Hanoi had been planning my welcoming party for months and the city was
awash with red and yellow flags and banners. Every shop front, street
sign and forehead spoke of the 1,000 year prophesy of my arrival. I
had been warned that I would be swarmed over like a liberating
conqueror as people clamoured for the honour of relieving me of all
of my money. Hanoi's 6 million or so residents had swelled
considerably for the celebrations and made an already overflowing
tide of humanity turn into an ark-worthy flood.
Conforming
to fashionable protocol, I showed up 7 days late for the 10 day party
and was disappointed to find that Hanoi was actually celebrating
1,000 years as the capital of Vietnam. It seemed far less important
than me coming to town, but as a first time visitor, I can't claim to
understand the Vietnamese mindset any more than I understand the
female way of reading a map. It would explain why only two motorbike
drivers politely offered their services upon arriving in the old
quarter; four times no less. With no pseudo proletarians to carry me
to my hotel on a throne, I opted to walk the 500 metres or so.
Even
though the party wasn't in my honour, the hotel receptionist knew my
name like I had just walked into the Cheers Bar. Booking ahead meant
I wasn't fighting a drunk hobo for a park bench when hotels were
already inundated with patriotic out-of-towners. The room itself was
pretty steep at $17US a night, but I more than compensated for that
by giving their wifi such a raping, their great grand-children will
be associating my name with debt collectors and poor credit ratings.
Overlooking
the trouble I brought upon myself booking the flight, Bangkok to
Hanoi had only cost $140AUS. The time between passport control and
checking in for your first night in a new country is normally the
time you spend a third of your total budget. The airport minibus had
cost me $3US, and thankfully I had more than $9US to spend in
Vietnam. My new travel partner was not so lucky.
Lindsay
is a Dutch girl I worked with in Matsos last year. Her Australian
visa ran out in August so she ran to the nearest port in Asia. Her
journey to Hanoi started in Don Det, Laos and involved no less than 9
buses and 2 boats for 48 hours straight. One leg of the journey had
squashed fruit and water dripping constantly onto her from the
overhead luggage rack. Another bus took off while she answered
natures call in the bushes. A motorbike chased the bus down with her
probably still answering the call on the back of the bike. In Hanoi,
my party people stopped her from being dropped off at the hotel and
she had to make the last part of the trip without a map. Not that a
map would have helped anyway, probably serving more to confuse than
enlighten.
I'm
looking forward to seeing what Hanoi is like after everyone has
decided my presence is not worth trashing the whole city for. A
simple stroll around Hoan Kiem Lake took over an hour battling
through the crowds and resulting party detritus. Crossing the road is
supposed to be a holy experience normally, entreaties made to
numerous deities midway and faith in divine providence completely
restored if the other side is reached. That was no less adrenalising
than what I had heard so perhaps 6 million locals is enough to make
every chicken lay a few eggs before it attempts a crossing.
The
Vietnamese way of partying seemed to be wandering around buying candy
floss and cheap crap with flashing lights. Or proving your mastery of
English to your friends by saying hello to a Westerner. There were
stages set up for various shows but the human fog was too thick to
bother getting close to. Any attempt meant that every person behind
my 186cm frame had no chance of seeing anything other than my
shoulder blades. On the whole, Vietnamese people don't seem to make
it much higher than that on me. At 160cm's, Lindsay is at a distinct
disadvantage and seems to attract far more unwanted attention than I
do. Still nowhere near what we had been warned to expect. Perhaps
looking like we had raided Brotherhood bins before leaving home gives
greedy eyes the impression we are paupers ourselves. And after
another round of idiocy to be detailed in the next journal, it's not
that far from the truth.
