49~Good Morning, Vietnam (You Have Me At Hello)

Abandoning my compulsion to rehash my adventures in a sequential manner, I post as a blogger possibly should, in a contemporaneous fashion, short and sweet!

I arrived early evening in Hanoi, negotiating my Visa upon arrival with ease and taxi-ing to my hostel in a haze of honks, traffic and lights. A Dutchie had prepared me for this; describing to me the sensory overload I may experience. Protected by the spell of his words, well wishes and reassurance, I was fine. But having missed a full night of sleep by camping out in the airport, and travelling on two flights to reach this destination, I was entering an encroaching coma of not only fatigue but also due to the many Singaporean airline meals and airport snacking (food fuel was the only thing that seemed to help me move one foot in front of the other). The hostel was in full flow of a Mexican night, with lots of Westerners (many British accents could be hear) preparing for a pub crawl int heir sombreros, cocktail in hand. The scooters went around my slow movements as I hauled my bag in and was taken care of by a lovely girl from Harrogate. She got me hot water and I collapsed into bed, listening to the dialogue of girls in my dorm about their forthcoming trips, mainly involving drinking and partying.

So I rose this morning, pulled my running trainers on and headed to Hoan Kiem Lake at 6 am. I wanted to say good morning to Vietnam. I felt like I floated there in a sea of happiness. Bikes adorned with flowers and fruits were being prepared, traffic was beginning to ebb and flow. The lake does not disappoint. Vietnamese are here in abundance. As I run I come across all sorts of delights. Groups of locals perform t'ai chi; some women perform a dance sequence (music from a ghetto blaster); a man uses the draping branches of a tree to perform chin ups; an elderly woman uses a skipping rope for her regime; pairs and groups play badminton; men have a mini gym and perform more mainstream (well, as I know them anyway) style exercises; walkers circle the surround of the lake; a business man in a suit walks backwards and pulls his arms in a series of repetitive stretches; a group appear to be salsa-ing in pairs; a man meditates on a bench; a group of ladies appear to be following an aerobics regime and in synchronised stretches they perform the movements to the instructions from a tape recorder they have set on the floor; a topless man, with a belt high on his waist and boxing type shorts seems to execute martial arts movements and I and  three others are the only people that appear to be running. The traffic circling around the lake increases in intensity over the time I run and decide to rock out some of my own stretches that I often feel shy to perform in front of strangers. Here, no. Anything seems to go. I am thinking of the 'Friends' episode when Rachel and Phoebe enjoy the liberation of erratic running styles around the NYC park.

I know not how to cross these roads. The throngs of traffic, that appears to follow no rules that I understand, is safe in that there does not seem to be a desire to run you over. I make it back to the hostel, grinning.


Good Morning, Vietnam. You had me at hello. (And the offer of noodle soup for breakfast.)