Day 77 – Hanoi, Vietnam – 6:24 AM

Growing up, I and every child is taught to look before crossing the street; wait until there is a break in the flow of traffic before stepping into the road.  If these guidelines are followed in Hanoi, you will wait for hours to cross the street because the stream of cars and motorbikes never ceases.  You quickly learn to look straight ahead and walk.  Vehicles will weave in and out and you will miraculously make it to the other side.

I landed in Hanoi just over 36 hours ago after a red-eye flight from Melbourne, Australia with a connection in Taipei, Taiwan.  After landing, I proceeded to the queue at immigration to receive my entry stamp.  The lines at each available counter numbered 30-40 people long.  I took my spot at the end of a line and waited.  I slowly moved forward as travelers were granted entry.  Twenty-five minutes later the stamp fell in my passport and I was officially in Vietnam.  I collected my checked baggage and breezed through customs.  Unlike most countries that scan each parcel at customs prior to entry, Vietnam had no such requirement unless declaring items.  I walked past the X-ray machines and into Vietnam.

I continued through a large throng of people waiting for the arrival of friends and loved ones.  I sensed eyes following me as I walked and met glances from others as I looked for a taxi stand.  A gentleman approached and asked in broken english if I needed a taxi.  I nodded and he ushered me to a nearby counter.  I approached the representative and, unable to speak Vietnamese, pointed to the address of my hostel, Hanoi Culture Hostel.  She smiled, nodded and quoted me 500,000 Vietnamese Dong or $22 USD.  I considered that a fair price for a 45 minute ride into Hanoi’s Old Quarter and handed over my credit card.  With the transaction completed, I stepped outside the terminal with my driver and he motioned for me to wait on the sidewalk while he retrieved the vehicle.

I expected a standard four-door sedan to pull up adorned with a taxi placard.  However, moments later, a black SUV parked in front of me and my driver jumped out.  He took my bags and placed them in the back of his SUV. I climbed into the backseat and away we went.  On my drive from the airport to the Old Quarter, I could not take my eyes off the landscape and scenery surrounding me.  Flat dry land stretched from either side of the highway and the Vietnamese flag, red with a yellow star in its center, adorned numerous buildings.  Motorbikes puttered along with the flow of traffic.

As we entered the more populated area, the flat land gave way to small storefronts taking up every square inch of sidewalk.  I could not read what the storefront signs advertised but I assumed everything imaginable. Motorbikes continued to slowly meander with the flow of traffic.  Minutes later we pulled up to my hostel, or what I thought was my hostel.  I retrieved my bags and walked inside.  A representative quickly jumped forward and took my bags and placed them on the ground.  The receptionist insisted I sit down on a nearby couch and out came a tray with two bananas, a glass of apple juice and a wet towel to wipe away the travel dust.   She took my name and welcomed me to Hanoi.  Moments later she informed me that the building I was currently in housed only private rooms and the dorm room I reserved was five minutes down the road.  I followed the representative out onto the sidewalk and expected to walk the five minutes. Then he stepped onto a motorbike and motioned for me to climb aboard.  “Are you sure,” I asked.  “You want me to get on with both my bags?”  He nodded and I climbed on.  I felt safe navigating the streets in the taxi but a motorbike was an entirely different story.  There appeared to be no traffic laws and motorbikes and vehicles flowed in each and every direction, somehow avoiding collisions with each other and brave pedestrians.

He turned the throttle and away we went, off the curb and onto the street. We continued straight through two intersections and pulled up to a second hostel, City Backpackers Hostel.  Out rushed somebody to collect my baggage and inside I strolled.  I gave my name and handed over my passport as the same hospitality from the first hostel was repeated again.  I was led up to my room and walked into a 6-bed dorm.  The usher bid me farewell and closed the door behind me.

I was immediately struck by the size of the beds.  Since I began traveling over two months ago, I have stayed only in single beds.  It is what I have come to expect in hostels.  The beds laid out before me were between a twin and double.  A pleasant and welcomed surprise.  The floors were tiled and a separate door opened to a balcony that overlooked a busy street.  I chose an open bed and sat down, going over my first hours in Vietnam.

After twenty minutes or so I decided to venture into the streets.  I needed to withdraw local currency from an ATM and find somewhere to eat.  I pulled on my shoes, descended a flight of stairs to the lobby and walked through a set of double doors out onto the sidewalk.  My senses were overcome with the steady rumble of motorbike engines, smells from cooking food and colors that adorned storefront windows and awnings.  I turned left and walked to the end of the block.  I leaned up against a sign post to get my bearings and take in the organized chaos that played out before me.  Immediately, a local on a motorbike pulled up and asked me to climb aboard as he would gladly show me the city.  I declined and he persisted.  He asked where I was going and I told him the lake. He offered to drive me there and anywhere else I wanted to go.  I declined again and quickly realized that I needed to continue to walk and make it appear as though I was not completely overwhelmed.  Before my eager tour guide pulled away, he offered me a bag of something else.  I declined and walked away.  After two failed attempts to withdraw money from different ATMs, I returned to my hostel to call the appropriate financial institution and regroup after my failed first minutes traversing the streets of Hanoi.

After a quick telephone call that I hoped remedied the ATM situation, I pulled out the local street map and examined the area around my hostel.  I mapped out a route to the nearby lake and set out once again.  Although only thirty minutes had elapsed since I first walked the streets, I felt much more comfortable.  I turned left out of my hostel again, proceeded to the end of the block and took another left.  I passed an ATM and successfully withdrew money.  If nothing else, at least now I had currency to purchase a meal.  I continued walking and made it to the lake.  The successes were mounting and I gained confidence as time progressed.

A short time later I passed a street food vendor that advertised chicken sandwiches. I am aware that Vietnam is home to wonderful street food and a chicken sandwich is probably not considered a local delicacy but it’s all about baby steps.  I ordered one chicken sandwich with chili sauce, grabbed a curbside seat and took in the scene before me.   Motorbikes swerved in all directions while alerting oncoming bikes and pedestrians with the honk of their horn. Locals approached trying to sell food out of baskets, books and an assortment of other goods.  My chicken sandwich arrived and it was just what I needed after going nearly eight hours without nourishment.  By now the sun was setting and I wanted to walk further.

I returned to the lake and the lights from nearby establishments bounced off the water.  Families strolled in both directions.  Locals worked out on curbside weight benches while the traffic never ebbed.  I became accustomed to the cacophony of engines, horns and voices.  After another hour of walking partially around the lake and meandering through a night market, my lack of sleep over the previous two days caught up with me.  I returned to my hostel happy with how the day finished after the overwhelming start.  Hanoi is very different from any city I have visited.  But, I look forward to exploring the city further and tasting some of the food that others have raved about.

* The final group of Australian photographs are viewable within the Australia Portfolio section found on the Perpetual Footsteps homepage.