The other side of APEC

Drying Tree Bark

I have to say the Vietnamese security forces have proved very adept at dealing with the APEC conference, but the bits you see on the news don’t tell the full story of what life is really like now in conference obsessed Hanoi.

George arrived on Friday, and various pieces of misinformation were flying round in various media for at least a month before. One Hanoi information website listed ALL the major roads in the city as being closed from 6am until 10pm for both Friday and Saturday. This caused a small panic amongst those who bother to read these things, especially my boss who had to get to the airport on Saturday morning. As most people don’t comply with traffic regulations anyway, and therefore don’t waste time reading websites like that, absolute chaos would have reigned if it had been true. Traffic was actually less than usual on Friday but if our office was anything to go by that was because people either stayed home or went home early to avoid the anticipated traffic jams, thus there were no traffic jams. This was claimed as a success by some of the international organisations based here who had`come up with the idea of a work from home day to help the Hanoi authorities reduce traffic levels. That was noble and self sacrificing of them wasn’t it? More accurate information from the American Embassy said there was a lorry ban from 6am to 10pm and the roads would be closed whenever APEC traffic was passing.

This proved to be the case and when I cycled up past West Lake at 7am this morning heading for my second ride with the cycle group I narrowly missed being held up by the road blocks. On the last stretch to the Sofitel Plaza – home of many delegates – the police were busy moving everyone on, clearing all parked motorbikes and preparing their famous rope barricades across side roads and junctions. I say famous since these are the same ropes which act as traps for motorcyclists who jump red lights. Pull up the rope which is tied between two lampposts and the faster the offending motorcyclist is driving the harder he falls!

As I reached the Plaza where we were meeting the wail of sirens announced the departure of a convoy, led by outriders wearing white dress uniforms, white helmets similar to world war two German army helmets and riding pure white Honda Goldwing bikes with red flashing lights. A police car followed and then a train of minibuses all with APEC number plates. Minibuses means they were minor officials, the big guys get Mercedes or custom built coaches whilst George has brought his own Cadillac.

Uniforms are a big feature of Hanoi’s response to the conference. Every policeman and soldier on every street corner has donned his dress jacket and Sam Brown belt. Every guard outside the many embassies has left his open shirt and machine gun at home and is now wearing full ceremonial dress with a holstered pistol. These guys have it the hardest, they usually slouch against the wall, machine gun on hip looking menacing. For the last ten days they have been standing to attention on little square wooden platforms with patio umbrellas over the top. I asked several colleagues why they were in this position a full week before the conference started. “Its normal” came the reply, “they need to practice for at least a week.”

The presence of all these dress uniforms has made me realise I don’t know half the different divisions in the security forces. I’ve worked out that the beige uniform is a traffic cop, mainly because we see them on street corners and motorists behave when they are around. But what does a green uniform signify? or a blue one? or a white one? Suddenly I’m noticing different uniforms everywhere. Someone commented that the ones to really worry about were the ones you couldn’t see – the plainclothes guys, but I’ll settle for worrying about the ones in black combat fatigues with the big guns. Fortunately the big guns have a reflective strip otherwise I might not be here to write this. In an unlit backstreet a couple of nights ago I almost ran into two of these guys, me on the bike and them crossing the road in the dark with dark skin and black outfits. I only just saw the strips in time. Even the usual newsreaders have been replaced by stern faced women wearing white dress uniforms with lots of scrambled egg on the epaulets.

This is not the only impact of the conference. We’ve heard the staff at the Sheraton have been given a week off and the American delegation has taken over the whole hotel and brought their own hotel staff with them. Certainly the Sheraton is a good location for anyone with a security obsession. It backs onto the lake and has only one road in. Hundreds of street vendors have been swept away from their usual spots both as a security measure and to make the city look tidy. Motor bike parks have disappeared so it’s possible to walk down pavements and car drivers have been really hit as all car parking along any route to the conference and outside any official building has been completely banned. A little more sinister, we have also heard that many street children have been collected up and whisked off to the 02 “training” centre outside Hanoi where they will stay for three months before being sent back to their home village. Optimists say this is giving them a new start. Cynics say it’s another form of street cleaning.

