At this early hour, it’s still dark at the Airport. And rather cool.
We find the toilets – the squat type – then buy two bottles of Evian water from the Berjaya Starbucks Coffee shop for RM18 and wait to board the inter-airport train to ‘G’ section with only our carry-on baggage in hand.
We complete the journey twice because we’re not quite awake enough to realise we’re already there the first-time round.
We then spend the following three-and-a-half hours in air-conditioned comfort (early days because I’ll pray for a breath of fresh air by the end of the journey) …
& savour the vast variety of treats available at Wonderland before resting up near ‘G4,’ waiting for Malaysia Airlines flight’ 752′ to Hanoi at 9:45 am.
The corridors are long & marble-floored.
Feeling it will be colder in Hanoi, I change into warmer corduroy pants, slide a Bond’s vest over my skin, add a long-sleeved t-shirt to the layers, then bond again to the white jacket I’ve needed since leaving Brisbane.
Finding comfortable recliners set like deckchairs upon an ocean liner, we stretch out – side-by-side – nibble on an Apricot muesli bar, watch the goings-on in the tarmac area and listen to a list of boarding announcements till it’s nearer to the designated lift-off time. Outside it’s smokey grey. Everything seems opaque & surreal as the day unfolds, slowly, like a poppy in a vase of water. I soak up the quiet knowing we’ll soon be part of the honking bustle of Hanoi.
Aboard & seated in 5A & 5B ( the first row in the main body of the aircraft), there’s plenty of leg room & exceptional window views; for both of us.
As we taxi before take-off we pass a very plain plane – a white jumbo with zilch colour and logos – and virtual ocean-like-paddocks of palm trees planted in rows, right up to the boundary fences of the airport.
Apparently Malaysia is investing much in the production of palm oil (Elaeis guineensis). First introduced to Malaysia as an ornamental plant in 1870, since 1960 plantations have increased at a rapid pace. In 1985, 1.5 million hectares were planted out with palm trees, increasing to 4.3 million hectares in 2007. Seen as the most important commodity crop in Malaysia, as of 2011, the total planted area was estimated to be 4.917 million hectares, each hectare yielding about 4.0 tonne of palm oil – & each plant having an economic life of around 25 years – making it possible to export 39.04 million tonnes, with Malaysia’s share of the world market being 46%.
It’s estimated Malaysia and Indonesia account for 85% of global palm oil production, and it’s hard to argue for bio-diversity when 4.5 million people earn a living from the production of palm oil.
With thoughts of environmental calamity thrown aside for the moment, headphones on I groove to ‘Queen: The Greatest Hits.’ Ben selects ‘HITS’ and chooses Lizzie, an American heavy metal band formed in Los Angeles in 1983; though after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ fades in my ears, feeling blessed & blissful I change my selection & groove along to Mario Frangoulis’s ‘I Believe in You’ as we prepare to move through the skies for three-and-a-half-hours in the company of wide, fresh – no doubt, well-oiled – Asian smiles.
Still on terra firma, the distant background hill is but a hint of colour, somewhat lost & fading into the sky with the residue of mist, like an incomplete painting on a canvas. After an Air-Asia vessel lands, we otherwise join a queue of aircraft waiting for take-off, taxi-ing behind a Malindo Boeing 737, and tail-gated closely by another five planes.
With a roar of accelerating engines we’re soon part of the skies.
Passing over the city – Kuala Lumpur – we catch a glimpse of what awaits when we return in twenty-two days: groups of proverbial little boxes (of all sizes & shapes) assembled beyond a ridgeline that resembles the spine of a dinosaur before merging into mountains & becoming lost in a sea of Arctic-style clouds.
Along comes the refreshing cup of apple juice. Then 500 kilometers northeast of KL we glide over a frilled hemline, a promontory that’s been an important trading post between Malaysia & China since the fifteenth century where the beaches of Kuala Terengganu become swallowed – on three sides – by the South China Sea.
Then we farewell Malaysia & await the appearance of southern Vietnam, or perhaps Cambodia ( if my knowledge of Geography is sound ; and ‘My Flight Information’ – when viewed on the media screen – proves that it is).
Lunch is yummy chicken curry, with a soft doughy pull-apart (of crumpet-like consistency). I avoid the chicken yet eat the cake plus the sample-sized Mars bar ; more than adequate to satisfy tourist taste buds as we glide over Southern Vietnam, divert northwards around HCM City and witness a cloud-patched country-side. Ben points out a huge lake resembling a multi-pronged amoeba just seconds before we’re again momentarily engulfed by dense cloud; then an ochre-accented patchwork of greener fields that appear as an organised-though-disjointed pattern of industry when viewed from an altitude of 11227 m.
Eventually – and with a smudged view of Danang to the distant east – the plane changes direction, heading directly north towards Hanoi.
