Travel Diaries #0 - Hanoi
This is a bunch of unedited bullet point notes I scribbled in a café near my last home in Hanoi, a couple of months before I left. I thought they might illustrate the place better than I could.
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The view from my front gate down a narrow alleyway near Doi Can Street.
I started writing while living in Hanoi, most often when whiling away hours in one of its endless offering of cafes. Places new and old to drink coffee, read books, scrolling on one’s phone or just sit and take the world in. Eventually I was compelled to start writing down what I saw.
There is no story here, other than what it is.
This is where it all starts.
Nghiền Cafe, Vĩnh Phúc, Ba Đình, Hanoi, Vietnam 25th October 2018, 4:09pm
Man ~ 50 limping aimlessly, one direction then the other in a blue Premier League jersey
3 guys in the lottery ‘office’ across the road, crates of beer stacked halfway to the roof
Guy painting some large gates ready for a house that got some new renovations; freshly varnished quadruple hinged doors, front wall of the house a beautiful Mediterranean blue; quaint shuttered windows newly sanded.
Thuốc lào pipes in old cement buckets waiting invitingly by small wood and wicker tables. Lads hunched over iPads and cigarette packets
The old Vietnamese practice of sitting in contemplation, staring into the distance and perhaps the future or past, replaced by sitting, shoulders over ears, staring into the abyss of the iPhone; social media or the fantasy world of a game (League of Legends is a popular one).
Lady in black pyjamas and nón lá hat with two small children grasping her loosely from the back seat of a Honda Dream.
A topless middle-aged man in cargo shorts and flip-flops, military issue haircut and face, sells me a pack of Saigon Bạc. The second time I go in (the next day), I don’t even have to ask for them, he produces them on sight of me. They are incredibly good at that here.
An elderly lady in loose floral shirt and black pyjama bottoms tending to flowers outside the gold wrought iron gates of her mansion.
A man goes by on a bicycle, pedalling against the weight of the load of traditional woven baskets hanging off all sides of his bike. He passes making the subtle glances to the approaching environment of someone who’s always scouting out a potential customer, or something useful to pick up to sell on in the future. Things whose value is perhaps not obvious to most of us, discarded tools or ornaments to be turned into furniture; constantly re-evaluating the uses of everyday objects.
There’s a steady but soothing stream of scooters, bicycles and cars. Wide empty footpaths. This has become one of my favourite parts of the city. It’s dense and central, but somehow you take just a couple of turns off Doi Can and the tight alleys open into spacious and more peaceful neighbourhoods.
I got a pang of nostalgia last night sliding lethargically into my flip-flops outside my front door – I won’t get to do that again so often; I already miss that one little feature of daily Vietnamese life.
Man strolling with purposeful gentleness with his infant baby – yellow crocs and a “Warning, I’m teething” jumper
Armies of (almost always) ladies patrol the streets, heaving huge metal carts down streets and alleys, traffic always giving way. Picking up rubbish discarded or thrown on the side of the road. There’s no public or private recycling scheme in operation, but in between it’s quite normal for people to go scavenging for rubbish. Sometimes it’s to collect useful nick-nacks and to recycle and upcycle; others it’s to look for food.
Lads sitting in silence and staring at the street at a Bia hơi down the street; one guy showing his mate something on his iPad.
Welcome to gavisgone.com’s completely free newsletter. SubscribeNow for regular peace of mind in email form. Essays, stories, blog posts and diary entries as I explore the west of Ireland, learn to surf, write philosophically about health and wellbeing, and reflect on what I’ve learned from a decade of travel. Completely free, zero spam.