Home in Hanoi

I guess the fact that I haven't done a blog for quite some weeks is testament to the fact that we are settled and keeping busy here in Hanoi.
We have been here two months and now call the place home. We have both been busy with work, but unfortunately not overly busy on the recreational front. I am now working full time which has meant that for most of the time, I have been working six days a week. Not desirable, but good for the bank balance. On the up side is the fact that I don't have to travel far to work, just down stairs and across a courtyard.
We are living in a two bedroom apartment in a multi-story complex. The ground floor houses restaurants and businesses, including another kindergarten, a bank, 2 supermarkets and a real estate agent. It is a building only two years old and there is lots of construction work going on in the area including what is planned to be the tallest building in Vietnam. One of these buildings is outside our bedroom window and work usually starts at around 6.30am, unless they have been pouring concrete through the night. The truck drivers don't consider that some could be trying to sleep and they blast their horns to let the workers know they are there. Somehow the construction going on in the alley in Ho Chi Minh City pales in comparison.
We are about 10kms out of the centre of the city, so that isolates us a bit. There is still a rural feel to the area and we were amused one day to see a herd of cows being escorted down the highway. We have used the bus a few times to get into town and that is an experience that everyone should try. We had been warned that it does get cold here in Hanoi but what I have noticed is the poor air quality, a haze hangs in the air and we are breathing it.
The Old Quarter in the center of town is delightful, a completely different world. The streets are lined with trees and there is some beautiful architecture. The Hoan Kiem Lake is in the centre and around this is the main shopping district. The narrow streets are wrapped around the lake and each street has a specialty. Shops next to each other all sell the same wares, the logic is that if someone wants to buy shoes, they will know to find them in shoe street. Nothing about competition, they all sell duplicates of the shop next door. If one shop doesn't have your size, someone will run to the shop down the street to get them for you.
We have found a little French Cafe that we have promised ourselves will become the venue for Sunday breakfast. Beautiful croissants and coffee to die for, along with English language newspapers makes it worth the trip in. It might be just as well that it is not just around the corner from home.
Because of work commitments we haven't done much sight seeing, but at least that gives us something to aim for. Even though we have been here before on two trips, there are still things to discover. On one trip into town I found a small Buddhist temple, probably just meant for the street locals but once I stepped inside I have claimed it as my retreat. Initially it was just my refuge from the flooding rains but it has become more. The sound of a deep droning bell led me there. It is so plain and simple, nothing more than the front rooms of a dwelling, but a place to offer quiet contemplation and a refuge from the noise of the street. The bells ring and the chanting has a rhythm that lulls a sense of euphoria. Everyone has their place and their role as the prayers are read and life is celebrated. But it is my place and I am not telling anyone.
We do miss Ho Chi Minh City, our house, friends and neighbours there, the cafes that made an escape to Western lifestyle easy. But when we make it into town, the move is worth it.

Home in Hanoi

Introducing Betty

We found her on the street, late at night, abandoned and left to fend for herself. At first glance it would have been easy to walk past, ignoring the poor broken wretch as obviously so many had before us. Saigon is a city full of disfigurement, bodies less than perfect.

Betty lay there, her disabilities obvious. Her arms gone, no legs to carry her on her journey and blind to the outside world. Her skin marked, enough to make you want to look the other way. We couldn’t leave her in the alley, we gathered her up and took her home.

We tried to understand what she had been through before we offered her a home. Used and discarded, perhaps abused, placed in a corner, no clothes or comfort. Her first few days with us she remained silent, resultant of her trauma.

With gentle coaxing to join with us in our daily lives Betty bloomed. We forgot her attempts at suicide, a day that she made it to the roof and tried to jump. We thank God that she is legless and couldn’t propel herself to her death. She was always there when we got home and accepted our cry of “Hi Betty, I’m home” remaining silent, but with a Mona Lisa smile.

