Night wanderings

Tonight I walked home after a quick beer at Hoa Vien with my laser skirmish cronies (yes, there is such a venue in Hanoi and it is a valid form of entertainment for 30-somethings). At night the wide pavements in Hai Ba Trung district (the old French quarter), makeshift motorbike parking lots by day, are replaced by little bia hois and tea drinking stalls. Populated by a handful of old men in singlets and shorts, and women in pyjamas, just hanging out and observing life.

I passed an old man sitting in the gutter dropping pieces of newspaper into a fire he’d built. It was at least 30 degrees so he wasn’t doing it to keep warm. Perhaps he regularly burnt rubbish by the side of the road. Nobody paid much attention. Couples on motorbikes were out cruising the streets; girls in stilettos, lacy see-through tops and shorts so tiny they were more effective as underwear. They likely weren’t selling anything, it’s just how girls dress here at night. By day, it’s voluminous long sleeved shirts, face masks and tight jeans. But as soon as the sun goes down, the clothes come off. Don’t believe travel guides which say Hanoian women are modest in their appearance – just the opposite!

Further on, I saw big cages of what looked like turkeys but they were probably roosters. Cock fighting is a popular sport on special occasions, such as Tet. Maybe it is a full moon thing or they were just bound for the hot pot. Poor things. I still get sad seeing how animals are kept here.

Getting tired, I crossed the road and “Anh oi” ‘d one of the many dodgy little no name taxis that abound Hanoi. The driver looked at me glazed eyes from a night of bia hoi or perhaps something more stronger. Regardless, I arrived home five mins later, just avoiding another night time summer downpour.

sleeping babes

Last weekend we had a party at home so say fare thee well to all our lovely friends. It’s hard to believe that two years ago, I knew none of the people who have now become my whole Hanoi life. It’s nice to know that such good people are just around the corner if you’re willing to leave your comfort zone to find out.

I agonised over what to do with little Maya as it’s not much fun entertaining and trying to put an infant to sleep at the same time. Also somewhat impossible. Plus all our usual babysitters would be in their party clothes and at our house. Finally we decided to ask Chi Hang, our cook, to babysit for us. As a mother to five children, I felt confident of her abilities.

Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in that the Vietnamese obsession with babies means not allowing them to sleep when they want to. There evidently is such a thing as too much attention. When I stuck my head in the door half way through the evening, Chi Hang was fussing about, rearranging her blankets, her arms, her head, while Maya looked half dead with exhaustion. Inevitably she’d wake up grizzling and cry and Chi Hang would have an excuse to pick her up. Then upon seeing me, she announced that the baby must be hungry because babies only cry when they’re hungry.

Oh the logic! Hanoian babies are fed at every opportunity because it’s thought that large babies must be healthy babies – the fatter the better. Never mind childhood obesity or diabetes later in life. What’s that? I once saw a baby who was trying to cry but every time he opened his mouth to do so, a spoon of food was forced inside. And Chi Hang is the proud grandmother of a two-year-old weighing 35 kilos. Enough said.

So I fed her, a captive audience, while Chi Hang sat on the bed and regaled me with other unwanted advice – how to breastfeed (umm, got that one covered) and more theories on how babies get cold. Then she leaned over and put her hand on Maya’s back and said she felt hot and I should turn down the a/c. Hmmm. Finally I said she could go home early and then popped Maya into bed where upon she passed out and didn’t resurface till morning. I felt suitably guilt ridden for having a party in the first place, as only a new parent can!

Heat wave Hanoi

Hanoi is going through a summer heat wave and 40 degree days means walking out and about is likely to result in heat stroke for me and probably back spasms too, carting about a squawling, sweaty little bub. Which presents a conundrum because I think both of us are getting cabin fever hanging about at home. Thank god for air conditioning… that miracle contraption which is contributing to the death of the planet… ironic. Unfortunately there’s not much by the way of thunderstorms either, which despite wind, lightning and thunder, don’t bring much in the way of heat respite. Still, I love a good storm.

