Snoopy, Snogging, & the Sheraton
I had a half-hour break between two evening classes at the language school I work at, so I nipped out to get some noodles. I slipped across the street to the local Bia Hoi outlet, and settled down at a small table on the pavement outside. Bia Hoi bars are terrific. Beer made fresh that morning at 5p a glass, and delicious food in a convivial & jolly atmosphere. Whilst I waited for my noodles to be cooked, I checked out my fellow patrons. On the adjacent table to me, 3 men were having a heated but well-humoured discussion. Since my Vietnamese is still limited to “Thank-you”, “Cheers” and a nursery rhyme about a duck, I had no idea what they were talking about. Perhaps they were discussing the fashion sense of one of their number. This bloke was wearing smart black shoes, an elegant gold watch, and a pair of silk Snoopy pyjama’s. Outside a pub. In Hanoi. In the winter. I ate my noodles and thanked Charles Schultz for his contribution to globalisation and menswear.
My class started, happened, ended. I hopped on my bike and skedaddled on home. I reached the edge of Dong Da lake and noticed a couple of youngsters leaning on a bike chewing each others face off. This is a not uncommon sight in Vietnam, where people often live with their families until they get married, and unmarried Vietnamese are prohibited from booking a hotel room together. A friend of a friend used to live in a house overlooking a park which would fill up every night with eager beaver teens at it hammer & tongs. I passed the amorous duo, only to find another pair about 10 feet down the street. And then another. And another. I counted 6 couples in all. Which led me to thinking: Did this lot all show up together in some kind of solidarity snogfest? Or is the outside of our house just Romance Central? I mean, I could understand if this was the only lake in the city. But Hanoi’s got more lakes than the bloody Lake District. The fact that they’re all harbouring mutant rat-fish is neither here nor there. Ho hum.
I barely had time to park me bike & change me shoes before it was time to go out again. My witty, charming and well-connected housemate Phil (the 1st two adjectives are a reciprocal – and requested – gift for the 3rd) had found out about the launch of a new wine vintage at the Sheraton Hotel by West Lake which, confusingly, is not west of the city but north. Exactly what happens at a wine launch night I wasn’t certain, but we were fairly sure it included free wine. So we hopped on to two xe om’s and roared off into the night, spotting several more pashing twosomes en route.
We arrived at the Sheraton to find some waiters seemingly in the act of packing stuff away. It appeared we had missed the launch. With muttered promises to never buy that manufacturers wine again (if indeed we had ever bought it in the past – I’m kinda sketchy when it comes to remembering the names of cheap, crap, red wine I have drunk, its the nature of the beast..) we slinked inside to buy a beer. Salsa was being strutted on the dancefloor, a motorbike time trial from the Isle of Man being shown on the widescreen TV above the bar. Phil helpfully informed me that an average of three riders die every year in this event. We saw a video replay of one dude being thrown from his machine, legs azoy. The pumping tunes obscured what may have been an illuminating piece of commentary.
Some of Phils friends emerged from the salsa pot with some unexpected and delightful news. The wine launch had yet to take place, midnight being the allotted time. We played pool, ate pizza, drank beer, chatted. Midnight approached. A switch was flicked & the music gave way to a prmotional guy giving his wine spiel. I’ll give you the edited highlights: “The Beaujolais Neaoveau is sensational!!” The 1st bottle had apparently been opened in Japan just two hours prior, so how this dude knew how sensational it was is a little perplexing. Its “neaoveau”. I.e. new. Now, call me a cretin, but I’ve always been under the impression that good wine is really old. He’s standing here boasting about how the grapes were only picked in September. A little more perplexing.
The lights dimmed. We started counting down. The clock struck 12 and the cork struck the ceiling. Two waitresses were frantically funnelling balloons onto the dancefloor. Others started circulating with canapes and newly poured glasses of this newly made wine. I dont pretend to be a wine buff. I enjoyed Sideways but had no clue what Paul Giamatti was going on about half the time. But this stuff was filthy. I reckon people have been leaving wine in bottles for years because it tastes better that way!! I drained my glass, said my goodbyes and headed for the door. A 6am start with a red wine hangover is one of those joys best avoided. But one glass of this noxious juice gave me one anyway. Snoopy would be proud..
Tags: Hanoi, Vietnam
The Dude
Hi there! I was just aimlessly wandering throughout my emails when i came across the Buckman Blog, which I had forgotten all about, so I thought i’d have a quick read, which turned into a slightly longer (about an hour) read! Well i am really impressed! I have never read a blog before, and this one is really good, so thank you sir for the introduction. Hope you continue to have a lovely time, and hopefully see you when you return to the English shores.
Whato,
Gem xxx