Simon and I thought it would be a marvellous idea to consume a whole chili after breakfast – followed by a swim. The results were predictably unpleasant – mainly involving staggering around the swimming pool; lurching between hysterical laughter and the very real possibility of vomiting in front of the worried looking family with small children.
I like trains. Not in geeky, pocket book, pen and camera kind of a way – you will not find me drooling over the 12.10 to Easton – it is the style of travel rather than the trains themselves. I would travel everywhere by train if it was possible.
I’m sure most will concur themselves – but the first half of by twenties felt like absolute chaos. Finishing university and attempting to join ‘real job’ club was greeted with mixed results.
Two important anniversaries seem to have converged at once. The first being that I reached a year in Vietnam. Itself an achievement as it’s the first time in over six years I have spent a year in one place. A sense of achievement mixed with a few jitters. But when I thought further back something seemed to be even more important.
The few times I have began to write about the roads in Hanoi, I have to stop myself after two pages or so of rabid rantings – usually concerning what I would like to do to Hanoi’s taxi drivers with a blow torch, a stern length of barb wire and a sledge hammer.
There are people in this world that were born to be unhelpful. When coupled with Vietnam’s almost complete lack of accountability displayed by its government staff – it creates a fearfully dumb and dim witted human whose job, without question, could be adequately done by a monkey.
So before I know it, I’ve been here for six months. Sweaty, stifling October days when I arrived were replaced with months of uniform grey – which in turn have been replaced with sweaty April and now May. The temperature climbs and the rains fall.
I’ve been in Hanoi for three months now. A quarter of my contracted time. It’s strange how quickly you become wrapped up in a new place. Even when I’m thinking of new things to write about; everything begins to blur together. The last three months have flown by. Rocketed by even.
The air is smoky and filled with the smell of sizzling chicken. Welcome to Chicken Street. Locals know it as Pho Ly Van Phuc – but I don’t believe it has quite the same ring.
It’s been an excellent year. One to remember. It began on a freezing hillside overlooking a spectacular fireworks display over Prague. And will end tonight at a rave somewhere on the outskirts of Hanoi.