Change in perspective

What most people certainly see when they first visit Hanoi is a bustling, deafening and virtually chaotic city. You’re initially so overwhelmed by the anarchic traffic customs, the exotic and not-so-exotic smells and the occasional intense soliciting from street vendors, that you fail to understand most guidebooks’ description of Hanoi as the “grand old dame of the Orient,[…] perhaps the most graceful, atmospheric and exotic capital city in Asia” (Lonely Planet, 2009).

I must admit that, although I was instantly seduced by the locals’ charm and radiant smiles, I was hardly seeing through the Lonely Planet’s eyes. The first week I felt engulfed by the city and was helplessly fighting back, trying to resurface. I’m sure many factors came into play such as the bad and smelly hotel, the noise in the streets and the cold and dreary weather. On top of it that, I could not get myself to feel warm. The coldness combined with the humidity had meshed with my bones in a strange symbiosis, impeding me from attaining a comfortable body temperature. I felt like I was sailing through a cloud without a compass and no North Star in sight. I was in transition.

Improvised barbershop on my way to the cobbler

After my duty travel to Hai Phong (20-23 February) the sky magically cleared and the constellation appeared. I found my way. I slept in my new apartment and undid my suitcase for the first time in 10 days. I began to truly live like a resident. I found the local supermarket, the neighborhood kiosk and the corner market where to purchase local seasonal fruits and vegetables brought daily by peasants in cone-shaped hats and woven baskets. I went for my first run in the neighborhood park (the largest park in central Hanoi) and for my first meal in a local restaurant. The city was unravelling before my eyes.

Saturday was my first day off in the city and I planned to entirely take advantage of my free time. I had no particular destination but I did have a goal: find a cobbler. My only pair of heels had already succumbed to the uneven pavement and frequent potholes.

With my limited knowledge of the Vietnamese language, I began to walk around the streets, showing the heels of my shoes and gesturing my needs. People would smile and point into the cobbler’s general direction. After numerous stops, I finally strolled down a narrow street and noticed three guys crouched on little stools in the middle of the sidewalk, each one hunched over something. In the background, a minuscule hole-in-the-wall shop cluttered with all kinds of shoes: jackpot!

I removed my shoes from the bag and inquired on the price. A woman, probably one of the men’s wives, approached me with a friendly smile. She could master a few words in English and launched the usual set of questions: “Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?” After the necessary introduction she told me the price (20,000 VND =$1) and instructed me to return at 5pm.

One of the many beautiful pagodas

I jigsawed back through a new set of streets and for the first time really looked around. I glanced up at the buildings; down to distinguish the choice of shops in my surrounding area; and ahead to get a glimpse of the landscape. I liked what I saw. I felt happy and at ease. The honking and traffic noise magically muted, the trees seemed to have grown larger and greener and the houses uncovered their hidden charms: “What a pleasure it is to meet you, grand dame of the Orient!” 

Vietnamese hospitality

Prior to my arrival, I had heard mixed reviews on Hanoians, particularly from people that have travelled in the region (Laos, Cambodia and Thailand). Personally, in my meagre one-week presence, I experienced more incidents of kindness and hospitality than I can count on one hand. Here are a few highlights:

Unexpectedly cold winter

Unlike what most of us might imagine, northern Vietnam is not a tropical hotspot. In fact, the winters here are known to be usually chilly and humid. I must admit I was warned about this fact on multiple occasions including people going as far as telling me that it’s the coldest winter since 1973! Unfortunately, given the strict weight restrictions imposed by international airlines (20kg per person with a $60/kg fee for overweight luggage), I decided to take a risk and take mostly lighter clothing. BIG mistake. I arrived on a partially cloudy-13ºC day. The humidity problem became evident when, in a timeframe of 24h, my towel was still damp with no sign of ever getting dry. I couldn’t avoid loathing myself for my poor judgement.

Do Son, near Haiphong

In Europe a 13-14ºC day in the middle of winter might be considered mild and pleasant, but in Europe most buildings are equipped with proper insulation and all buildings have at least minimal heating. In Vietnam that’s not the case… anywhere. You might be lucky to find offices or housing with a 2-way air-conditioning system (heating and cooling in one), but it rarely works properly and, in any case, it’s useless given that the heat immediately escapes through cracks in the door, through thin window glazing or it migrates up to the 3m-high ceiling. Just to give you an idea, I’m sitting here writing this post fully equipped with long pants, socks, shirt, sweater, scarf and winter coat. This results in me sitting at my desk fully equipped for a walk in Moscow’s middle-of-winter walk-in-the-park, including frequent tea-break prophylaxes to maintain a stable body temperature.