One real impact on us is that pubs and clubs being held to their official closing times. Le Pub, a place we often start or end an evening has suffered a double blow. There are delegates stopping in the tiny hotel next door (I wonder which country is so skinflint as to use a place only one step up from a hostel?) so Le Pub has to clear all it’s patrons out by 11pm instead of the usual 1am. Then to add insult to injury the owner has to keep staff on all night to provide free drinks to the occupants of the temporary Police tent set up opposite the hotel entrance. The stall holders of the local market which normally takes place where the tent is aren’t too impressed either – they have been told to stay away for a week.

Every major hotel in the city is fully booked for the rest of this month and most of December as conference delegates and their families stop over to complete other business or take holidays and tourist areas are experiencing “APEC prices” – even our glass of sugar cane juice at the end of today’s ride cost us 60% more than normal.

Today’s ride was 64km and my absence of fitness showed. More people turned up this time - there were 12 riders - and I finished last at every stage. By the final six kilometres I had run out of steam and really needed that frothy sugar drink to get me home the last mile or so through the town. The unseasonable heat (31C today) continues and with the sun out and a headwind it was hard work. I drank 2 litres of water without pause when I got home. The route meandered along a tributary of the Red River, crossing once by bridge and once by ferry. Today’s rural occupation of note was drying tree bark. I don’t know where it comes from or what they use it for but it was very neatly cut in to pieces about a metre square and laid out at the side of the road – for miles! By the time we circled back it had all dried and passing lorries were blowing it all over the place. We also rode through an area where farmers were drying rice by the traditional (?) method – lay it out on a tarmac road, leave two clear tracks to allow two way traffic for motorbikes or one way traffic for lorries and cars, turn it every so often using a device a bit like a snow shovel and collect it again when its dry. I’ve seen this done along the edges of major roads, but it’s the first time I’ve seen the entire road taken over as a drying bed.

Tonight its quiet, but I think I’d sleep well even if the dogs, cats and rowing machines were all going full pelt. I’m now on my 4th litre of water and still slightly thirsty and I’m a pretty shade of red despite the factor 50 sunscreen. Must be time for bed.

The last month - Finger lickin good?

Four men in a boat - cyclists crossing the Red River by ferry

The last month (October, yes I’ve been here five and a half months now) has been different. I realise I’ve got into a work mentality and a lot of what was previously catching my imagination and curiosity has now become background noise.

The impact of this has been that I’ve not felt any compelling need to write any of it down, which is a shame since some of it is still fascinating (to me) and when I don’t record the little incidents they soon fade from memory.

I have settled into work and almost a routine – an eight(ish) till five(ish) day with a mix of meetings, writings and visits. Two weeks ago I had my first trip to Ho Chi Minh City. Curiously most of the locals I met call it Saigon and when I asked one up and coming young business man why that was he replied “its easier to say” no resounding political message there then.

The city is more brash than Hanoi, lifestyles appear more western. I saw fat Vietnamese people, something which is very rare in Hanoi and these were young and fat, definitely a lifestyle thing. One night as I sat in a large and noisy coffee bar having drinks with a group of young Vietnamese professionals I looked around. I was the oldest person in the place and apart from the obvious ethnicity of the people there, the behaviours could have been anywhere in the West. Vietnam is changing and contacts I’m having with young people suggest the country will be a very different place in a generation.

There’s also a lot of high rise building in Saigon, hotels and office blocks and wide boulevards which probably predate the buildings. From the backseat of a taxi it doesn’t look that much different from Hanoi, and in the time I was there most of my views were from the backseat of a taxi. One morning as we crawled along in the rush hour heading for a warehouse somewhere I was just gazing out of the window, not really present to the world, when I noticed a motorbike driving past with a box strapped on the back. Not unusual, but then I realised it was a wood frame like a rabbit hutch with chicken wire round the outside. I looked a bit closer, curious to see what was in it. The unblinking eyes of at least 20 snakes stared back, swaying in rhythm with the motorbike. All their heads raised up to cushion the bumps and presumably on their way to a restaurant somewhere.

