge and took in its gothic brilliance. 
The cathedral opened in December 1886 and is an excellent example of a neo-Gothic style. A shining reminder of the French occupation and home to the Archdiocese of Hanoi and Vietnam’s 4 million catholic inhabitants.
I walked across the rooftop hall to the small restaurant that served its current residents. There were three tables in this cozy little cafe, a four-top and two two-top. In the corner was a mini buffet with French-inspired pastries, Dragon fruit, butter, jam, star-cut sausages, coffee, and other accouterments. Next to the table was a small window to the 4-foot by 4-foot kitchen where the resident chef was dishing out this morning’s soup offerings. 
The bowl of the day was chicken, and it was served with most of the chickens if not all of the animal’s possessions. It was warm, rich, and delicious. A much better offering than my previous accommodations in Da Nang afforded. The bowl was filled with glass noodles, an ancient technique that gives the noodles a translucent appearance. No doubt a residual element of ancient Chinese conquest. 
Two fried eggs appeared that I had not ordered. Diem had seen me eating them in previous mornings and ordered them as if to anticipate my needs. The coffee was also a bit bitter, as in Da Nang, and I wondered if chicory was a standard component of the hotel cups. They didn’t seem to serve the richly creamy Vietnamese coffee in the hotels, a mystery I was intent on getting to the bottom of. We finished our breakfast and made our way to the bustling city streets.
