The Buck starts here…

I seem to be forever writing to-do lists. Little nuggets of motivational pleasure that bring joy to the heart as pen crosses page in a ticking motion. I once included the instruction: “talk to frank” on one of my lists. My friend found that rather amusing. Frank was a hamster.

My to-do list before my departure later today to the U.S included such mundanities as getting my hair cut & purchasing some socks. But it also included such profundities as buying a toothbrush and making some gnocchi.

Buying a toothbrush can be a confusing experience for the amateur dental sweeper. First you have all the different shapes to contend with. What is the optimum angle for a productive brushing motion? Does the existence of different length bristles on the same brush aid or hinder gargling? Then you come to colour, and design. At 22, am I too old to own a Winnie the Pooh toothbrush? Is it a statement of immaturity, or one of profound aesthetic retro taste?

I stood for several minutes in the toothbrush aisle. It would not do to make a poor decision here. Another customer seemed to be having similar difficulties making a decision. Our mutually raised eyebrows said it all: issues such as this truly do cross the language barrier. I spotted one brush with a small button protruding. It said TRY ME in big bold letters. I pushed the button. Nothing happened. Probably a good thing. Candy, brandy & toys I can share. Toothbrushes seem better suited to solo use. I took 3 steps to the side. In another era, in another shop this would have taken me out of the dental hygeine section & perhaps into baked goods, or suppositories. Nope. Still bang in the middle of the toothbrush zone. And I seemed to be shifting to the luxury range too. One toothbrush was priced at $82,000. At that price, I’d be expecting my toothbrush to do a whole lot more than simply clean my molars. Maybe it was a Ferrari-toothbrush hybrid crossover. Maybe it was a typo.

My brush bought, I ventured onto the street to consult my list. What remained to be done before the inevitable dirge of packing my bag and hopping on the bus? Ah, yes. For my farewell dinner, my housmate Federica and I were going to make Italian cuisines most hazy billowing contribution to this world. The little clouds of goodness that go by the name: Gnocchi

Making Gnocchi is a serious business. Luckily, its also pretty easy. We boiled some spuds in a big pot, Cleaned the table, and then mashed our potty pals with salt & flour. They needed a good kneading, and that’s what they got. Then roll into tubes and cut with a knife. The best part was yet to come however. We plonked our little clouds back into their pot & waited. The gnocchi then rise to the surface one-by-one when they want to be taken out of their bath. And of course we obliged. A few wanted a bit of a longer soak, and that was fine too. Gnocchi are an autonomous foodstuff. They decide when they’re ready to be eaten. Not the chef.

So now all that remains is to return my bike, pack my bag and wave farewell to Hanoi. Big clouds in the sky, little clouds in my tummy, turbulence clouds avoiding the 4 flights I have to take in the next 36 hours. Hopefully…

In a few days I’ll pack me bags, tie me laces, give the clouds a sneaky wink, and leave Hanoi for the United States of America.

Before I do that however, I’m afraid I have to deliver a bit of a rant. If you’re not in the mood for a rant, please scroll downwards. I have plenty of non-ranty pieces below. Some of them even involve cute animals.

My rant is about drivers in Hanoi. Hanoian drivers. Hanoian motorcycle drivers.

Hanoian motorcycle drivers dont appear to follow any set of rules. They are individual determinists. They are free spirits. Now, as a general rule I think free-spiritedness is great. An attribute to be admired, even. But not when it could well end up with me lying on a cold slab in a darkened Vietnamese morgue.

Here is a brief list of what Hanoian motorcycle drivers get up to:

– Weaving manically between other bikes.
– Driving at night with no lights.
– Driving at night with lights on full beam, thereby practically blinding oncoming veichles.
– Going the wrong way down 1-way streets.
– Ignoring red lights at will.
– Pulling out into traffic without so much as a glance to see if they might hit anyone.
– Incessant horn blowing. Before a traffic light even turns green, people are honking behind you.

There’s all this, plus the fact that practically nobody wears a helmet, and mirrors are considered “unfashionable”. Seriously. Many people who do have mirrors on their bikes – have them flipped down and unused. Then you have the convoy phenomenon, where people drive several bikes abreast so as to be able to chat to their friends whilst driving. To be fair, this applies more to bicycles, where it is not uncommon to see 4 or 5 in a convoy, thus blocking the road to everybody else.

I saw a girl get knocked off her bike yesterday. The perpetrator seemingly did a hit-and-run. Just a few seconds earlier, some boy racer had clipped my back wheel in his urgent need to arrive at his destination 2 minutes earlier. Luckily, I managed to keep control of my bike. Two weeks ago, some kid pushed a bicycle straight into my path on a major road without even looking. I had no time to avoid it, and the bicycle was knocked to the ground. Thankfully, the kid was not. I’ve seen flesh and blood on the streets. I’ve been hit several times, had my trousers ripped and my foot cut. I once had to stop a motorbike with my hand because the driver was looking one way and driving another.

Frankly, I’m glad to be out of it. I can feel myself getting pissed off with the utter carelessness and thoughtlessness of other drivers (of course it’s not everyone – plenty of people here drive just fine, one bloke apologising profusely when he accidentally drove over my foot – but it’s enough people to be a concern).

So roll on America. Rant over. Happy days.

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