There were many more moments like that but I forget them. I ate out in a variety of restaurants. The two which stand out were a crab restaurant where we had (small) crab salad followed by boiled (big) crab followed by fried soft shell crab – a large crab which has just shed its old shell and is caught and cooked before its new shell hardens. No messing with this critter you just eat it as it comes, shell and all. And the other memorable place was the local KFC. Yes Kentucky Fried Chicken has made it into Vietnam. The combo which comes with rice, mashed potato and onion gravy seems to be doing well… maybe they’ll introduce that in the UK? I finished up there as my minder, also from Hanoi was desperate to have a portion of KFC – a rare treat as there aren’t any in Hanoi. In Saigon they’re on every other street corner. We were met at the doors by two greeters – one for each door. Combos are the order of the day, no choice about large fries or any messing about like that. Every combo had two pieces and something plus a coke (they don’t do coffee). If you’re eating in it comes on a prison style compartmentalised plate with a real knife and fork. When you’ve finished girls come round and clear your table – Vietnamese men don’t do clearing up. In fact my minder was a bit put out by the whole concept of self service. Anyway he need not have been so desperate, by the time we got back to Hanoi two branches of the international chicken king had miraculously appeared there too. So next week I’ll be getting the treat again as the guys from work head off to try the latest western food fad to hit their town.

My hotel was actually pretty luxurious, for £24 a night I had a small suite, an office come lounge with three piece suite, desk and WiFi, and a bedroom with king-size bed and all the usual trimmings. I also had two bathrooms and four phones and so many light switches it took a while to get to bed. We inspected an alternative hotel whilst in the city spending half an hour walking from room to room with a girl with a bundle of keys so we could see what a premium deluxe looked like and then work our way down to a standard, which was a sort of windowless box filled by a bed. I’m pleased to say where we stayed was better value, its nice to get something right.

I also took the opportunity to visit Mr Thanh’s bike shop, supposedly the only place in Vietnam where you can buy a decent cycle. The taxi dropped me outside what looked like a closed up house and I found the bell and rang it. A small man with glasses answered the door and led me in past a woman who didn’t look like the happiest of people, but then not many women would like the idea of their house being filled with bikes and people wandering in and out of the bedroom to try them out. We climbed to the top of the five storey building past frames and wheels hanging off the walls and on the stairs into a large room lined with glass cabinets full of bike spares. The floor was covered in bikes and there were several in pieces. In the next room a mechanic surrounded by bits and grease was busy assembling a road racer.

Mr Thanh proudly showed me a road bike. I politely asked how much such a machine would cost, just over $1000 he replied (carbon fibre frame). I explained my budget. He shook his head and we worked our way down through the house trying different bikes until I was sitting on a very nice Italian hybrid, stylish, lightweight and with good running gear - $500. Still outside my price range especially when you added on the cost of transport to Hanoi. Sadly we parted company without a deal having been struck and I headed off to my next warehouse.

Apart from the bike buying episode the trip was a success but next time I’ll allow more time for the sights, such as the museum of war remnants which includes tanks, planes and other equipment from the conflicts with the French, Chinese and Americans. It used to be called the museum of American and Chinese War Crimes, but attitudes have mellowed these days. The population of Vietnam is so young that over half of them were not born even in the last conflict with China in the late 70’s.

Back in Hanoi I decided I could not put the bike purchase off any longer, the VSO bike I borrowed was reaching the point of needing major renovation, the remaining brake was taking longer and longer to stop me and the random gear changes were getting more frequent. I decided I had to brave the world of counterfeit brands and low quality originals. Someone from work agreed to go with me and we walked to the row of bike shops just round the corner from the office.

Now despite the fact that every one of these units had its own minder and more than one had the same bikes outside, it turned out to be one big concern. The whole lot was owned by one family. To my surprise I found a large selection of high quality mountain and road bikes. The only trouble was they were the same sort of price as those in Saigon. When I asked about hybrids they produced exactly the same brand of Italian bike I had sat on at the other end of the country!

We had a chat about budget. The guy looked stern and rubbed his chin.

Then, to remind me that you can’t get quality for nothing he produced a few awful machines, stiff brakes, gears that would not change and handlebars that felt like they were going to bend if you leaned on them. I said no yet again. By now he had the expression of a salesman who has found the customer from hell. But he persieved, or rather I spotted an almost mountain bike at the back of one of the shops. He smiled and pulled it out. It was a good price, he said, because he had bought it at the end of a trade fayre. It had front suspension, Shimano gears (18) and brakes and an aluminium frame. It was big enough for me and had a long saddle stem. Perfect. I reserved it and with the assistance of the office cleaner purchased it the next morning. 2,700,000VND or just under £90 to you AND I’ve got a 12 month written guarantee. It’s made in Taiwan, but there again so are all the Raleigh bikes you buy these days. Now I have brakes that stop me and working gears which means I can keep up with most of the motorbikes in the city.