Eventually she adjusted to life in our home, enjoyed sitting quietly with a book and a coffee (although I’m not sure how she could read, no eyes and Braille would have been useless…no fingers). On sunny days she would ask to be taken outside to catch the warmth of the sun on her skin. It was always with supervision after her suicide attempt. But here she would spent time, dozing in the sun.

Betty was always looking for something to eat, it was as though she was hollow. She would shuffle to the refrigerator, pries the door open using her nose then check out the contents. Just before we moved there wasn’t much food, so she made do with a nice cold beer.

Regardless of her disabilities, Betty was determined to lead a normal life and intimate relationships were part of this. Although she still clung to some of her ways of the street, she was slowly assimilating. It took some time before we could get her to dress properly, and this was an embarrassment to us when friends called around. But that was her way, that was Betty.

We discussed with her our plans to move to Hanoi, and to our delight she wanted to come with us. So, being part of the family, she has relocated with us. The climate here is a little cooler, so we have been able to coax her into some light clothing. She loved the train trip, became a bit of a celebrity on the train, everyone taking a second look.

Here in our new accommodation, she has a room to herself, spends her days listening to music but is still there to great us as we get home and call out “Betty, I’m home”. We are not sure if we will be able to take her home to Australia when we eventually return, so that you all have a chance to meet her. She may be brainless, all boobs and bum but she is so lovable and will always remain in our hearts.

North By Rail

Train seemed the best option for our big move north, it was the cheapest, most convenient was to travel. In total it cost us about 3 million dong for our luggage and 2 first class tickets. That probably equates to about $A200. Train travel seemed to have lots of things going for it. We could take our large volume of luggage, the motorbike could be transported with ease, the view promised to be spectacular and, after a few harrowing weeks of preparation, the time should be relaxing. While we delighted in the thought of the gentle movement of the train lulling us to sleep, I was extremely cautious about the conveniences. And my concerns were well founded. Squat toilet.... on a moving train.... a 30 hour journey.... about 30 people, plus staff, I will leave the rest to your imagination. There was a western style toilet as well, but for some reason that was locked for half the journey. I didn't eat or drink much.
Our cabin was really quite reasonable. Luckily we had the four berth to ourselves for all but about 4 hour of the trip, so we could spread out. The cabin was air-conditioned and the large window gave us a good view of the countryside as it rolled by. The scenery didn't let us down although the coastal stretch was hindered by light rain and photos hard to get without power lines strung across the middle. We were lucky, we had reasonable comfort, an cool cabin and soft bed. Standards dropped away with ticket price, down to a hard sleeper which was a plank bed, next a soft seat, then a hard seat. So we had nothing to complain about.
The countryside was so green, paddy fields a vibrant colour dotted with workers bent over intent on task. Water buffalo stood there as though placed to make the scene more authentic. There was a lot of water around, flooding from recent rains as well as that which had been chanelled for the rice crop. Narrow dirt paths led from one hut to another and children could be seen bicycling home from school at midday. The yards in front of the houses were concrete and grains would be spread out to dry in the sun. Chickens would peck around and an old women could be seen squatting, a scalf wrapped around her head. Children were held up to watch the train go by and encouraged to wave. Washing was hung, poked into the cyclone wire fence to catch the breeze. It all looked like a simple life, but a hard one. Water carried in a bucket from the huge ceramic pot at the side of the house, washing done while squatting at a large plastic bowl on the ground.
We moved past it all, countryside giving way to cities. In some places, it was as though tunnels had been left between the houses for the train to pass, walls so close to the track you could almost touch them. There was a feeling of intrusion through open windows into someones world. At the station the train would stop for no longer that half an hour. Stalls set up along the station had things to tempt, either foods or trinkets to remind you of the trip. All hoping to catch a few tourist dollars. We rolled on, cities giving way to countryside, day turning to night and that gentle rocking motion to put us to sleep.
Before the sun was up, there was a knock on the door and we were on the doorstep of Hanoi. The train slowed and crept into the centre of the city, quiet so as not to wake anyone. But lights were on, people already in the streets as Hanoi started another day. Manually operated boomgates held the motorbikes back from the track as we went through the crossings. Eventually we were there. Evereyone scurried for the doors, keen to be out of the confined spaces. We ferried our belongings off the train and onto a trolley waiting on the platform. Down the steps of the train and onto another stage of our adventure here in Vietnam.

