Xin Chào

No there is no picture because the internet here is smoke signals. Sorry. I've been in Hanoi for five days and it feels like five years, because the density of everything is so high. The density of people, places, smells and events is the most striking, I'd say. I have a job I will start in a week teaching English here, but before that I'm going to Laos to meet Dan Naiman and Kate Riley because they're going to be in a giant water fight for the Laotian/Thai new year, and they need back up. So unless anyone is willing to step in it looks like I'm going to have to go. Anyone? No? Alright pass me my waterbaloons I'm outta here.

Things happen to you in Asia. They just happen. You don't have to do anything except stand there metabolizing for them to happen to you. I was walking around a lake near the old quarter where I'm staying, and a bunch of things happened, and then the next day I had a job in my future and a small dog in my stomach. Let's Tarantino it backwards and find out why.

After I landed the money started to leak out of my wallet, before I even set foot on the tarmac. Luckily here it's really a slow steady dribble, since most things are fairly inexpensive. After sorting myself out a cell phone (if you want to call me in vietnam dial +84 for the country code and then 01258640506. you may also have to include 4 for the city code for Hanoi, but who knows) I walked outside with my new map, not yet opened. I was instructed by my guide book and by the friendly people behind a desk not to take the city bus if I had big bags, which I do (everything I own for a year). Quote Frommer's guide: "Big luggage is an albatross in Viet Nam." I stood outside waiting for the mini bus, whatever the fuck that is, and after a lot of hassling and turning down crazy motorcycle drivers who think that a 65 and a 35 litre pack and two people is normal on a motorbike in the clusterfuck of hanoi traffic, the city bus driver pulled up. Very little english is spoken in Viet Nam, so charades is the name of the game. First it was the driver's turn to act out "where do you want to go?" I did the universal gesture for "Old Quarter of Hanoi" and he did the universal gesture for "no problem, I wasn't watching anyway, ps you suck at charades, get in my bus with all your bags, it'll be hilarious." I was holding all my packs because I didn't want to leave them on the pavement behind me just in case, but the map was still on the sidewalk, unopened. I got on the bus, nervously sat down as the lead in a play of absurdity, with the other actors as the audience, and as I realised I had no map I looked out the window to at least make a mental note of where exactly I'd left it. $2 american, and it was gone faster than I could blink, no sign of it, and it probably got sold for twice as much, which is a lot of money here. Off to a great start.

I could write a whole entry on the bus ride. How I was about to call my old Aussie housemate, Mark, but then the wailing Viet ballads (presumably of love and loss) were the only thing blaring on the bus louder than the explosive horn which would get honked 2 feet behind riders on old rusty/wooden bike. I could write about how the first question I was asked was where I was from, followed closely by whether or not I was married. One girl had the nerve to talk to me because she thought here English was good enough, and everyone else within 2 metres was crowded around listening, interjecting in rapid Tieng Viet with questions I should be asked. After 30 minutes the guy collecting the tickets, who was not doing his job because leaning over my head listening to us was more interesteing, finally worked up the nerve to start petting my armhair, apparently unselfconsciously once he got going. He pet and felt and rubbed it between his fingers, and just shook his head in amazement, as if he was feeling the finest merino wool. The bus stopped somewhere in Hanoi that I still don't know to this day, and we all got off. Nowhere near the old quarter. That's when the onslaught of taxi drivers and motorcycle drivers began. As they realised I wasn't going to bite they became more bold, reaching in for a nipple pinch, or a verification that there wasn't just air in my underwear. I bargained pathetically for a ride to the old quarter, having had a hold of their currency for less than an hour and not knowing the going rate at all, before exiting the crowd of motorbikers and picking a nice quiet cabbie watching from the sidelines who (most importantly) was not visibly drunk. He took me to the place I reside in now.

The next day I was walking around the lake, and in 3 k I talked to five people, the fifth of which I befriended. Xuan and I have a strange relationship. He sells postcards around the lake like many of the poor kids around here, but unlike them he's not a swindler. We've talked about as much of life as two people who share less than a hundred words of vocabulary can. I know his life story, I know how much it costs him to try go to english school, I know how much he pays for his postcards and how much he sometimes sells them for, I know how he views westerners, and I know how his crooked postcard/drug selling friends work around the lake as well. We have an understanding that our friendship is genuine, but has an undertone of business transactions, where in exchange for modest sums and free meals, he teaches me vietnamese, drives me wherever the hell I need to go in Hanoi to find work, and proudly shows me the city. I've never had a friend quite like Xuan, and the paying part feels a little uncomfortable at times, but I never feel like I'm getting ripped off, and in the end it was when Xuan was driving the bike that he noticed a banner entirely in Vietnamese which I never could have read, advertising for kids to come learn english. We found the school, and I found a job, and possibly an apartment, and what seems in the early stages to be a cool boss. Strange how life works around here. Just stand around looking around and something will happen to you. Xuan takes me to all the secret hovels where only the locals eat. 4 floors up staircases that are more like ladders up to rooms that fit 3 tables where only a 5'5" person could standup straight, where strange unidentifiable wonders are served and you can eat a feast for two for about ten dollars. Things I didn't expect to see in Vietnam include: French bread ?(really good) everywhere - vietnam was occupied by the french. Also, the hammer and sickle. Even though the russians weren't that nice near the end there, the flag and the symbol is EVERYWHERE. It's definitely communism. Low calorie, world tolerated communism at that. The cops instead of enforcing the midnight curfew come into the bars, the bars turn the tunes down, and then back up when the cops leave and the night goes on. That doesn't mean being out after midnight is a good idea though, it's not. There are some scams going on here which I will save for another entry.

Also I ate dog, and I felt emotionally much more ill after than physically. I'm sorry dogs, really I am. But now when people say "do you like dogs" I can say yes wholeheartedly, whether they mean as lifelong companions or as dinner, either way, I'm easy.

I'll leave you with a quote from my old Viet-Canadian housemate, Timmy, warning me about scams around Vietnam. This one's a classic.

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hope you're doing well, don't let those dirty viets push you around. also, there's a new thing going on where 2 chicks will drive around, and at a stop light, one will get off and punch you off your bike, and accuse you of sleeping w/ her husband and that you got him to buy you that bike, then the 3rd sleeper will come and steal you bike. make sure that doesn't happen to you, and in general, pick pockets. they'll rip shit out of your hands if you're in traffic. dirty fuckin' viets.
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