Hanoi Bound: The Trip Begins (2003)
I had arrived at the airport after a grueling day involving two flights, shuttle buses and your average run-of-the-mill bullshit. But I had arrived. It’s hard to put into words just how I feel at the moment. Will I have enough money? Will this trip be everything I’m hoping for, a big disappointment, or somewhere in the middle? I’m aiming for the middle. It’s safer. Well, there are two things I’ve learned over the years that I can apply to this situation: assume nothing, and be responsible for your own happiness. Bolstering my confidence and applying my standard laissez-faire attitude towards life, I jumped into a cab and rocketed towards Hanoi.
There were two things that struck me immediately upon exiting the airport: the humidity in the air and that fetid, dank jungle smell. Ahhh, how I’ve missed that scent! It reminded me instantly of Mexico; a sharp, pungent odour that bespoke everything natural with one whiff. There was a dark haze that hung around the dimly lit exterior of the airport. Air so thick with humidity you can literally taste it.
I awoke to a cacophony of sounds blasting from the street. What time is it? My watch told me it was 6:30 a.m. I learned later that the loudspeaker blaring into my room is an alarm clock for the city. Vietnam is a Communist country and everybody has to get up at the same time, or so it seems. Maybe that’s just “my” neighbourhood (I’m not in Korea anymore so I can now revert back to ‘normal’ English, hence the u, for those of you that know what I’m talking about) I quickly jumped out of bed lest a cadre of uniformed police bust into my room and take me away for re-education.
I’m situated in a modest room in the Tam Thuong Guesthouse, which is itself located down a narrow alley in the Old Quarter of Hanoi, also known as Paris of the Orient. Amidst all the blaring horns and loudspeaker voices hawking wares, I could hear a multitude of birds. What a far cry from Busan, where if you hear birds chirping near your window, you’re still asleep and dreaming. The absence of high-rises and the sheer number of trees gives the Old Quarter a very old and small city feel. Kind of what New Orleans might be like on strong drugs.
One thing I’ve quickly noticed is how many people will try and sell you something. It’s insane, really. I mean, sometimes just trying to enjoy the moment is impossible because there are two or three people standing around you saying, “Very cheap, very cheap. Only one dollar”. In the beginning I tried to be polite, smile and say no thank you. This does not work. In the end the only thing to do is shake your head no and keep walking.
My first night here I was followed around by a particularly persistent little girl who was maybe 10 years old. She was one of the many orphans that haunt the streets of Hanoi selling postcards.
“I’m very hungry. Please buy my postcards. Only one dollar. Very cheap. Where you from? Very cheap.”
Over and over again. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept following me all over the place. I became amused by her persistence.
I told her, “I’m not interested in your postcards, but I’ll buy you something to eat.”
On the way to a restaurant she grabbed some of her friends who also started badgering me for food.
“Okay”, I thought, “No problem”. Only it became one anyways. They wanted all kinds of food there was no way I could afford, or that they’d even finish.
I said, “No. It’s this and that, and that’s all”. The little persistent girl slapped me, called me mean and left with her friends before the food even reached the table. So much for charity.
I read somewhere that to mess around with public transit, in an attempt to see some of the more remote sites in Vietnam is inviting hell itself into your travels. You basically have three choices to make going somewhere remote easy. Book a tour, rent a motorbike, or a bicycle. Or, if you’re particularly hard-core, walk. I haven’t quite reached that level of backpacker insanity. Yet. So, here I am on a mini-bus, crammed full of tourists. All of them conforming to the typical tourist stereotype: fanny packs, big camera bags, designer sunglasses and sunburnt skin. So far it’s actually been cheaper to do the tour thing, but you feel like sheep. I’ve gone to the perfume pagoda and Halong Bay, and that’s been all in terms of areas around Hanoi. I’m toying with the idea of heading north to Sapa, but I think I’ll go south instead. After tomorrow, I’ll be leaving Hanoi for more remote, and hopefully quiet, places. Places where I can rent a motorbike and actually live to tell about it.
Standing in front of Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum in Hanoi, Vietnam.
I tried to go and see Ho Chi Minh’s embalmed corpse. I’m not kidding! They actually mummified the guy and stuck him in a museum for people to gawk at. Pretty morbid, but interesting in a twisted way. What can I say? I’m only human and require a bit of the macabre from time to time. Anyways, I was out of luck. Uncle Ho is in Russia for his annual maintenance.
“He who laughs, lasts!” -Mary Pettibone Poole