17th Feb 2010

I checked out of Yingbing at about 7.00am and took 213 to Langdong Bus Station. It was about 9 deg C. Langdong was crowded that morning, but there was hardly any queue at the ticket counters. I bought the Naning-Hanoi ticket and proceeded to wait at the “business class” departure hall. Unlike the “economy class” hall, this hall was cleaner, more brightly lit and even heated.

The bus to Friendship Pass was in excellent condition. I boarded in comfort and had a smooth, uneventful ride to Friendship Pass. I came this way from Pingxiang a week ago, but this time, there was daylight. I could see that the highway was indeed very well-constructed.

A bit of a mess occurred when we disembarked at Friendship Pass. No clear instructions were given. Some of us were going to Hanoi. Some were on a daytrip to Friendship Pass from Nanning. Those of us going to Hanoi were eventually identified (some couldn’t understand Chinese). We loaded our bags onto trams which took us to the Chinese immigration.

After clearing Chinese immigration, we walked over to the Vietnamese immigration. I ran into the same commotion. This time, there were 4 guys working at the counter. All passports with arrival or departure cards were piled up at the same place. When cleared, the names of the passport holders were called out and we had to squeeze through the confused crowd behind the counter to get them.

A sigh of relief when the Vietnamese side was cleared. It was a windy 10 deg C. I’d rather the walk to the bus terminal, but a gentleman who saw my tag insisted that I waited for the tram. When the tram was full, we boarded, only to be stopped at another guard post. Check passports. Again? Well, judging from the commotion at the Vietnamese immigration, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone slipped through without getting his passport stamped.

Finally, we boarded the Vietnamese bus which was nowhere comparable to the sleek machine which took us to Friendship Pass. The “highway” on this side was winding and full of motorbikes. Lots of swerving, sudden braking and honking to chase the motorbikes out of the way.

We stopped briefly at a restaurant at Lang Son, then proceeded to Hanoi. We were supposed to alight at a bus station. Somehow, the bus took us somewhere else. A lot of questions in Mandarin from the passengers fell on deaf ears. Answers in Vietnamese were not understood. The Italian and Irish guy asked me what was going on. I shrugged my shoulders and got off. Unlike the first evening when I arrived at Hanoi, it was 14 deg C on this day.

Taxis were waiting. Tired from my long ride from Nanning, I got into one without thinking and aksed the driver to start the meter. Halfway through, I discovered that something was wrong. The meter was showing a ridiculously high fare. For less than 5km distance to the Old Quarter at Ma May, the fare shown was already higher than the 15km airport transfer.

I argued with the driver and refused to pay, but my backpack was locked in the boot. I realised I should have kept my backpack in front so I could exit the vehicle after throwing what he deserved at him. It’s one thing if I was cheated without knowing it. Here I was, knowing that he had cheated and he still refused to compromise or negotiate.

I checked into a budget hotel and poured my grievances on the receptionist. He’s a very pleasant-looking Vietnamese man 28 years old and proudly single. I asked him why his government didn’t take any action on these #$%^! drivers. He replied it’s because it’s a @##$! government.

I took a walk to Hoan Kiem Lake and took some pictures. The lake was crowded that day. Everyone seemed well prepared for the cold weather. And Tet was in full swing. The shrines and temples around the lake came alive with smoke and candle flames and the strain on the Sunbeam Bridge was almost palpable. Hawkers set up their makeshift stalls to sell snacks and colourful flour dolls. I had dinner at a very posh restaurant. I figured that since it was my last dinner in Hanoi, I might as well pamper myself with some fish stew and grilled beef. There was a little “stage” with a modest traditional Vietnamese performance. Men and women in traditional Vietnamese dresses filled the cosy, heated quarters with traditional Vietnamese sounds - including sounds from porcelain cups.

It was dark when I left the restaurant. It was cold outside and the crowds have cleared. I found the lights around the lake most enchanting and decided to take some pictures. There were some stone slabs which allowed me to rest my camera for a long exposure. But I was surprised that many of the stone seats were occupied by young, kissing Vietnamese couples. Some of them appeared to be in their teens.

Goodness gracious me. Why don’t people give Communism a chance anymore?