IMG_3452

IMG_3452
Originally uploaded by Derek Faulkner.

asdf asd fasd fas fasdf asdfasdf asdf asdfo; askdfj kawjeiowejf knvzxnvio i nrnv mvnn erinr
avnkern


eiarn o

A day in the life of Hanoi

I know it's been a while since our last posting, so here's a nice long one :

At 5:30 this morning we arrive in Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam, on the night train from Sapa, a hill-station in the north of Vietnam. We step bleary-eyed out into the gray drizzle and into the swarm of taxi drivers. We find one who will use the meter, and have him take us to the old city. We speed through wet streets, empty of traffic save for a few motorbikes. Most of these are laden with cargo, on their way to the markets. I gape in horror and amazement as a man totes four recently slaughtered pigs on a motorbike. Their bodies are draped in front of him and bounce with each bump in the road, narrowly missing the pavement below. I gape again in horror as our taxi fare skyrockets; this guy must have his meter rigged so it increases by three times the normal rate! I say something about it to the driver, who suddenly becomes unable to speak English.

When we arrive in the old city, all of the hotels are closed; big garage-door style gates are drawn in front of their doors. We knock on one, and after a minute, a young man groggily answers. "Do you have any rooms?" No room at the inn, as it turns out, not until the noon check-out at least. Not wanting to rouse more bellboys at the neighboring hotels, we walk to the posh Tamarind Cafe, the only place open at 6 am.

From my comfy seat, I watch the city wake up. Women walk down the street, balancing baskets wrapped in burlap. They pause at the opening of the cafe, offering their wares (baguettes). Old women cook noodle soup from miniature stands on the street. Their patrons, mostly chainsmoking men, sit on miniature stools and, holding their bowls inches from their mouths, sip their soup noisily. Women in cone hats carry fruit in two bamboo baskets balanced on the ends of a pole. (Either pineapples-and-bananas or apples-and-oranges, but for some reason never pineapples-and-oranges, or apples-and-bananas.) Kids in uniform cycle to school, usually two or three to a bike. More and more motorbikes begin to flood the streets. The toot-toot of their horns shifts from occasional to incessant.

Communism meets free enterprise head-on in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Each street sells one thing in particular (this seems Communist to me); in fact the streets are named for each item. There is Silver Street, Shrine Street, Seamstress Supply Street, Silk Street, Fried Meat Street, Yarn Street, and Blacksmith Street, to name several. A quick glance inside the shops gives one no idea which store to patronize; they all appear to be selling the exact same thing! Many of them even have the same name in the same font on the outside of their store. New stores steal the name of an old favorite in hopes of gaining some business: there are about 15 "Sinh Tourist Cafe"s in a five-block radius.

A walk down the street is replete with obstacles. The sidewalk is not very useful, as it is mainly a motorbike parking lot. If there isn't one parked where you are walking, there is probably someone pulling up onto the sidewalk in your path. In the narrow space between the motorbikes and the buildings, merchants crouch outside their shops, chopping a piece of wood or tuning a bike or chatting with their friends. On Blacksmith Street, sparks fly as the smiths do their work right out in the street!

Fleeing the frenzy of the streets, we walk to the Temple of Literature. This place was once like the Oxford of Vietnam. Formerly a college for elite male students, it is now a series of shrines to educational greats of the East such as Confucius. From the quiet gardens, the sound of honking motorbikes is almost inaudible. The Chinese-style pagodas are beautifully constructed in red laquer and dark wood.

On the way back to the hotel, we elect to take a cyclo. This odd contraption is like a backwards tricycle. The driver sits high atop the rear wheel and pedals the passengers, who sit down in the front in a padded seat. Our driver has a wide, toothy grin, and his seat is covered with a beach towel that says "Guadalupe" and has a huge parrot on it.

The driver begins pedaling on the opposite side of the street, right into the oncoming traffic. I bite my lip as the traffic surges around us. Once on the right side of the road, we join the fray. Schoolgirls in cone hats and long white ao-dai dresses pedal slowly along. Men in military helmets (the only kind most people can afford) whiz by on motorbikes. A huge city bus parts the sea of motorbikes as it heads to the curb to drop off passengers. And an old married couple - he's pedalling, she's riding sidesaddle on the rack in the back - amble on by us too.

The energy in Hanoi is so frenetic, it makes me feel oddly calm to witness it at the slow pace of the cyclo ride. Being in this craziness makes me appreciate anew the decorum with which we Westerners drive. Even angry Bostonians don't honk this much!

In the evening, we stroll down by Hoan Kiem Lake, a gathering spot for both tourists and locals. They have closed one of the streets near the lake, and kids race their bicycles up and down the empty road. Later, as we walk back from the pub, the streets are quiet again, empty except for people who sit together on blankets, sharing food and chatting. At home, the only people sitting on blankets after dark would be homeless people; here, they seem to be friends having a late-night picnic. At last, the city goes to sleep, and so (soon), will we.

---
We did manage to escape the clamor of Hanoi. In the past two weeks, we did a 3-day tour of the limestone cliffs of Halong Bay, as well as some treks through the hill tribes of Sapa. Now our time in Vietnam is coming to a close. Tomorrow we fly to Laos, where we will spend about 2.5 weeks. We fly into Vientiane and out of Luang Prabang.

test photo blog

IMG_3455,
originally uploaded by Derek Faulkner.

The quake, with a preliminary magnitude of 2.5, happened at 8:02 p.m. Thursday, according to the U.S. Geologic Survey's National Earthquake Information Center.

The quake was 17 miles southwest of Knoxville, according to the earthquake center's Web site.

Blount County Sheriff's Office dispatchers said callers reported hearing a loud boom followed by shaking and trembling. Some people called 911 to report pictures had fallen off their walls, they said.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.