One of the assistants noticed my miserable situation and offered to bring me a warmer coat. I didn’t think much of it initially, but when she came in the office the next day with a warm and fashionable winter coat, I thought I would shed a tear. I’ve been sporting the coat this entire week and remember her every time I slip it on.

Lost in translation

The major difficulty of the Vietnamese language is its pronunciation. Vietnamese, like Chinese, is a tonal language which means that everything lies in the way you pronounce things. There are 6 tones which translated into 6 completely different meanings for a word with the same letters, including street names…

The bicycle shop in Do Son

On my second day, I went to see a house in another part of town from my hotel. On the way there, the hotel staff told the motorbike driver exactly where to go. On the way back however, I was left on my own. I entered a taxicab and with overflowing confidence told the driver the street name. He nodded and began and took off: my chest began to fill with pride “my second day and the locals already understand me!” Little did I know that, once we arrived at our supposed destination, it turned out to be something else! In fact, I didn’t have a clue where we were! I began to panic and started gesticulating to the driver. He seemed increasingly confused but was unable to understand my explanations. He stopped, jumped out of the car and called for help. A young girl came out and invited me into her shop. She showed me a computer and encouraged me to search the hotel’s address on her computer. As soon as the hotel’s website popped-up, we both quickly thanked the young girl and hopped into the car. A couple of blocks later and I was in front of my hotel.

Don’t slice a relationship

The first thing you need when you move to a new location is housing. In my case, housing was number ONE given the miserable accommodation in my hotel. No windows and practically 100% percent humidity: you can just imagine the result of a morning shower. All I can say was that I started to feel a moldy stench emanating from my pores.

I was originally given an expatriate website and a real estate agent’s email. The question was knowing what I really wanted: a quiet location but with a longer commute? A larger place for an even longer commute (see  “Baptism” post)? A roommate-type housing situation in larger house but cheaper? Or simply a smaller place on my own, more centrally located and for a reasonable price? I looked at both the website and contacted the agent. The agent only had one place in my price range and it was less than acceptable. I also visited a couple of shared-houses, but I didn’t feel the necessary “click” you need when you’re thinking of sharing an intimate space such as a home. I felt doomed to the smelly hotel.

I had almost given up when, the next day in the office, I met a young Spanish woman and her Italian colleague, both living in Hanoi for the past year. The two of them together had all the information I could possibly need. They set me up for Vietnamese lessons with their teacher, the Italian woman offered me to stay in her home until I found an appropriate alternative, and the Spanish lady gave me the most valuable contact: her do-it-all agent. Nguyen, that is his name, is not only a real-estate agent but he’s also a scooter renter, a car renter, a bicycle-finder and a driving teacher. He can find anything and everything, just ask. On top of his all-around useful skills, he’s kind and professional.

Needless to say, when he found out about my problem, he adopted it as his own. In which country will your agent come pick you up from work at lunch time and drive you around the city to visit apartments? Probably less than a few. In a day’s time I had found the ideal apartment in the ideal location for the ideal price. Things needed to be fixed, no problem. They were fixed before my move-in day. Need changes in the housing contract? No problem, let’s talk over coffee and settle the issue. The entire process was fast, efficient and humane. On my moving day I found my apartment equipped with a new jug of water, clean sheets and all necessary kitchenware: nothing was included before.

As a sign of my appreciation, I offered him a Swiss knife. He was surprised. A smile of genuine gratitude marked his face: he liked it. But to my surprise, he pulled out his wallet and handed me a bill. I was puzzled. Money? No, no! This is a gift from me to you, I’m not selling you anything! But he insisted and explained to me that in Vietnam offering someone a knife is considered as an act of slicing a relationship. To avoid such a brutal termination, he is obliged to give at least a symbolic sum of money as a dummy purchasing action.  I had no choice but to accept. Think about is: how would I survive without my all-a-do guy in Hanoi?

Baptism

It’s incredible how easily we lose track of time and how naturally we adapt to a new routine: it’s only a week since my arrival and I feel like it’s been ages!  It’s almost too late now to start talking about my first day in Hanoi, but I feel like I must dedicate at least a post to this decisive moment.

The first thing I had to do on Monday morning was present myself at the United Nations Volunteer’s (UNV) office for a briefing on basic administrative and security issues. After the briefing, I was requested to go to the bank and open a local Vietnamese bank account.