Which I can safely say from my apartment eight floors up. It is a different story if you live in a house here, which often leak and where the kitchens are at sub-basement level. Also if it happens to flood, not an uncommon occurrence in Hanoi, the drains overflow and the roads become canals. Is it the French or the Vietnamese who are responsible for the crappy drainage systems? In the 2008 floods – the worst in 100 years or something like that – the city was submerged for about 5 days. It started raining on a Friday morning and just didn’t stop. I was on my daily commute to work, a few kms from home, watching the roads disappearing into murky waters ahead of me with some concern. I began to have visions of pushing my motorbike all the way home once the engine conked out. So I made a u-turn and headed for home. Unfortunately, the already chaotic traffic of thousands of bikes only got worse, and I finally had to put my foot down. Literally I mean. Into about a foot of greeny-brown sloshing water. Oh my favourite shoes!

But I was one of the lucky commuters and got back in one piece. All too many were seen pushing their motorbikes along the streets that day. By night, the rain hadn’t let up and the streets were deserted. My crappy camera didn’t do much justice but this was taken by Vietnam News just near my place…

Oh baby

I have finally gotten back to Hanoi with the little miss – and what a fun plane trip that was (not). At least Vietnam is the most baby friendly country in the world… while we were waiting for our bags people were coming up and literally kissing Maya’s feet. As though I had baby Jesus in my arms. Don’t you love Asia?

The chi’s were thrilled to see her as well, showering her with adoration, “so fair, so beautiful”. Though they were clearly alarmed by her lack of attire; in the middle of summer with just a nappy, “baby cold, baby get sick”. And Chi Hang said that if she gets sick now, she will be sickly all her life. I think that’s what she meant. I waved away their protests and repeated “she’s fine” but they were unconvinced. Regardless, I popped her in their arms and went off to have a shower. When I came out they had her bundled up to her neck in a wrap and more feet-kissing abounded.

Later I put her down for a nap and had to push them out of the room and close the door. Cause when I left it open, they were both in there peering and cooing and Maya was wide awake again. Leaving her to cry for a bit was also a faux pas. Chi Hang came and pleaded with me to let her hold and soothe Maya. I’m sure babies are never left to cry in Vietnam. In fact, I doubt they are on their own for any waking (or sleeping) period at all. Always held, rocked, cuddled by various relations and friends. Actually you never see any Vietnamese babies Maya’s age outside as they’re traditionally kept at home until they’re at least three months old because of a fear of dirty streets and germs. Hmm, well Vietnamese streets don’t get any cleaner after that point…

It is heatwave summer here and no afternoon storms to cool things down as yet so we’ve been mostly indoors. I ventured out a couple of times with Maya in the baby carrier and she promptly falls asleep (or passes out from the heat). And everywhere we go people are excited to see her. It strikes me that friends’ babies and children here are confident, happy little people, I think because they’ve been held and played with by so many different people. Kids back home are often very shy because their worlds are considerably smaller and babies aren’t welcome everywhere. So it’s nice.

You can take the manicure out of Vietnam…

The other day I wandered past a nail salon on King Street and decided I needed a manicure, as you do when you are pregnant and time moves at a leisurely pace. Entering, I was pleasantly surprised to hear the staff all speaking Vietnamese. I started chatting to the young man doing my nails (forgot to ask his name so we’ll just call him Anh). It turns out that Anh, who is about my age, was also the owner of the salon. All the staff there were Vietnamese, including his wife.

He told me all about his family – his parents living in Hai Phong, and his brothers in Hanoi, where they worked, what they had studied, places we both knew in Hanoi and streets we lived on. Anh had come to Australia ten years ago for uni, then stayed on working various odd jobs – cleaner, cook, factory worker – until he got a job in a nail salon, learning the ropes and saving money to buy his own salon. He met his Vietnamese wife and had a couple of children – his daughter was 12 months and toddling around the salon. Very cute.

Despite having a successful business – and there were lots of customers and people dropping by – Anh was keen to go back to uni and try new ventures. I was impressed by his entrepreneurialism – a common trait I think in many Asian people. Anh said he was really pleased you could study so cheaply in Australia because in Vietnam it was really expensive with all the extra tuition fees, and also incredibly competitive. Here the government covers fees and you repay them gradually on a really low interest rate [like most people I know, I’m still paying off my uni fees from 12 years ago].

Right now Anh is studying English at nights (though I thought he already spoke it very well) and then he wants to go back to uni. He is tossing up between real estate management, “to make money”, or his real interest, Chinese medicine and massage. I pointed out that he could always incorporate the latter into his nail salon business. We then both rued the expense of massages in Sydney. In Hanoi, Anh said he liked massages at the National Institute of Acupuncture near the Hanoi National University south of the Lake and I said I prefer the Aesthetic Institute on Le Van Huu, near all the coffee shops.