Fate intervened that same afternoon, an email from the cycling group I’d contacted the previous month announced a ride at the weekend. Meet 6.30am Saturday morning Sofitel Plaza for a trip up the Dyke Road. Hmmm no excuses now, but I haven’t done a ride of any distance for over six months and these guys reputedly do 80-90km on a weekend trip. I took a deep breath and signed up.

Up at 5.30am on Saturday morning I had to cycle the three kilometres to the meeting point before the ride started. There were three guys at the start, all big and all German and all with the full gear, camelback waterpouches, racing helmets, lycra and, as they were all expatriates, bikes they had brought with them from Germany. They looked at my new bike with a mixture of interest and disbelief (how much?). We headed off up the dyke road weaving in and out of the traffic at a pace I could just about keep up with and collected a big Dutch guy a few miles further on. Then we ploughed on into the countryside. The dyke road soon became just that, a strip of tarmac on top a flood defence dyke. It passed through rural communities each one seeming to major in one task. One village had ponds and thousands of ducks everywhere, one was like a giant timber yard stretching for several miles and one had rice drying along the road side. I understand there’s even a noodle village where you will find house after house with sting noodles hanging, drying from the rooftops, a bit like the BBC’s spaghetti tree April fool of many years back, but not a joke here.

To make the ride into a loop it was decided to cross the Red River and some ten minutes was spent finding a ferry. Eventually we bounced down a muddy single track to the water’s edge where a sampan waited to take our dong. We ate bananas as the boat chugged across the still river and deposited us in fields on the other side. It was not yet 9am. We cycled along a wide dirt track weaving through a maze of buildings which looked like thatched barns but which were actually brick kilns. On every side bricks were stacked up, either finished and waiting for transport to Hanoi or in one of the stages of production. Everywhere women with baskets and bandanas were carrying bricks, to the kilns or from the kilns. We were subject to the Vietnamese equivalent of the building site wolf whistle more than a few times.

Eventually we found tarmac again and once again on a dyke we headed through the haze back towards the city. I’d never realised just how hazy this country is until I stood on the 17th floor of an office block in Saigon and realised I couldn’t see more than half a mile, and here at 10am on a sunny Saturday morning the view fade into a grey backdrop at about the same distance. We reached one of the big bridges crossing the river, got lost in a small village and finished up crossing some fields to reach its base and then cycle over the small “foot”bridge underneath back to the Hanoi side of the river - along with the usual collection of motorbikes, cyclos and any other vehicle which could fit through the entrance. The most exclusive housing development in Hanoi is just across the river and we were taking a short cut through it. I almost missed the turn as I was distracted by a small snake which was wriggling faster than a snake should be capable of in order to get across the road in one piece. I swerved to avoid it and then realised everyone else had gone - manhandling their bikes over the central reservation to do a quick trip the wrong way on the other side of the dual carriageway and into the complex. The entrance is like a cross between the Arc de Triumph in Paris and the arch at Hyde Park Corner and has an enormous bronze on top of a chariot pulled by a team of horses. We cycled underneath smiled at the security guard as if we lived there and pedalled into the estate along long wide boulevards void of traffic and through large areas where big houses are being built on a grid pattern at least three metres apart. This is a real departure for Vietnam!

Two more security check points later and we’re on the original route going back towards the city. We pulled into a side road and stopped at a small shop for a couple of glasses of the sugar cane drink with ice and lemon then we weaved through allotments, past the funfair and the waterpark to arrive on one of the backroads in West Lake. One by one my new friends peeled off and headed to their houses in the plush area of town until I was the only one left heading back into the city centre to do my extra kilometres to get home. Before I left the last guy he looked at his computer and told me we had ridden over 45km, my legs knew it. Pity they had all had other engagements he said, otherwise they had intended to do another 30km the other way down the river. Maybe next time. It was still morning – just – when I got home.

That was days ago and now I’ve finished writing I’m going to bed. My neighbours who provide so much of my entertainment have just added a rowing machine to the five young cats they acquired last month. The machine has displaced the cats who have been singing outside my bedroom window for the last couple of weeks. Tonight one of the men of the house is vigorously whooshing back and forth whilst one of the women sits nearby singing in time with the rowing. Its 11pm, I wonder if she does lullabies?