See Ya Saigon Hello Hanoi

It seemed to take forever to plan once the decision was made. To move a household from one end of the country to the other is probably easier if firstly you speak the language. We got over that with a little help from our friends. The second advantage was having struck up a friendship with a guy who happens to be in a senior position with the railways. We called in all favours and made life a little easier for ourselves.
Of course before we could start our journey we had to pack the house up. We sold off some things, gave away others and thought we had reduced the amount of gear we had to move. That was, until it came to fitting it into suitcases. Two cases became four, four became six, and that was just our check-in. We then carried a jumble of about eight bags, pillows (for comfort on the journey) laptop bags and camera cases. What a sight arriving at the station.
As we packed, we shifted things down a level in the house, leaving rooms vacant and ready for the new occupants. Eventually it was all assembled in the lounge room, a year of our life in boxes. Surprisingly we managed to get it all into one taxi and get it to the station the day before our departure, so that it could be taken to Hanoi and be ready for us to collect when we arrived.
With the packing and cleaning all taken care of, we continued the social rounds of farewell dinners. Saying goodbye was an intoxicating event, a meal here, a few drinks there. But really the world is a small place and we are only a short flight away. We had our last drinks at The Sheraton, watching the sun set over The Rex. This was one of the first stunning views we had seen of Saigon so it was only fitting that it was one of the last.

The Sun Sets on Saigon

Sign of the Times

Last weekend we had a delightful time with a group of our young Vietnamese friends.
Quan is a very friendly guy whom we first met at a restaurant, he was our waiter. His thirst for expanding his English has powered a friendship that we cherish. It was with a group of his friends, three young girls also learning English, that we spent our evening.
We started with the girls, arriving later, joining in our game of Scrabble. I might say, considering they had never sighted the game before and English is their new language, they had quite a store of words to put down. Of course, we won but they weren't far behind.
Quan, knowing that James likes wine, gave us a gift. It was a sort of DIY wine vat. A big ceramic pot carried in a woven basket. We had to add water to the pot which contained a substance that looked like sphagnum moss. This had to sit for about 20 minutes to ferment before we ceremoniously carried it into the lounge and placed it on the coffee table. Four bamboo straws pierced the plastic covering and we all took a sip. It tasted a little like port, rather raw, but heck, it was only 20 minutes. We looked like a group of hippies sitting around a communal pipe and sharing the fun.
Pizza arrived, again a new experience for the girls. They were very worried that it would make them fat but seemed to enjoy every bit. I gave them knives and forks but they didn't know how to use them. We talked and laughed into the night, the conversation disjointed at times and bizarre answers given to simple questions but a great night had by all. Especially Quan who, after three drinks, ended up asleep from too much alcohol.
Ha, one of the girls was off to New Zealand the following Thursday to commence a course in hospitality. When I asked her what time her flight was, she said she hadn't booked it yet, her plan was to do that on Tuesday. She was shocked when I said she may not get a flight at such short notice. "But why" was her response.
The naivety of these young people set me to thinking. The young people here embrace the Western way of life, they try to imitate it in most of the things they do. I guess young people are the same everywhere, influenced by their peers and fashion. There are those who are very modern in their dress. They wear the low rider jeans but modesty prevails and there is no belly button hanging out. T-shirts seem to be longer, just so that they meet the jeans. I have seen the Vietnamese equivalent to Emo (I think that's how you spell it) The advantage being, they don't have to dye their hair. But there are those who do dye their hair, the Vietnamese attempt at bleached blonde is not good. They congregate in groups, hang out in coffee shops, manage to terrorize traffic with three on a push bike, but deep down they are all still nice kids.
Fashion plays a bit part in trying to emulate the western world. I wish I was quick enough with my camera to capture some of the things I've seen. But somewhere out there is an enterprising non-English speaking Vietnamese person, printing slogans onto clothing. Some of the ones that have made me smile have been...
Slippery Slope...not good on a pretty young Viet girl.
Below Freezing Wear...on a jacket, but when does it get below freezing here.
Demilitarized Zone...I should hope so.
Peace, Love, Greed...pick the odd one out.
Fucing....thank heaven they can't spell.
Armani Exchange It Here...now, if I had Armani, I wouldn't exchange it.
It's All Mine, Want Some...inappropriately on a little girl's T-shirt.
I wish I could remember them all. It is a use of a language that can't be understood by many, but it is English, something they all aspire to.
I have to think, what is it they all want. Is it to be out in the Western world, to fit in with what capitalism heralds as the greatest, or is it to make it easier to abandon the one they have. Whatever it is, it gives me a good giggle.