I asked him where he lived and he said Marrickville [inner west]. “North Vietnamese go to Marrickville, South Vietnamese go to Cabramatta [outer west]”, Anh said. The inner west has had a big Asian immigration explosion in recent years and Marrickville is full of Vietnamese grocery stores and restaurants. A note to Vietnamese visiting Sydney – you won’t starve! Vietnamese friends in Hanoi are often panicked that they won’t have anything to eat over here. I’ve heard stories of people bringing sacks of rice and nuoc mam (fish sauce) over, only to be confiscated at Sydney airport!

Round mother, square baby

This somewhat interesting phrase has been repeated to me many times in the last couple of weeks. From what I understand it means “Go forth and produce from your loins a large, cube-shaped child. Good luck!” Another of those Vietnamese cultural quirks. And when it comes to babies and family, there are many, many more quirks in Vietnam.

Strange how even people without children have definite opinions about child rearing. Thankfully I’ve been spared much of that from Vietnamese acquaintances, though I hear that levels of aggression step up considerably once the child is born and out in public. Friends tell how they’ve been chased down streets by elderly crones shouting that their baby is too hot/cold/should be wearing a hat/socks/gloves/woollen coats because it’s just short of 30 degrees. In fact I believe socks are to be worn at all times. Taking a baby out in just a nappy and singlet (even in summer) would amount to a scandal of epic proportions.

And don’t even get started on breastfeeding. Vietnamese women do breastfeed for the usual first six months but “not in public!” as my friend Ha exclaimed in tones of horror. In fact, for the first month after the baby is born, both mother and bub are effectively shackled to the bed, and to the house for following two months (explaining why it is pretty much impossible to find newborn clothes and why you never see any tiny babies). Apparently this seclusion is because of all the germs and dirt outside in the street. Ahem, yes well…

Female friends say this time is particularly stressful because they are usually living with their mother-in-laws, and in the months leading up to the birth, and afterwards, the house is besieged by grandmothers, aunts, cousins, sisters and friends, all weighing in with various pronouncements, opinions, criticisms and directives. Meanwhile the new mother is stuck there with zero privacy and probably dying to get rid of the lot of them. My friend Tam said that after three months at home, she and her husband snuck off for (her first) cup of coffee but within one hour, her mother-in-law was on the phone demanding she return immediately because the baby was awake and needed to be fed. Exhausting!

Tam also said that at least she had some relief because her first child was a boy, as opposed to her sister, who’s had three girls and her mother-in-law is still pushing for a fourth – oh please be a boy!! Talk about pressure. I said that back home nobody minds which one you have and often girls are preferred. Tam sighed and said she thought that would be nice.

After six months, the mother returns to work and baby is looked after by various relations and fed on powered milk, bananas and other chubber-inducing foods. Fat is best! At least as far as tubby infants go. You see little michelin kiddies all over Hanoi, followed around by nannies, spoon at the ready, just waiting to shovel food inside their mouths all day. A number of people have already declared to me that I will have a fat baby. Ah, thank you. And it is presumed az’s European heritage will ensure a super white baby too. I sure hope I don’t disappoint.

The lime and the coconut, aka hospitals in Hanoi

Having spent the better part of the last year on monthly preggo visits to the doctor, I am most thankful for my medical insurance. But it seems to me that the private clinics here must have their fingers in some dodgy insurance scams as they are mega expensive just to visit, like $US70 for a check up, no medication or nothing. Should you be unlucky enough to get food poisoning whilst here – and we’ve all been there – a few hours on one of their beds and a couple of saline packs on a drip will likely set you back about $US500. What a gyp!

*As an aside I have to add here that calling up to book my monthly appointment is as much an eye rolling drag as ordering delivery from any restaurant in Hanoi. Despite having all my details in the computer, each and every time I have to spell my name and phone number, assure them that I am an existing patient, provide details of why I want to see the doctor and then go through appointment availability with the receptionist.

R: When would you like to come in?
Me: Monday?
R: Oh, I’m so sorry, Monday the doctor is fully booked.
Silence.
Me: How about Tuesday?
R: Oh, I’m so sorry, Tuesday the doctor is also fully booked.
Silence.

Eye rolling.

I know from experience there’s no point saying “well, what day is the doctor free?” So we just continue through the days of the week until my lucky number turns up.

