Day 3 - Hanoi

Gerald goes to breakfast at 8 am, I deliberately shower and wash my hair and pack, arriving at 9.30 am just as most are preparing to leave. Perfect timing. The conversation offends me. People are talking about Bali and how they would never go there, how unsafe travel is, and one would never go back to a locals home if invited - as people having their kidneys sliced out on back streets in third world countries. One lady has a walking frame, and three have serious health problems. We are going on what is called a 'soft trek' with these people, and I suspect it is a stroll through a village. I am cheered by breakfast, a huge variety of food, and I seize the dumplings, fried rice, and miso soup to astonishment of our group who have just ploughed through bacon and eggs.

We finish our re packing back in the room, as we leave on the overnight train tonight for Sapa for three days and are taking only a small bag with us and have to leave our extra luggage at the hotel, and head to the foyer and the group.

They are determined that we operate as a 'pack' and I am equally determined not to, and have risked being rude to our group and missed the designated breakfast time as I wanted to do other things - OK, and to make a point. We shared a cab from the hotel with one immobile and very sweet elderly couple, and then waited for the next cab of the pack to arrive, I could feel the wasted minutes ticking away. So then we took off on our own for a long walk. I do not wish to spend another 45 minutes waiting for 'the group' to get aligned nor listen to everybody's plans for the day, nor do I wish to meet up for dinner. OK so I could be accused of being ungenerous, but I am here to share adventure with my Beloved, and not to make new friends.

We have been walking for a couple of hours through the backstreets and along an incredibly French boulevard, around a petrol green lake.

The difference between these two areas is astonishing. We are sitting in a cafe at the side of a smog filled street in chairs which would not look out of place in a kindergarten and tiny tables to match, alongside a group of ten men all smoking and all on I pads, speaking at the top of their voices. Ten feet from where we sit is a constant stream of motor bikes, cars, bicycles and rickshaws, the noise makes conversation almost impossible. Italian music plays, incongruous in this setting. What attracted us here was the sign outside.

DIIING AND DRINK. Welcoming, we thought.

The riverside is far less populated, dotted with small cafés and umbrellas on its banks, upon which weeping willows sweep the water, and trees are bent double reaching in a graceful arch like a ballet des corps. A white temple streaked with mould stands opposite and lovers find privacy in embrace amongst the mothers, the hawkers, the sleepers laying on mats who have 'coolie' hats protecting their eyes, and masks or fabric wrapped around their mouths. The pollution is so bad it is hard to see at times, and the heat is like jam on my body.

It is a strange concoction of Kathmandu, Sengiggi, and Paris. Unique.

I saw two puppies in a small crate, which was chained to a lamp post, for sale. Two dead birds in another cage. A man with so many balloons on his bicycle I thought he would take flight. Elegant women dressed for an expensive function wearing white high heels and riding motor bikes. An eight year old child having trouble balancing on a bike way too big for her in a sea of hooting swerving mad cars, buses and scooters. On every corner hanging in the sky, a vast collection of black spaghetti thick with dust - electricity wires. Children squatting to wee on pavements, and Versache and Louis Vuitton shops next to holes in the wall selling bathroom fittings and pipes. Women sitting on footstools six inches off the ground cooking delicious looking food in pans of oil, and grilling meat on charcoals. There are people everywhere swinging their arms, doing high kicks, groups of women slapping their bodies and each other's, calisthenics on a scale we in Australia could well take on, people on bicycles, motor scooters on pavements, small dogs. Eying carried, small dogs ignoring their owners and revelling in the small patches of green grass, big dogs - oh my! where do they live, I think.

We walk a long way in and out of back streets, and watch the Vietnamese living life. There are surprisingly few tourists. The energy crackles and I don't mean the spaghetti of electricity cables, here people are busily engaged in making a living, seven million of them, and resourcefulness is everywhere. Old, bent ladies carrying impossibly large bundles on bent yokes, wearing pointy straw hats, a man who points out a tiny opening in the rubber of my sandal, and with a smile, whips out some glue, and says "$1, I fix!' How could I not? A bird of a lady on a child's chair, elegant and still beautiful, we ask to take a photo, she agrees and offers me a chair next to her, and says "Parlais vous Francais?' Oh, I wish I did!!! Old men with wispy beards and bow legs, men smoking what look like hookahs, sat on plastic crates, young hip men, with their t shirts rolled up to their chests, for coolness, smoking cigarettes and chaffing each other, we weave on and off the pavements which are broken, yet lined with scooters, so we have to use the road, a death defying experience. We come across a strategically placed wheelbarrow, intended to keep passers by from falling down the large hole it stands in front of. We see a man on a scooter, carrying four kegs of draft beer, about 20-40 kg each Gerald estimates, which he then swings off and carries into the hotel. Rock star and entourage arrive at the hotel, he swaggers, we recognise his face from a huge poster. Security guards slow down traffic and gallantly guide a young tourist across the road. Young men park scooters, as neatly as pins in a tray, as their owners drink beer.

We renew our energy and sit in a white frescoed French courtyard and use their wifi, a few feet from the roaring traffic, and walk some more, stopping finally for a meal about 6 pm in a small cafe on the river, where large French antique street lamps are being lit all around the water, the golden light softly illuminating the temples and the people. It is beautiful.

We eat a mediocre meal on the lake side, whilst people watching, and take a cab back to the hotel where the group are eating and drinking in the foyer, and are able to wash the sweat of the day off in the shower in the gym. People are eating chips and club sandwiches and spring rolls and quaffing wine and beer, as they want something 'light' having not eaten since 3pm. ?? Tea arrives and the bus arrives to take us to the train station, we are driving off when we discover that Kath is not with us, and have to reverse back up the driveway. Ashley, her husband, seems unconcerned.

The station is an exciting place, lite up like a Xmas tree with golden lights, and we wait only a short while in a fluorescent lit private waiting area, I see backpackers who will spend the night in this train sitting bolt upright, eyeing us enviously. The walk to the train is a unbelievable journey across smashed concrete, potholes, and railway tracks in the dark, carrying our hand luggage. I am already worrying about the older folks. Our carriage is almost at the end of a long platform, and softly lit with a French lamp, inviting bunk beds with nest,y folded white doonas and a pillow, and a small table. I love trains. This is not Rovos Rail, but it's wonderful, and we make ourselves at home, Gerald buys a $1 beer from the 'barman' who has a bucket with ice and a few beers. The men stand in our doorway talking and drinking beer, and the train leaves on time at 10.00 pm.

I use the communal bathroom and the only toilet for the carriage, and climb onto my hard bunk, Gerald gives me 'the look', I cannot believe it, there is scarcely space for one on these tiny bunk beds, and pull my doona around my shoulders, it's bloody freezing in here, the air conditioner permanently set at Arctic, chastely kiss my Beloved good night, and enjoy the rocking of the train.

It's dark outside, and we are for from home. We are experiencing a new land, and a new culture, something Gerald and I love to do, and I bless my husband for the life we share.