April 2011: We were delighted to have landed in Hanoi, the capital city of Vietnam. This delight soon dwindled as we were left as the last people waiting for our bags. We had by this stage collected three bags due to the excess shopping that occured in Thailand. When I say 'we' I mean myself, Jimmy, had managed to do at the Thai markets. After a lengthy wait our luggage popped out onto the conveyor belt in tact. Phew.
A 45min airport shuttle ($2) was our ride into town, dropping us at the touristy 'Old Quarter' part of town. This area is the main tourist hub of Hanoi and retains a blend of French and traditional Vietnamese architecture which form together to provide you with a visual treat: the cutest little buildings, alleyways and sidewalks. Numerous cafe's, eateries and bakeries sprawl out onto these streets and one can get anything from croissants and apple pie to coffee and pizza, just those luxuries you'd be able to find back home.
Whilst walking these streets trying to find our backpackers we were constantly hounded by local 'touts' trying to sell us everything under the sun. 'Motorbike' was often shouted our way as if to imply we simply MUST catch a ride with the fine gentleman weilding a small 120cc scooter: backpacks x 3, handluggage and ourselves to be perched on the tiny seat. Not going to work mate.
Every human on a motorbike thinks they are registered 'xe-om' (Vietnamese scooter) or motor-taxi drivers so you can imagine you literally get bombarded by offers for a lift at every street corner, something we found quite annoying. It was clear that we were trying to find our new abode through these confusing alley ways but some lady was adimant we needed potplants to assist us on our stroll through the street. As if we weren't carrying enough already, idiot! You are literally pestered as you walk the streets as nothing cannot be sold to a tourist, it seems. This is something we later grew accustomed to and learnt to not even bother looking but answer back with a simple 'NO', than another 'NO', and usually after the third 'NO' the point came across that you really didn't want a bag of pig snouts today.
We finally found our backpackers (after all this) and after settling in, retired to the rooftop bar to partake in the happy hour festivities on offer. This is where we met the first South African we had seen in 10 weeks of travels. Same sense of humour, same home town, same accent. It was refreshing to meet a fellow Se-frican in this new unknown country. Happy hour was in full swing and we indulged in the R5 local beer (even cheaper than dodgy Mixas schwarma back home), playing giant Jenga and drinking card games with some of the other backpackers. What a great vibe and introduction to Vietnam, watching that sun set from 6 storeys up, beer in hand. The rooftop bar closed and it was decided that we should walk as a group to another bar a few twists and turns away. We tried our best to remember each and every turn in order to later navigate home. This next bar resembled a UK 'Walkabout' with some few choons to match. We thought it a cunning plan to proclaim that it was our newfound SA mate, Rudi's, birthday and were subsequently given a few free beers and partied the night away.
Cunning plan it was, until we decided to find our way home without the guidance of the backpacker crowd. Needless to say the directions we tried to remember had now completely disappeared from our minds. Cacey and I wandered the streets only to find ourselves back at the same, now closed, 'Walkabout' bar a full hour later. Fail.
Take two. A couple of corners later I spotted a midnight schwarma vendor, a sign from god. This meant two things - directions and food. Both of which were vital at this point in time. Only after ordering the schwarma I realized the kind man misunderstood me and out popped two schwarma's, two banana's and two bottles of water. I had only enough cash for one. Now you try get this point across to Mr Schwarma in broken English/Vietnamese + hand signals at well after midnight. He finally understood what was being said and explained that he didn't want anything. Not a cent, or VND (Vietnamese Dong), but just to have us sit at his stall and enjoy our meal. He then ducked off and returned with a map to assist us home. What a good deed. I was touched by his kindness.
The follwing day returned and paid him twice what we owed and still he did not want to accept but eventually succumbed after much plying. Small as that was it is something I won't forget.
To be continued.......
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| A proud country |
Whilst walking these streets trying to find our backpackers we were constantly hounded by local 'touts' trying to sell us everything under the sun. 'Motorbike' was often shouted our way as if to imply we simply MUST catch a ride with the fine gentleman weilding a small 120cc scooter: backpacks x 3, handluggage and ourselves to be perched on the tiny seat. Not going to work mate.
Every human on a motorbike thinks they are registered 'xe-om' (Vietnamese scooter) or motor-taxi drivers so you can imagine you literally get bombarded by offers for a lift at every street corner, something we found quite annoying. It was clear that we were trying to find our new abode through these confusing alley ways but some lady was adimant we needed potplants to assist us on our stroll through the street. As if we weren't carrying enough already, idiot! You are literally pestered as you walk the streets as nothing cannot be sold to a tourist, it seems. This is something we later grew accustomed to and learnt to not even bother looking but answer back with a simple 'NO', than another 'NO', and usually after the third 'NO' the point came across that you really didn't want a bag of pig snouts today.
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| Xe-Om driver - a pretty usual day - doing nuthin' |
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| Millions and millions of scooters everywhere you go |
We finally found our backpackers (after all this) and after settling in, retired to the rooftop bar to partake in the happy hour festivities on offer. This is where we met the first South African we had seen in 10 weeks of travels. Same sense of humour, same home town, same accent. It was refreshing to meet a fellow Se-frican in this new unknown country. Happy hour was in full swing and we indulged in the R5 local beer (even cheaper than dodgy Mixas schwarma back home), playing giant Jenga and drinking card games with some of the other backpackers. What a great vibe and introduction to Vietnam, watching that sun set from 6 storeys up, beer in hand. The rooftop bar closed and it was decided that we should walk as a group to another bar a few twists and turns away. We tried our best to remember each and every turn in order to later navigate home. This next bar resembled a UK 'Walkabout' with some few choons to match. We thought it a cunning plan to proclaim that it was our newfound SA mate, Rudi's, birthday and were subsequently given a few free beers and partied the night away.
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| Rudi representing South Africa - not a drop went to waste - top form |
Cunning plan it was, until we decided to find our way home without the guidance of the backpacker crowd. Needless to say the directions we tried to remember had now completely disappeared from our minds. Cacey and I wandered the streets only to find ourselves back at the same, now closed, 'Walkabout' bar a full hour later. Fail.
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| These dude's look like I felt after that loooong walk |
The follwing day returned and paid him twice what we owed and still he did not want to accept but eventually succumbed after much plying. Small as that was it is something I won't forget.
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| Misty lake where we partook in our daily morning runs |
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| Cacey shopping again - The ultimate wedding dress |
To be continued.......