Then the receptionist wants to know why I am seeing the doctor. They are very insistent on the finer details. I can just see them writing it all down. “Itchy bum, can’t stop scratching…” The possibilities are tempting…

Back on the money, fees are particularly outrageous considering the other end of the spectrum, public hospitals, where it’s all about paying ‘extra’, voluntary money to determine the level of care received. I visited a work colleague at a local hospital once and it was a bit full on. Old men wore striped matching pajamas, packed into tiny rooms, often sharing beds. In some of the big hospitals, like the Cancer Hospital, where Chi Hang cheerfully told me only 1 in 3 people come out again, relatives wait outside in the street for news and bring food because otherwise patients don’t get anything to eat. No meals on wheels here. Scary stuff.

I went once to the National Paediatrics Hospital to give blood. They are always in need of donations because of all the accidents and because Vietnamese people are suspicious of the whole process (also of receiving immunisations so maybe they just don’t like needles). It took me over an hour to find the room where I supposed to meet this nurse. All the signage was in Vietnamese and there was no one to ask, except for the cranky nurses in the emergency ward who ignored me when I spoke English to them. So I took myself off for a tour of the grounds.

Isn’t it strange how you can wander all through a hospital and no one ever asks what you’re doing? This hospital was similar to an old style school, lots of open, grassy spaces and long corridors with locked wooden doors. It was all very quiet and peaceful except for in the emergency room where I finally ended up again, out of desperation. I passed a long line of parents sitting outside and since nobody seemed to care that I was there, I walked into another side room where a doctor was performing some kind of surgery on a tiny baby. He stopped what he was doing and politely asked in English if he could help me. Slightly mortified, I explained again that I was after Room 31.2.5D. He courteously gave me directions and I toddled off on my original purpose.

I should add that in the end I didn’t give blood because they couldn’t find a vein – a common problem for me – so after stabbing me several times in both arms, they gave up and took blood from my friend instead. Despite everything being all clean and sterile, the needles were obviously cast offs from another century because they were as thick as toothpicks. Ouch.

Things I’ll miss about Hanoi

Well, I’m heading home soon to prepare for the bub and I’ve left it as late as possible to fly. If they did bar me from the plane it’ll be a very long train trip to Beijing or Bangkok for me. Ouch. I’ll be back in the summer but I am already wondering how I’ll survive without some of my favourite Hanoi-esque things:

#1 The chi’s
Oh how nice it is to have someone clean and cook and do your laundry for you! The household chi (older sister) can be relied upon completely to run your house. We have two lovely ladies who work part time, are always friendly and chatty and if they were my own grandmothers, could not be more overjoyed and full of commentary about my impending motherhood. When we first arrived in Hanoi, Chi Hang used to take me with her to the markets everyday and all over town buying furniture, clothes baskets, plates, vases, flowers, etc. She would drag me across manic intersections teeming with motorbikes in all directions or I would ride pillion on her bike carting home bags of stuff. The Vietnamese use their house help as nannies, drivers, errand runners, cooks, cleaners and jacks of all trades. If a light bulb goes out, the toilet doesn’t flush or you want some more drinking water, a call is made and hey presto! a minion (not my term!) appears to fix the problem, presided over by the chi’s ever-watchful eye.

#2 My ensuite
In pregnancy, I’ve discovered, the bathroom takes on a new and meaningful relationship. Enough said. While I do live in a lovely modern apt, most homes here have bathrooms on every floor so I am not the entirely spoilt princess. Vietnamese houses tend to be ramshackled, split-level affairs, tall and narrow with a thin central stairway and floors leading off on both sides, so there can be up to eight levels in a four-storey building. I think this is because many people weigh in on the building process at different stages so that the end product often seems slightly off. Construction is part of Hanoi. It’s like Monopoly – when you’re doing well financially, it’s time to hire some labourers and chuck a couple of extra storeys onto your house, much to the chagrin of the neighbours who won’t find out till it’s too late.

#3 Motorbiking
Riding a motorbike in Hanoi is like playing dodge ‘em cars, only with about 1,000 other cars and a bit more dexterity. Apart from the disregard for road rules and general lack of concern for anyone else on the road, it is good fun and pops a bit of adrenalin into your day. You can’t do too much damage at 20-30km/h, though sometimes on my way to work along past the army barracks, I can get up to 45km/h and feel just like Maverick from Top Gun.

