Hanoi, part 2

I saw the remains of a traffic accident on the highway back to Hanoi. Given the sheer volume and intensity of the traffic, it was only a matter of time before I came across one. This one was exceptionally bad and involved a car and a motorcycle. The police and the ambulance had yet to arrive. You could feel a hush come across the mini bus as we passed by. I may have seen two dead bodies.

Back in Hanoi, I said goodbye to the girls and made my way back to the old hotel to see if my attic room was available again. It was, and my Chinese visa had arrived as well. I ogled it like it was a merit badge. Awarded for excellence in the field of tolerating bureaucracy. I lugged my bag up the four flights of stairs and settled again. Didn't feel like leaving on any walks that night.

But unfortunately, I had to. I had forgotten my Jeju Island souvenir towel on Cat Ba, so I needed to buy a new one. Just after sunset, I came across a huge, sprawling market that had not been there before. It was a Saturday, so it was most likely a weekend deal. People walked elbow to elbow past the many makeshift shops that had sprung up. Everything was, for the most part, clothes, but I did find a place that sold towels. I picked a slightly torn one because I knew I could haggle it down to pennies. Soon after, it started to rain.

Vendors scrambled about setting up tarps and makeshift shelters. They had no idea what they were in for. I bolted back to the guesthouse just as things started to get really crazy. I was perhaps the fiercest rainstorm I had witnessed on the trip, if not, my whole life. Being on the top floor meant I could hear the rain pounding the roof; sounding almost like intense TV static. Very very loud. Outside I saw rain flying in all directions. Past 50 meters I saw nothing. Outside of my room, the doors leading to the balcony had been blown open and the floor was flooded. The shelf with the clean bedsheets was soaked as was some poor bastard's laundry that had been hung out to dry. The doors kept slamming against the wall, so I rushed over and closed them. The clasp wouldn't hold under the intense wind, so I used a chair to brace them in place. Chaos.

The next morning brought clear, sunny weather, so I woke up early and headed over to Ho Chi Minh's tomb. This was my last chance after two failed attempts after all. I arrived to find a terrifyingly long line. Long, but it was moving. It took a while to even find the end. Guards scrambled about trying to curb the rampant line-cutting. People were swelling forward constantly. Hands rested themselves on the small of my back, urging me onwards. I didn't see the point in this mob panic. It's not like we weren't going to get in.

The line was long, yes, but thanks to the ephemeral nature of the attraction, it moved very fast and before long, I was inside the mausoleum. Cameras were confiscated of course. A few steps further and I saw the man whose face was so ubiquitous throughout all of Vietnam. He didn't look real, but the degree to which the guards protected the body, suggested that he was. Four were standing motionless around the glass while a handful of others kept the crowd moving. Before long, I was spat out the other end.

Having some time to kill, I went to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. Expecting the usual pablum, I was surprised to see some pretty bizarre physical interpretations of the man's life. A cave shaped like the inside of Ho Chi Minh's head? Yes. Strewn weaponry forming a ring around a cabin? Yes. Huge sculptures of fruit? Not sure what that has to do with anything, but yes.

I was about done with Hanoi then. Saw the body, time to leave. I didn't think it would take two blog entries, but I had my visa and it was time to go. I booked an overnight bus to the border town of Lao Cai and whiddled away the remaining time to departure on the net. I found the cheapest, quietest, coolest and most well-equipped Internet cafe tucked away from the stinky street. Awesome. Thanks Hanoi. You tried my patience at times, but I will never forget your je ne sais quoi.

Train passing through the city. I think there was a guard rail, but I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't.

Here's a small taste of the congested streets of the Old Quarter taken from the back of a (slow moving) motorbike.