Sleep

SLEEP

This city moves at a pace so busy that it can make you wonder what the rush is. The locals rise early, at 5am they can be seen in the streets preparing for the day. Some are arranging low stools around an equally low table, big pots coming to boil and the steam evaporating into the early morning air. The last of the garbage is being swept into piles, and then shoveled into bins on wheels being pushed by slight looking individuals dressed in safety orange, wearing plastic shoes.

Outside of the local newspaper printing mills, men have large plastic sheets spread on the ground sorting large piles of newspapers into smaller piles of newspaper. These are bound with sting and loaded onto the back of motorbikes to be distributed to local news stands.

Women with big woven baskets tied on the back of their bikes go up and down alleys and roads, calling out what sounds to me like “bunyee”. Fresh hot bread rolls are under the hessian cover and sold door to door, providing a tasty breakfast for a very cheap price.

People are seen on balconies or in parks swinging their arms or marching to their own beat. This country is focused on preventative care, keeping fit the best way to stay healthy.

Soon the horns start blasting, the streets get busier. Everyone is moving quickly, like ants trotting in every direction, each knowing where they want to go but not necessarily taking a direct route. As the day warms up, so does the activity.

Breakfast seems to be quickly followed by lunch, with street stalls crowded again by 11.30.

Then everything stops. With full stomachs, everyone takes off for a nap. School children have either gone home for lunch or, if in daycare, camp stretchers are dragged out for the little ones to nap. Alternatively, piles of mattresses are unloaded from a storage room for comfort. Woven mats are rolled out on the floor for a snooze under a ceiling fan, shop front stalls are draped with sheets to stop theft while the shop keeper snuggles down, an arm draped over the face to provide privacy. Business doors are closed (but not necessarily locked), the lights are turned off and chairs pushed together forming a makeshift bed. I have walked in to an office to pay a bill just at this time of day and found the attendant settling down on the desk top with a stack of books providing a pillow.

The need for rest provides some interesting places to sleep.At midday, bus drivers can be seen swinging in hammocks suspended in the back of the bus, cyclo drivers have their bed on wheels and the xe om drivers (motorbike taxis) hang their legs over the handle bars and lie on their backs, pushing out the zzzzzzzz’s. Construction workers sit on the footpath to eat their lunch then just stretch out, looking like ten men in a bed. It doesn’t seem to matter if it is a busy or quiet part of town, a footpath or the steps of a quiet pagoda, if the need is there, any place will do.

I have seen hammocks hanging on wrought iron fences, suspended between poles with a body cocooned within. If there are possessions to be protected, an arm or leg is entwined to ensure that nobody takes off with the precious goods. But it was the funeral attendant who gave me a good laugh. In the back of the funeral truck, well adorned with elaborate decorations, was the attendant asleep between the wooden rungs that hold the coffin on its way out of town.