I line up in a long queue in the aisle, waiting to use the on-board toilet.
Relieved & buckled up again, I switch to listening to Keith Urban thinking you must know you’re making money when your music is being selected by countless passengers as they wend their way through skies that stretch like the amalgamation of Santa’s gift lists across the globe. Way to go, Keith.
The moment is sweetened by another Mars bar snippet as our excitement builds & we ‘country-rock-it’ to Keith Urban, descending into Hanoi, capital of Vietnam, in a tiny puppet held by a string on God’s outstretched fingertips; to be greeted by a gorgeous patchwork of red, green & ochre, brown-tinged rivers and mountain lakes that bathe the land with fecundity; and support a hive of industry- No wonder the people have fought so hard for their land – before arriving into Noi Bai Airport and experiencing a ground temperature of 16 degrees Celsius.
Off-loaded quickly, we’re almost the first through Customs yet wait a seriously-long time for our bags to appear on the carousel.
Then we dash un-noticed through ‘Nothing to Declare’ & meet up with our airport-to-hostel transit connection: the man bearing my name on a very significant slice of signage.
Though the transit fare is already covered by the hostel reservation I pay him an extra US$5 for his trouble (it’s a significant distance from the airport to the Old Quarter). But trouble is what we find with our pre-booked accommodation at Hanoi Backpackers’ Hostel , an overly busy & popular joint tucked away at 48 Ngõ Huyện, Hàng Trống, Hoan Kiem District – in Hanoi’s Old Quarter – that’s certainly come up in the world since I last stayed there in 2008. Directed across the street to a rather dismal & cramped mixed dorm that’s certainly unsuitable for us we’re refunded 50% of the accommodation cost & directed down a quiet alley off Au Trieu Street, past it’s sister hotel at 41 Ngo Huyen …
to the tinier version of the Bluebell Hotel , at 38 Tho Xuong Street , Hoan Kiem District.
We book for two nights’ accommodation & hand over 900,000 VND to a pleasant receptionist.
Our alternative room has twin beds, French doors, a balcony, a view, LCD TV, and an ensuite bathroom sporting a pleasurably-hot shower though we do have to climb four flights of stairs to savor all these things.
After we’ve rested a while …
& washed away the layers of our night’s travel we venture out into the Old Quarter of Hanoi & take a walk …
to the Hoàn Kiếm Lake – and its surrounds – to orient ourselves, pick up baguettes & bananas for breakfast – plus a few extra snacks – from a little supermarket-of-sorts we pass along the way since I can‘t seem to find the little lady with the hessian bag filled with fresh rolls who last time frequented the corner at Ngõ Huyện & Lý Quốc Sư.
Without too much trouble & deviation – and with the aid of a trusted Hanoi Backpacker’s Hostel map – we find our way back to the Bluebell Hotel, have another wonderfully-warm shower, and get ourselves primped & preened before heading off in a trusted Thành Công Taxi (that’s pre-booked on her mobile by our pleasant receptionist) towards 69 Bar-Restaurant set in a lovely old historic house at 69 Mã Mây, Hàng Buồm, (because it’s recommended in the Lonely Planet guide).
Agreeing with ‘mjrg59‘ of Cedar Rapids, Iowa (a top contributor to tripadvisor.com.au ; & no doubt a previous customer) we find ‘the food … good but lacked special flavors and texture combinations that one hopes to find in Vietnamese cuisine’.
And while our selections are beautifully presented Ben doesn’t quite ‘go for’ the typical Vietnamese taste that otherwise lingers in our nostrils as the odours of Hanoi’s cuisine.
Nonetheless I down half-a-bottle of Tiger beer & Ben sips on a squash…
Yet we finish only half the meals offered …
before we wend our way back through the drizzle along Lương Ngọc Quyến , Dinh Liet & Hàng Bạc with its ‘slippery’ jewellery traders, then the bustling marketplaces of Hang Dao – one of the cities busiest stretches – checking out jackets & bags displayed in shopfronts & on footpaths.
Ben buys a t-shirt & bargains down four dollars – to US$11 – for a small shoulder bag he intends to use as a camera, hand-wash & asthma-puffer case. And we make a mental note that bargaining is the respectable & expected way of shopping in Vietnam.
Once back at the Hotel we pull the curtains, leave the French doors ajar to avoid freezing in the air-conditioning, & slide between our respective pristine white sheets rather early … for almost 12 hours of well-deserved sleep, only to be woken by the sound of repetitive machinery (obviously the hammering at nearby building works ) late at night or during the early hours of the morning.
But then I’m lulled back to sleep by the gentle & then more insistent rain – falling as a leadening mist from a grey gloom – onto roof-tops & awnings.
qwertywriter50 