Although the bank is physically very near to the UNV office, the infamous Vietnamese driving immediately created a crevasse between me and my destination. You look at the street and think to yourself “now, how do I cross?” At first sight it can be a source of anxiety: you look left, and then right; left then right again; left… and all you see is an almost homogeneous flow of cars, motorbikes and bicycles; you start to doubt if you’ll ever make it to the other side! Instantly something as menial as crossing a street becomes an excruciating task and you wonder if you should even do it at all. “Maybe I could go to the bank some other day?”

I then recalled a friend’s wise advice: “just cross slowly while maintaining a regular pace, you’ll see how the traffic avoids you”. But did I really want to play Moses on my first day in the country? I looked around and observed. Indeed, people were crossing with a calm gaze, as if they were out in a prairie picking wild flowers. They just crossed with a carefree stride, undisturbed by the honking and swerving of motor vehicles around them. Incredible.

Suddenly, my feet started to take the lead, and I followed. I didn’t think twice, just went ahead exclusively thinking of my final target. The muscles on my face relaxed, my heartbeat slowed to its resting pace and a slight grin marked my face. I was on the other side.

My first 24h in South-East Asia

Even before physically setting my feet in Asia, I already had this gut feeling that I would have a memorable and pleasurable experience. I flew with Singapore Airlines, on the new Airbus A380, the largest passenger airliner in the world and also the one that had an engine explosion last year (yikes!). Despite the airliner's reputation, it was the quietest and most enjoyable flight I've experienced in years! Singapore Airlines is the best (no, and I wasn't paid to say this), certainly the best I've seen in years! Friendly flight attendants that pass on warm towels to wash off before meals, reasonable leg room and good food. I felt like the year was off to a good start.

My arrival in Hanoi is more like a mediocre quality photograph: opaque and out of focus. I was overcome by a heavy case of fatigue and sleep-deprivation and my body was mostly functioning on autopilot. Walking through the airport and approaching the customs officials, the surroundings felt familiar, like that day in the autumn of 2004 when I first landed in Saint Petersburg's Pulkovo airport. Very similar feel and architecture, something certainly in common with Russia's past. I wouldn't go as far to say that I could "feel" the Socialist system, but I certainly saw a similarity to Russia's old infrastructure. Strangely enough, it felt reassuring. I guess the only difference is that the customs official actually smiled when handing me my passport, something you wouldn't see in any ex-Soviet state today.

This was also the first time that someone was waiting for me with a large sign with "Viktoria Dijakovic" written out loud. It felt awkward, but the driver was kind and put me straight as ease. The conversations were scattered as he tried to chat in broken English, but he quickly asked if I spoke Russian, given the Slavic tone to my last name. I smiled and nodded. He was ecstatic. He recounted his years in Russia, in Ukraine and in Georgia as a factory worker. I had a hard time following him as his Russian was only slightly better than his English, but I could not bare to stop him as this seemed to have made his day. All of a sudden, he pulled over and stopped on the side of the road. I gave a blank stare as his intentions were not clear, but smiled again when I realized that he was searching for a tape: Russian folk music sung by Vietnamese singers! What an entertaining welcome!

As soon as we arrived at the hotel, I rushed to the room only to find that it had no windows and was saturated with a nauseating smell of humidity. I was too tired to care. I showed and crawled into bed. It was 14:30 in the afternoon.

Midnight: my stomach woke me up with a grumbling sound. I didn't feel like going anywhere but when I discovered that the hotel had nothing to offer, I halfheartedly got dressed and went out into the street. I walked a couple hundred meters and noticed some people sitting on tiny plastic stools in the middle of the sidewalk. They were eating the Vietnamese national dish, Pho and were practically crouched over the equally tiny table. I sat down and looked at the girl that seemed to be working there. I nodded and she disappeared only to come back an instant later with a boiling bowl of pork noodle soup: a true delight! Now that my stomach was satisfied I could go back and continue my sleep.    

Why a blog?

For many years I've wanted to work in the environmental health sector with a particular focus on water management and sanitation. I applied for a UN Volunteer position in environmental health at WHO in Vietnam, sponsored by the Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation, and was pleasantly surprised to find out I was one of the candidates selected for this program.

Being a person with a somewhat adverse relationship to technology, the idea of a blog sounded tedious and far-fetched, but after talking to friends and acquaintances, I started to change my mind. I began to think that it might not be such a bad tool to keep people informed about my experiences here while exposing them through my eyes to a new country and culture. The other positive is that it will incite me to observe and listen more carefully to what I encounter along the way, becoming an "impressions" diary of some sort.

This is the first time that I embark in such an activity so any comments, suggestions and/or encouragements will be most welcome. If there is anything in particular that you would like to know about the life in Vietnam, please let me know, it could be a perfect way to motivate me to explore even further.