Eventually everyone rouses, but never in a hurry to resume where they left off. Slowly the wheels of industry turn while they rub the sleep from their eyes, turn the lights up and eventually return to work. Generally, there is another bowl of noodles to sustain them till it is time to eat again. I can understand the need for siesta, the heat makes you want to slow down. But the day starts early here and children can be heard laughing and playing well after 10pm. Eventually the lights go out, but not for long because tomorrow is only a few hour away.

Paradise Lost .... and Found

Paradise Lost.....and Found

We knew it was going to happen. The buzz in the alley months ago was about the widening of the alley, there was protest and petitions to The Committee. The majority of the residents didn't want it to happen, there was the disruption coupled with the cost but, to stand against the government was a hard task. After all...it is The Party. Our landlord told us it would be a few weeks, other residents said a few month before anything happened. We were worried it would happen when our visitor were here. I kept thinking "this wouldn't happen at home" but a distant memory of compulsory land requisition was hidden somewhere in the memory bank.
Letters were slid through the gate written in Vietnamese, so we had no idea what they were about. I asked the neighbour, she said it was about to start. The plan was that the alley would be widened, knocking about a meter off the front of every house. We just couldn't understand how they could do it or more to the fact ...why!!!
It started with our water meter being moved. Now, this is Vietnam. Phone call from the landlord, don't go out, we will be there. I change my plans and wait. Another phone call, sorry... not today, parts not available. Waiting, waiting. The jackhammer, chisels, thumping and bashing have become part of our daily life.
To walk outside the door is like stepping into Saigon in the 60's. There is rubble piled up and dust filling the air. We wake to this seven days a week, from 7.30 to 5. The workmen take the mandatory 1 hour for lunch, sleeping where they sit.
Men and women are toiling to create the new alley, they are knocking down walls, smashing brick columns only to rebuild them. Concrete is mixed by hand, a small mountain of sand and cement dust making a volcano into which a bucket full of water is poured, then mixed with a trowel. Gravel is moved down the lane in what we describe as a back to front ute, pedal powered by youths tanned by the hot sun but with strength that defies their bodies.
The view over our balcony shows the inside of our neighbour's house, their own balcony destroyed to expose the reinforcing mesh and the room below. Uninvited, I can see into their lounge room, a film of brick dust resting on the heavy wooden furniture. What a mess.
Before work starts in earnest on our house, the landlord arrives with flowers an incense, offerings to the spirits and a tiny alter is set up in our porch, just to make sure that all works are approved by all concerned.
We try to escape this demolition site, setting off every morning to sit in a coffee shop and read a book until it is time to return home and get ready for work. The weekend poses a bigger challenge because there is no refuge in the workplace. There are more hours to fill, where do we go, what do we do?
Paradise found....I had seen it on the map, checked it out on Google Earth. There is an oasis hidden in the bustle of this city and I know where to find it. This place is a gem. Among suburbia is a park, the brochure said a tourist park, but it looked like more local than tourist. As westerners we are one of the attractions. In a city where every inch is claimed for one reason or another, sits acres of land devoted to recreation and pleasure. There is a pool surrounded by palm trees where you can lie on a sun bed sipping coconut milk while the lifeguards keep watch over the children splashing. The perimeter of the park is studded with small huts with chairs and platform beds where you can laze away the day, small bbq's at the side where you can cook your lunch. A lake fed by a rather questionable river is central to the complex, with gazebo like structures sitting over the water and looking so inviting. You can book a table here and have a pleasant meal while cooled by the breeze that blows over the water. The food is not as cheap as we have come to expect at other Vietnamese restaurants, but entry to the complex is free and the cost of amenities have to covered from somewhere. This place is now on our list of escapes, somewhere that is just a few right turns from our house but miles from the noise of destruction of our alley.
There are undercover tennis courts, a toy shop with toys for the children to try, bicycles to ride around the wide paths and acres of grass on which to walk bare foot. I can't understand why this place has not been on the ex-pat hit list of places to visit. It is close to the city, cheap and very clean. No body else seems to know it is there.
What a gem, paradise lost but reclaimed.