Smokingboot

There's so much I haven't described; water puppets in Hanoi, cooking lessons in Hoi An, visiting a church of the Cao Dai who regard Victor Hugo as a saint, watching men work in the 40 plus heat turning coconut shells into charcoal filters, applauding dazzling acrobats at the Saigon Opera House ... small things, big things, totally out there things.

Our last Vietnam experience was of the Cu Chi tunnel network, created and extended by the Viet Cong as underground routes to house troops, move supplies, and mount surprise attacks, enabling them to pop up, do damage and disappear very fast. The US trained certain solders as 'tunnel rats' and my god, they must have been incredibly brave. There are demonstrations of the types of traps to be found here, all grotesque. There's also a shooting range at the site so the sound of real gunfire is everywhere. Let's say it adds a certain piquancy to the experience. One couldn't avoid the sense of American tourists working out a lot of feelings in this place; for sure they would have been deadly in a symmetrical fight, bullet on bullet, crackshot to deadeye. But that's not what those soldiers were facing.

Not all the Cu Chi tunnels are open to the public, but there are some you are invited to try for yourselves. One particular stretch was about 80 metres long, and all of our party - indeed all the tourists around it - demurred the attempt excepting myself and the mermaid. I have been so ill with these drugs and mentally down too. But Vietnam gave me lots of sunlight which is always great, and I wanted to see if Poor Donkey Body could do it despite tendonitis and cancer and letrozole and repeated bouts of covid.

Turns out the answer was yes. And I was fast too. While being actively terrible at sports, if I could claim a seed of aptitude for any such activity, caving is probably it. Can't compare to those soldiers facing a darkness full of booby traps and enemy fire plus the occasional scorpion, but not bad for a civilian.

I came away proud of myself and respectful of Poor Donkey Body.



Farewell was soon upon us. We came to the point where our group had to separate, some making their way back to plan for airport transfers while we journeyed to the border. Our third cancer sufferer might have been relieved to be rid of me and Hooty Lady, though I had done my best not to drill into her head, to be a contrast with an ability to talk about other things beyond The Thing. She gave me a tight hug.

'Stay in touch,' she whispered. I said I would but I don't really know what to say to her. I will try though.

Later, at the border of Vietnam, our guide spoke to us with unaccustomed seriousness.

'When you leave Vietnam here, you must know that you are not in Cambodia yet. Beyond here,' he waved his hands, 'is No Mans Land. So you do not speak to anyone or buy anything or take anything or give anyone your documents until you are at the border checks for Cambodia. You can see the office over there straight ahead of you. Your guide there will help you with your visa. OK?'

We thanked him for all his help, got out and walked over the border, trying to avoid what looked like motorcycle gangs albeit with attitudes a bit less ferocious. Even as I walked, eyes ahead to avoid trouble, passport securely hidden, I felt myself wanting to go back; not because of any dread but because my heart was not done with Vietnam and perhaps never will be. I had only scratched the surface of an extraordinary place and people and, still caught in its spell, was not ready for the new adventure.

But the new adventure was definitely ready for us. We walked dragging our cases, and the guards smiled.

I wasn't sure when we landed at Hanoi. The sky was overcast, the smog was palpable and I wondered if we were going to be disappointed. This feeling vanished within 2 seconds of entering the city proper. Hanoi rocks!

First training in Hanoi life: the scooter is king. Everyone takes everything on their motorbike/moped, from their families (plenty of babies, toddlers, and dogs included) to mattresses, to huge containers of gasoline, to sides of pig and cow...you name it, somewhere in Hanoi there's an enterprising soul who's strapped it to the back of a two wheeler. A lot of the girls have helmets with a gap at the back for high pigtails. The place is full of mopeds, motorbikes, tuk-tuks, rickshaws, and for sure there are cars too, though these look faintly besieged as they try to drive through.The guide taught us the phrase to help us survive as raw pedestrians throughout all our time in Vietnam; Sticky Rice. Bundle together in a group, no stragglers or single file, then you walk confidently but at a steady pace when you cross, so that your trajectory can be predicted and you can be swerved round. Oh, and maybe pray before you start.


We took a ride through the city on one of those rickshaws where the bike is positioned at the back. It was fun and I would love to have recorded it on my phone, but was too busy gripping the handrail with white knuckled hands. Safe to say I learned a new respect for life from that particular caper. And of course we saw the sites, the ancient Quán Thánh temple of Tao, the Presidential Palace, Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum,the Confucian Temple of Literature, this latter still used as a site of learning;


But the unmissable story of Hanoi is on the streets. It's a sense of the people, a vivacity, I can't describe better than that. When it rained, folk gathered their chairs together and ate, sitting in every doorway beneath combinations of old french colonial architecture and new businesses. Also the food was absolutely banging, often at its best in street kitchens that rely almost entirely on local custom; our guide knew them all and we ate wonderful meals I miss even now.

Being British there were complaints about food almost instantly. Not the taste, oh no. We had been advised to have a light lunch because there was going to be a street food tour, understood by everyone as we had all signed up for it well in advance. Some ignored said advice, had a whacking heavy lunch, and then complained because we went from place to place eating all this delicious stuff. I was baffled. The guide had warned us, pointedly and repeatedly not to eat too much prior to the tour. What else was he meant to do? Slap our hands when we reached out for chopsticks? People made their choices and that really was that. Me, I ate til I was shaped like a walrus.

And then there was Train Street. Train Street looks like this:


The idea is that you find your seat, maybe on the tracks themselves, and sit down to wait for the train, having yourself some food and drink natch. When the train's round the corner, you promptly get your table and chairs out of the way, or perhaps you sit at the side to begin with (the safest places are balconies) and enjoy the adrenaline surge between your ears as the train rushes right past you and everybody cheers and screams. Utterly fabulous. Welcome to the Nam!