Tim’s Nomad Diaries

The capital of Vietnam for the better part of the last millennium, Hanoi is a special place, dotted throughout with tranquil parks and lakes, Classical European meets Traditional Eastern architecture, windy alley-ways of the French Old Quarters with outdoor kitchens offering deliciousness every few feet, and those magical Bia Hois–Beer Gardens–where one can find themselves in a hazy stupor of enlightenment inspired by the nectar from the gods for spare pocket change.

I spent ten days in Hanoi all together, a lot more than originally anticipated due to a series of mishaps, even though the Bia Hoi did have a magnetic draw on me.

First few days where spent on my rented bicycle, the best way to see a city as a visitor in my opinion, cruising around the serpentine streets of the Old Quarters, hopping from lake to park to lake, and just trying to soak up this manic pace of this wild street life where the moto moto bike is king of jungle and the bicycle or pedestrian is prey if not constantly on guard. Riding on that little helpless junky bike of mine, I kind of felt like Frogger from that old Nintendo video game of the same name, where Frogger must make it to the end of the highway without getting hit by oncoming traffic. Luckily, in about five days of riding around, I only went ’splat’ once, running into a moto bike, but luckily no serious harm was done. What fun though, breeze running through hair, being part of this chaos that somehow seems to work, and just SEEING–does Life get any better than this?

All was great, as most of my trip up to this point, but some problems started to develop. After one night of drinking at the Bia Hoi, I went home with a friend on her motorcycle, thinking it safe to leave my locked bicycle unattended till morning. When I arrived at the Bia Hoi the next day, my bike was missing. I spent hours trying to communicate with an incompetent staff of police officers at the station to retrieve it to no avail. The hotel owner, who rented the bicycle for me and has my passport, said I had to find another bike or pay his fee for a replacement. Well, after all day of searching, I find a suitable replacement bike, but much to my chagrin the hotel owner underscores that this is not the same bike as the one he lent me. Basically, he wants an identical bike, and if I am not able to find the exact same bike I must pay him $50, probably five times its value. If I didn’t pay this amount, he said the police will have to sort things out…

I was initially intending on leaving Hanoi that day, but the $50 that I paid, plus my accommodation fees, wiped me clean. A week beforehand, I arranged from money in one account to be transfered to my checking account, but this was still to take a few days. What to do? Stuck in Hanoi with only a few dollars to my name.

I called the girl who I stayed with from the night before and asked if I could stay with her for a few days till my money matters were settled and she obliged. Everything was all roses for a few days, until her Halloween party in which I dressed up as John McEenroe, fully equipped with my signature headband, shorts that I bought here in Asia that, even though read ‘XL’, are obscenely small on me, and a tennis racket that a friend lent me. Everybody knows that any good Halloween outfit is as much about the ‘act’ as the physical appearance, so keeping in the festive mood I was a perfect John McEnroe–obnoxious, lewd, and excessively drunk. As such, Katerina and I got in an argument and I found myself without her bed that night to sleep in. (If your reading this John, I do apologize for the lurid stereotypes. I bet your a wonderful person in reality…).

Next day, after waking up confused as to my whereabout and trying to piece the events of last night together to find how I arrived where ever I was, I got my belongings from Katerina’s, bought my train ticket to central Vietnam to leave in a few hours, withdrew some funds from my now functioning account, and then took off to the Bia Hoi to meet Dutch Steve for a quick Bia and repay him for the money he lent me from the previous night. After hopping back on the moto with my two bags, I got 10 minutes up the road until I realized I left my Debit card in the ATM–the only card that I remembered the PIN#, and moreover credit cards are sparsely accepted in SE Asia. I could blame my complete stupidity on my eagerness of knowing that my account was now functioning, the big rush that I was in to meet Steve and make my train, or my first day of the planned week long fast that I decided to go through (more on that below); but these are all just weak cop-outs, and point is that I’m pretty fucked if I don’t find that card.

Frantically rushing back to the ATM, my card was nowhere to be found. I stare at the screen for a few moments, bang my head on it a couple of times in anger and confusement of what to do, then spot some telephone number for lost cards, hurriedly jot it down, and run to the nearby post office and describe her the situation and ask her to call for me. She says I can pick up the card tomorrow if they have it, as it was a Sunday at the time, gives me the address of the lost card center, call my mother to tell her to freeze the card, and I head off to meet Steve.

I crash on the floor of Steve’s hotel room that night, head off early in the morning to the address scribbled on the piece of paper that the post office attendee handed me, and to my exuberant shock find my one and only functioning debit card! What an incredibly cheap lesson; total cost: one unused hard seat train ticket to central Vietnam, $11, minus the cost of one hotel room from staying no-charge with Steve, $5. Not too bad for a much needed reality kick in the arse, heh?

This entry has already become too long, so I will leave the fasting bit for another entry, which I should put up in a few days. I apologize to all my readers from the confusement stemming from this entry’s misleading title…