my first leap

It’s 2.15pm in Hanoi. I’m in the hotel ‘Golden Sun Hotel’, using the free internet access (2 computers), keeping out of the burning sun. The Golden Sun Hotel has just opened and belongs to the family who owns ‘Hanoi Guesthouse’ recommended to us by the receptionist at Yellow House Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City. We had a discount and the room we have is the best room I’ve been in. Tastefully decorated, it has windows all around and the best bit, it’s overlooking the beautiful Hoan Kiem Lake. 

We’ve been riding the rented motorbike all around town; checking out the Red River, the lakes and just getting purposely lost. Riding around Hanoi is worse than Saigon; the motorists are crazier and the pollution worse. The roads here are more restricted ‘one way’ roads which drives Seb crazy. Seb’s driving is mad. He’s probably committed 101 illegal moves in the first half hour. Cars come straight at him and he just about swerves out of its way. Once, 2 motorbikes at each end come at me from both directions at full speed and I think ‘dear lord’ and Seb swerves and we’re down the road going at a mad speed. But when I scream he just laughs. Road rage is in French jibberish which sounds like he’s making verbal love to them instead being in French. Yesterday we did the tourist locations: the Temple of Literature (not much writing seen there), One pillar Pagoda, Vietnam Museum of Ethnology etc. But then our front tyre died on us, luckily slowly so we managed to get back to the hotel in time. And for the last couple of days I’ve (yes, me again) been suffering badly from traveller’s diarrhoea; not nice, not nice. The cramps got so bad yesterday night that I couldn’t move and had to lay on the bed not wanting dinner so Seb went out on his own for food. I love my food so missing food shows you how bad it was. Seb has some imodium tablets so hopefully that would stop me imagining the worse every time I feel the spasm need to spray and I’m not near a toilet. When you’re endangering your life on a motorbike looking like someone who’s in Scary Movie with your mask and hat, the last thing you want is to feel the desperate need to spray the whole of Vietnam right there and then. No, not nice thought.

We had some ‘bun cha’, lovely spring rolls and white noodles dipped in sauce – I’ve had this before in London at my Vietnamese friend’s place so I knew what to do. Seb was sceptical but ended loving it. I would definitely recommend it. We found this dish by accident. We were driving around and I saw the Vietnamese spring rolls and asked Seb to stop. Everyone in the place were Vietnamese. After going to ‘Little Hanoi’ (it was like being in the Twilight Zone because everyone in there were Western tourists) recommended by Lonely Planet and other touristy places, I can confirm that it’s rare to find authentic Vietnamese food in these places; the dishes are westernised where pho is made with carrots and Chinese leaf and the Vietnamese vegetables are missing and what you get is cut cucumber! Please. Totally wrong and not tasty. We vowed to avoid such places.

I’m here waiting for Aho to call. My mother’s brother’s wife’s brother’s daughter – I met in China this February. We’ve been having problems calling as one number was missing from the combination mum had given me. But this morning the clever receptionist at ‘Hanoi Guesthouse’ phoned up for the area code for Quang Ninh (where Aho lives) and found the missing number, the number 3. When I met Aho, she spoke Vietnamese and a bit of Mandarin and couldn’t speak Cantonese so we communicated in a language we were both not fluent in, Mandarin. This morning, I had to ask the receptionist to translate. Aho and her brother will come to collect Seb and me tomorrow to take us to Quang Ninh, the province my sisters and I were born in. We came back to the hotel and there was a mix up; the receptionist told us Aho had called and was coming today. We had another night here! So I’m waiting for this to be sorted out.

Tuesday 26th July 1.30pm — Bao Binh

Just been to for a long one, trekked to the outhouse with small steps going up and 2 large vases full of water. The ant-covered walls encased a crouch-down toilet. There’s a plastic petrol bottle twice the size you get in UK with a big hole cut in it. This is where you put your used toilet paper when you finish wiping. On the wall hanging from a string is a roll of dark green toilet tissue. I had taken a small packet of tissue just in case. In Vietnam, as in China, Malaysia, Singapore and rural Taiwan, tissue is very important for such things. In one of the vases is water and a scoop to hold water to flush the toilet with. The scoop is unusual. It’s a big plastic bottle cut in half, melted at the edges so you don’t cut yourself and in the middle is a piece of smooth wood nailed to the sides, like a scoop you’d find to get water from a well but this was made as though on Blue Peter.

Last night Seb let me have a go on the motorbike. We found a deserted stretch of road near the house and I started the engine. It’s so big and heavy even with my feet touching the floor. I found it hard to keep it upright. I tried, must have moved a wheel cycle before the bike lurched into a nearby prickly nettled bush. Seb helped me out, securing the bike and then helped me to pick out the needles that once came out left bits of bloody holes oozing blood and stinging. Seb took over. That was my little and only interaction with a motorbike.

At lunch, everyone sits and eats around the table. My relatives speak Hakka, Vietnamese and Cantonese. And they change from one to another naturally. Seb is picking up language, they think. They have warmed to him and speak to him as though he knew what they were talking about. Seb explained that when I spoke Cantonese to my relatives, he understood but not when they speak to me. So I translate, with bits of French added in here and there. This morning Seb said he felt at home here. And Sang’s wife got on so much with him wanted his phone number but he reminded her that even if she called he wouldn’t understand her. When she realised this, she laughed.

At dinner last night, they took out photos of my family in the UK taken years ago. And they pointed to Sheridan, my boyfriend at the time and asked if it was Seb. I explained. They asked when Seb and I were getting married. I explained. 102 questions. I prefer it when they concentrated on Seb, without me in the picture.

3pm – It’s pouring outside. I was reading Bill Bryson waiting for Seb to finish his French squiggles in his diary so we can get lost on the motorbike. No way that’s happening now. Our ponchos are not going to help. It’s raining sheets of hard water with unexpected rumbling lightning. We are in a metal shelter with wooden holes. Seb reminds me of what Sang’s wife said about when it rained; the bugs and centipedes will find shelter here. I’m imagining scenes of bug eating crawling chaos and can’t help look around me. The others play marjong oblivious to our fears. Our clothes which they washed for us were given back to us at lunch time, washed and dried. We didn’t expect it but we appreciated it. The rain has stopped, 10 mins later and no fast swarming man-eating bugs and centipedes yet. But then I am blind. Maybe the newly wet mopped floor confused them making them think we’re just a hollow tree with no roof and not worth sheltering under. The sound of smashing rain on metal sheets sounded great when you’re sheltered and dry. I enjoyed the tantrums of rain, the quick outbursts so unexpected. I enjoyed how the sun shines now in its place drying everything again, probably confusing the bugs and centipedes crawling on their way here to devour us. I want to go out. I feel tired and my body is resigning every minute of resting for the rest of the day. The crickets sing loud then suddenly soft in spurts echoing the rain.

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To Abi: Great to hear from you! Are you still in Chicago? Hope you and Ben are well. Will email properly when I get back to London.

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We shouldn’t teach great books; we should teach a love of reading. – B. F. Skinner.

Tags: Bao Binh, Hanoi, Travel, Travel, Travel, Travel

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