#4 Fresh juices and fresh flowers
Oh heaven! Back home a freshly squeezed OJ costs about $5, here it is $1. Every café and restaurant has tropical fruit juices on the menu – thick, cold and delicious. In summer, women set up shop on the side of the road with a hand grinder selling fresh sugar cane juice, or coconuts served with a straw. Flowers are everywhere, all year round, grown up in the mountains near China. A single rose costs 2,000 dong so you can buy a couple dozen for about $3, wrapped in newspaper and tied onto your bike with a piece of string. Fresh flowers are biked or trucked in overnight to the Hanoi flower market on Tam Nghi which on-sells to all the other markets and bicycle sellers in town. I have to ride up there early one morning and buy armfuls of flowers super cheap.

#5 Free wifi
Arrgh, how will I live without free wifi?? In every restaurant, café, building and corner, wifi is bourgeoning and super fast. Yes, it goes down from time to time, and yes, it’s likely your every key stroke is monitored by some underground informant network but it is a lifeline to free calls (skype) and those suffering from online scrabble addictions (a valid form of recreation!).

#6 Cheap massages and hair, nails, etc
I will have to get in another massage before I go because they are such great value for money, even though I can only lie on my side. Am tossing up whether to get my hair coloured too – it is much cheaper here but it also takes a lot longer and I get so bored at hairdressers. I only recently found a good hair colourist, having been scared off by friends’ stories of having their hair dyed orange or purple due to expired products and inexperienced colourists. Same with nails, it was fun doing the $10 pedicure/manicure thing for a while but can takes HOURS out of your day because labour is such a cheap commodity and no one is in any hurry. And don’t get me started on waxing…

#7 Shopping
Shopping in Hanoi is not like shopping in Bangkok (sadly) but for certain things, it is great. My favourite shop, Craftlink, is one place I never get tired of – handicrafts, bags, scarves, cushion covers, wall hangings – all things uniquely Vietnamese to decorate your home and give to friends. And it’s an NGO so it supports local communities and disabled producers. Vietnam Quilts is another NGO selling lovely handmade quilts, cushion covers, etc. We bought some gorgeous stuff for the bub’s room. And you’ve gotta love the electronics here, made just over the border in China and selling for half the price you’d pay back home. Ha Ba Trung is electronics street and you can find pretty much anything, given enough patience and perseverance – tvs, cameras, washing machines, dvd players, cables and parts, etc. Deafening music pumps out of the two big stores as girls in tight skirts lean over counters and ‘Victoria’s Secret’ fashion shows play on 46” screens. Hilarious. Tiny neighbouring shops spill their wares out onto the pavement. Nobody speaks much English but bring along a dvd/camera/cable to explain what you want and it will be found!

#8 Wedding photos on the lake
One rainy afternoon when I first arrived in Hanoi I ducked into a pub to avoid the downpour, and soon after me came a bride and some of her girlfriends. They sat and ordered drinks and food while I admired her sparkly white dress, gloves and tiara and wondered whether she didn’t perhaps have somewhere more important to be. I know now that the young husband and wife to be get dolled up in their wedding attire for photos around a month before the wedding itself. This is so they can display giant prints of themselves at the reception. It is a most practical and ingenious idea. Some of the most popular wedding photo spots are at Hoan Kiem Lake and the Botannical Gardens and of a weekend, you can see up to a dozen couples posing lakeside, resplendent and happy.

A pregnant pause

This afternoon I walked the three blocks home from the bank and if I had 10,000 dong for every person who gaped, open-mouthed, at me and my belly, I would be buying myself a brand new Honda Wave with brake pads and a mudguard. Honestly, had I been buck naked doing the macarena on the back of an elephant I could not have attracted more attention. People were literally turning around on their little plastic stools and nudging their friends. Wtf? It is truly bizarre. I know that having a baby in the year of the tiger is considered unlucky but come on! Vietnam has to be one of the most astoundingly fertile nations on earth. The Vietnamese completely adore children. People are always pointing at my stomach, excitedly exclaiming “Oh you have baby, how many month, is it boy, is it girl?” which is nice. Much nicer than being gawked at in the street like a leper.

Last year, everywhere you looked, women were pregnant. Maybe they were all trying to avoid the misfortune of giving birth in 2010. It is usually considered quite the honour to be pregnant (particularly if you are having a boy, of course!) and a valid excuse from the binding clothes Vietnamese women love to wear – skin-tight jeans and tops and stilettos. Don’t believe the guidebooks when they say the Vietnamese are conservative! At least not in the cities – women wear jeans, long sleeved tops and even gloves in humid 40 degree summer so as to prevent any evil ray of sun ‘darkening’ the skin – white is best! When I told my friend Tam that Westerns prefer tanned skin to white, she was quite disbelieving. But being preggers means women can at least don the pastel-print shift dresses and flat shoes, safe in the knowledge that the fertility gods are smiling upon you.

