The shame of being French: Hanoi

December 6, 2016

THERE are times you blush for your country. The French protectorate of south-east Asia couldn't have come at a better time. It was another era, naturally, but Paris brought stability to an area falling into chaos.

But what a mess it made.

I hesitate to call it an "attraction", but that's what it is: the old French jail. There's a flow of tourists, attracted by its long horrors under the French and then its brief role as a camp for prisoners during the American war.

France didn't handle criticism well. It strutted and preened and locked up protesters in dreadful conditions. I'm French by choice and have been for years. But my first language is English. I was glad of that as we wandered the reconstructed hall of horrors.

Prisoners were held for days, weeks, years, clamped by their feet, left to urinate and defecate where they were

As for Hanoi, it's chaotic. We stayed in the old quarter, where most tourists stay. You can tell the newcomers. They stand beside the road and wait to cross. A couple of hours later, they're conditioned. The trick is to step out regardless of traffic and, staring scooter-riders in the eye, walk slowly across the road neither hesitating nor running. Nobody stops or gives you any leeway, but nobody crashes into you.

You have to walk in the road, anyway. There is, to European eyes, an incivility in Vietnamese people that contrasts with their warm, friendly nature. Nobody will think it odd to park a scooter precisely where you were going to put your foot. Nobody will even look: if there is a gap, it will be taken. The pavements, sidewalks, are long lines of parked scooters that fill their width. Nobody has worked out that it forces pedestrians into the road and makes congestion worse. But then this is a country where the driving style is to spot someone on the horizon and stick your hand on the horn until you reach him.

We got used to it but we never liked it.

Well, we were here to let Steph recover. We toured the sites and sights, cruised Halang bay and chatted with travellers in our hostel. And here's a hint: the hostel had no space for bikes but Hanoi and other cities have indoor motorbike parks, emptied shops, to keep them safe for a small amount.

Hanoi is noise, modernity and tradition mixed

We walked to see Ho Chi Minh's tomb, a place of national reverence. The queue to get into the mausoleum for a few seconds' glimpse of the country's modern founder can take hours. He wasn't there when we went. Once a year they parcel him up and send him to Russia for further embalming. The guards were still out, though, in their brilliantly white uniforms.

The ceremonial guard changes outside Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum

Ho led the communist army which drove the south and thousands of American soldiers to a standstill. Vietnam doesn't make a lot of the war but the army museum nevertheless heaped the remains of American jets into a bizarre piece of art.

How many lives ended on both sides? The remains of American jets

Well, over the days, Steph's wrist has improved. It's not right and she's been using an improvised sling to relieve the strain. It looks as though we may be able to start riding again soon. Not through Hanoi, though, because the repeated braking and turning would be too much. Instead, when she's ready, we'll take the short train trip out to Ninh Binh and start riding from there.

Whoopee!

Vietnam is an egalitarian country but there are inevitably some less fortunate than others

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	2
Comment on this entry	Comment	0