Fresh off the red-eye flight from Melbourne, via Bangkok, we found our hotel wedged in the narrow streets Hoan Kiem, the old town of Hanoi. After checking into the comfortable Thai Son 2 Hotel we decided to put our lives on the line and take a walk through the steamy, humid streets. Hanoi has a population of almost 4 million, most of whom own motor scooters. On any given day most of them will be at the intersection I was trying to cross, and approaching from every direction. To navigate the labyrinth of streets and laneways one must risk life and limb and walk along the already choked streets as the footpaths are used for parking the multitude of scooters not in use at any given moment. To cross from one side of the street to the other it is simply a case of "close your eyes, say a prayer and strike out confidently and steadily across the road", miraculously scooters swerve around the pedestrians, oncoming cars and other scooters as they all head in different directions criss-crossing each other’s paths. By some miracle, they all seem to avoid each other in an unfathomable sequence of organised chaos. Ironically, when I was riding my scooter on an almost empty street in Brisbane four years ago, in broad daylight, the only other vehicle on the road at the time could not avoid driving straight into me.
I eventually worked out the traffic rules which seem to be the same throughout the country;
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Most traffic drive on the right hand side of the road; others don't.
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Trucks and busses have right of way no matter which direction or side of the road they are travelling on. After them come cars, taxis etc, and then motor bikes, then motor scooters, then rickshaws and bicycle and then at the bottom of the food chain are the lowly pedestrians.
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A red traffic light is only obeyed if there is no alternative, i.e. a bigger vehicle is in the intersection already.
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Marked pedestrian crossings are only there for decoration.
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At a round-about the traffic is supposed to proceed in a counter-clockwise direction; except for those who prefer to travel in a clockwise direction weaving in and out of the oncoming traffic.
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Unlike in Australia, no one gives way to traffic already in the round-about, unless, of course, it is a larger vehicle, which always has right of way.
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The horn on the car, bus, truck, scooter, etc is sounded at every opportunity; when approaching an intersection, when overtaking another vehicle, when travelling on the wrong side of the road, when approaching wayward tourists trying to cross the road, repeatedly and as often as possible.
The sound emitted by thousands of these in every street produces an unrivalled cacophony.
Surprisingly we saw no evidence of road rage; everyone takes it in their stride. If these traffic conditions prevailed in any Mediterranean country like Spain, Israel or Italy at the end of the day there would only one man standing. The Vietnamese are extremely patient and polite. They are also very punctual, the trains and planes we travelled on departed punctually every time.
There is nothing that can't be transported by motor scooter. We have seen everything precariously balanced on the back of a scooter; barrels of fuel, hundreds of bags of large gold fish floating in water, ornate wall mirrors, dining room tables, 42" flat screen TV's and even the kitchen sink. If it doesn't fit on a scooter it doesn't move around this country.
We have been told that there are rule pertaining to population control over here, two children per couple in the cities and four in rural areas though it looks as if most people simple limit the number of off-spring they produce to the caring capacity of their motor scooter. It is not unusual to see four, five or more individuals riding on one motor scooter, a toddler wedged between dad, the driver, and the handle bar, another young child with a baby balancing on its lap sandwiched between dad and mum who just manage to squeeze onto the back. Then at the age of eighteen kids can get their own motor scooter license at that point the Darwinian principle clicks in. Population control is by survival of the fittest.
In the minority villages in the mountains of northern Vietnam population control is non-existent and they live by a different set of rules. After two days in Hanoi we met up with hubby's two elder brothers and their respective wives and travelled by sleeper train to Lao Cai in far North-West of the country and from there by minivan to the H'moung and Dao (Zao) people's region of Sapa and Bak Ha where we mingled with the ornately dressed minority groups at their weekly market place. The girls are married off into arranged marriages at the age of 14 or 15, they move out of their family home and into the home of the groom's family and then begin producing offspring by the dozen. Education is free up to the 9th grade but not compulsory hence in many minority group families the girls are not educated as they will only be married off soon anyway and are of more use as free labour in the fields or as built in babysitters at home. Once they are old enough they are sent out to the tourist beat to hawk their wares. Most are eventually successful in selling something to the haggard tourists. They beat their pray into submission be incessant badgering until they submit in order to achieve a moments reprieve. According to the women in the minority groups, most of the men do little to contribute to the family’s economy and rely on the talents of their wives, preferring to sit around drinking and smoking.
The rural areas we travelled through both in the north and south are heavily cultivated with the main crop being rice. Water buffalo are still used to plough the rice terraces and are the predominate beast of burden. Most of the rural population are subsistence farmer, living a hand-to-mouth existence and there has been little progress since the south was "liberated" in 1975.
Street food stalls are an integral part of Vietnamese life. Pho Bo, a tasty noodle soup, is the staple fare and available on every street corner and is eaten whilst perched on tinny little plastic stools just the right height for a preschooler to sit on comfortably.
This is what constitutes "fast food" over here. There is no sign of MacDonald's or Burger King, though there are KFC outlets scattered sparingly across the country and they are only tolerated, I'm sure, due to their dominant corporate colour, red, and the uncanny resemblance between good Colonel Sanders and the much beloved hero of the nation, Ho Chi Minh.
The wet season was late concluding this year and we waded through water clogged streets in the quaint city of Hoi An, a UNESCO recognised "old town" in coastal central Vietnam. Sudden down pours soaked us to the skin as we discovered our cheap umbrellas work more like sieves. The river broke its banks and a fleet of canoes ferried people stranded on either side.
In the south, the previous French colonial city of Saigon (AKA Ho Chi Minh City) still bears some of the architectural jewels and wide boulevards that allude to its old nickname, "the Pearl of the Far East". But more recent history is still, very much, evident. The War Remnants Museum is a vivid reminder of the folly of war and the devastating effect it has on the civilian population. While visiting the Reunification Palace, formerly known as the Norodom Palace I was reminded of the indelible image when, in 1975, the North Vietnamese Army tanks crashed through its gates heralding the end of the Vietnam War. Among Vietnamese Diaspora communities and particularly the U.S. this event is commonly called the "Fall of Saigon", while the communist Socialist Republic of Vietnam calls it the "Liberation of Saigon."
We have thoroughly enjoyed visiting Vietnam but whilst travelling through the country, witnessing the poverty, primitive living conditions and lack of progress, I could not help but wonder how different things might have looked had the outcome of the war been different.