I have also been trying to collect some baby gear with a comprehensive list of things to buy here and back home, bearing in mind that anything bought at home takes up valuable suitcase room (ie less clothes for me). Baby shops are prolific in Hanoi – there is of course baby street for numerous clothes, lotions (“keeping your baby clean and fair!”), toys, prams, tricycles, bottles, activity mats, etc; the odd baby shops around town with more of the same; and a whole baby floor at the shiny new VinCom Towers, including these great wooden toys from Japan.

I haven’t found any cots as most Vietnamese babies and children sleep in one bed with their parents but there is an ‘Ikea’ shop about the size of a closet, down a narrow little street, which apparently orders in Ikea furniture from China. So that is my back up plan.

To shop or not to shop in Hanoi

Last week we held a ‘How to Host a Murder’ dinner at our house. Great fun. The only catch is that to be the part, you need to dress the part, which poses somewhat of a dilemma when you live in Hanoi. It reminds me of dress ups when I was a kid – lots of enthusiasm and imagination, then patience, then desperation… and finally ending up with the scissors and textas the night before. I see now why Casper the ghost was the “it” Hallowe’en outfit of the 80s.

So there exists very limited scope for costuming in Hanoi. If I were organized, I’d have gotten something tailor-made beforehand. But that kind of takes the fun out of it. If it’s Hallowe’en, trusty Hang Ma, decorations street (that of Tet fame), will have dracula outfits, witches hats, etc. Toy street – Cha Ca (which actually means ‘grilled fish’) is also good for plastic accessories, though note – toy guns aren’t displayed outside, you have to go inside and make shoot em up mimes. I found this out after laboriously spending an entire day piecing together a Ghostbusters costume for Hallowe’en, which even involved a trip to work uniform street, Yet Kieu, for a pair of industrial goggles. Then along came Hanoi’s worst rains in a decade and I never got to wear it. The day will come.

But back to my HHM dilemma. In Hanoi, the DIY approach to costume assembly requires far more skill and cunning, and that means only one thing – a visit to the dreaded Dong Xuan market.

Cho Dong Xuan is Hanoi’s biggest market of ‘stuff’. Trucks come down from China and beyond, unloading their wares practically 24 hours a day, to be ferreted away by bicycle, motorbike or sheer strength. This is where Vietnamese sellers buy their stash to on-sell at other markets. Indoors is the ‘stuff’ market – clothes, shoes, suitcases, cosmetics, hats, toys, bags, ornaments, costume jewellery, peacock feathers and a whole pile of other knick-knacks. Two floors upstairs sell fabrics and more (Vietnamese size) clothes. Out the front are coffee beans, tea, dried fish, dried fruits, rice, beans etc. At the back is the ‘wet’ market with fresh (and often still wriggling) meat, veges and other fresh produce.

Markets are seemingly the backbone of Hanoi trade and Dong Xuan is the godfather of the market scene. Cho Hang Da (which sold a fabulous variety of Vietnamese crockery) was closed over a year ago, and Cho Hom on Pho Hue is largely a fabric market. There are wet markets all over town but for normal ‘stuff’, you need to know where to go. Along the railroad tracks of Phung Hung are rows and rows corrugated sheds, which house impromptu markets of different stuff, depending on the season. Sometimes it’s crockery or shoes. At the moment it’s clothes. Shed upon shed of them lining the street.

Outside DX is a hive of activity, inside time slows down. Shop sellers look askance and disinterested. Squeezing through tiny stalls and clambering over sacks, sleeping bodies and tiny plastic chairs, takes most of your skill. I don’t have the heart or the energy to bargain too much. Still, for a grand total of 200k (about $12) I buy a bow tie, a truly ugly hat and 2 metres of cloth to whip up a into a fashionable waistcoat for X.

Then it’s with relief, I duck back out into the sunshine and around the corner to where the evil parking attendants (there is no other kind) have my bike along with a thousand other bikes, packed in tight like sardines. They try to wrestle 5,000 dong from me (the parking ticket says 2,000), we settle on 3,000 and I return to the busy streets.