They don't celebrate Christmas here...

I think I’ve just reduced my life expectancy by a few years. What did I do? I went out on Christmas Eve in Hanoi. And on top of that I didn’t have to go out because I’d had an invitation to dinner, but as it was in Vietnamese I didn’t understand it so I didn’t go and now I have to think of how I’m going to apologise to a Vietnamese who doesn’t speak English without making things even worse.

My first inkling of reduced life expectancy came when I cycled out of the village and turned onto one of the main streets in the one way system. The temperature rose noticeably, as did the fumes. There were more motorbikes at 5pm on a Sunday than during a weekday rush hour. I weaved through the traffic and made my way to the old quarter to the pub where we were meeting and then blissfully forgot about the traffic as we sank a few drinks, debated life the universe and everything and tried to get a consensus about where to eat. When we took to the streets again we walked through a closing market, so things seemed normal and at the restaurant we ate upstairs - again away from traffic. It was at this point that the phone call came advising me that I should have been somewhere else. Too late to recover that situation!

After the meal I was the last one to leave and as I stepped out into the street I couldn’t move. It was one of the narrow streets in the old quarter and it was gridlocked. The number of people walking on the road equalled the number on motorbikes trying to drive on it and the situation was compounded by a large dustbin lorry sitting in the middle collecting the day’s refuse. For a moment I lost my way and as I wandered through the streets on the way back to the pub I was surrounded by Vietnamese wearing Santa Claus hats and carrying balloons, the night market was lit up like…. like a Christmas tree. I got back to the pub and enjoyed a final drink before climbing on the bike and heading home.

It was now 9.30pm and the first few metres of the journey were normal. The LED lights my employer provided after my last cycle accident flashed brightly as I headed towards the lake. The first indication that this would not be a normal journey came at the first crossroads where I had to step down and shuffle to get through the congestion. As I turned onto the lake side everything stopped.

It was like a football stadium turning out. The road is maybe 25 metres wide at this point and it was completely stationary. Sellers of balloons and other tat were walking amongst the motorbikes and the fumes were horrendous – enough to make my stomach turn. The odd car was marooned in the middle of the mass. No one was sounding their horn, everyone realised it was pointless.

My lights were now one of the attractions, presumably most of those smiling and pointing thought they were another set of Christmas decorations. The police had closed off the side roads leading away from the lake so there was no escape. I shuffled along with the rest making new friends as I went.

Eventually the log jam eased and I could get back in the saddle cycling slowly round pedestrians and vendors. Two cross roads further on another jam – each time the lights changed a few more motorbikes drove into the mass stuck in the middle of the junction. I took evasive action and went far to the left, into the clear side of the one way street which was going head to head with the one way street I was on. Round the edge of the mass and then up on the pavement, right and left and back onto my original route (mountain bikes are good at that sort of thing) the road was then fairly clear. Even in the village there were people wandering along with red felt hats with Merry Christmas on (Always in English?) and the sounds of singing a high spirits were far louder than on any Sunday night I’ve experienced here so far. A journey which normally takes 15 minutes took an hour.

So, they don’t celebrate Christmas here, however they do celebrate Western New Year and they go bananas at Tet – Vietnamese New Year. I can’t wait for next week!

Winter has arrived!

I’m finally accepting that Winter has arrived in Hanoi. Last night I sat opposite a colleague in our house trying to explain why the November - December North Easterly monsoon means it can get cold here even though we’re in the tropics. She sat there eating her spaghetti bolognaise visibly shivering in her overcoat. Next to her another female colleague thoughtfully chewed on her dinner wearing two sweaters and a woolly hat – day dreaming of houses with heating I suspect

I’m still holding out, 14 degrees or whatever it is now is still warm for someone from the UK so I’m cycling to work in the same short sleeved shirts I wore when it was 40 degrees, only now I don’t have to wringe the shirt out when I get there but my appearance does attract attention. The Xe Om driver at the end of our road pointed to my bare arms as I walked past him and screwed up his face before doing an impressive shudder and shaking his head. He was wearing an anorak, scarf and fleece lined cap.

All the guys who guard our bikes at the office have now donned smart suit jackets to go with their navy trousers and as I cycled in this morning one looked at me in admiration and said “Rat Khoe” (Zut Quair) which roughly translates as “very strong”. Everywhere you look the whole population has produced hats, scarves, jumpers, overcoats and socks. I noticed one colleague arriving at work wearing two coats the other day. The only exceptions to this seem to be the aerobics enthusiasts in the park who are still wearing shorts to jump around in the mornings and evenings.

I had noticed the temperature dips whenever a typhoon comes in and worked out this must be because the direction of rotation pulls cold air down from the north. Up to now each typhoon inspired cold spell has been followed by a return to normality – at least 28 degrees C, but not this time. This week each morning seems cooler than the last. The house is starting to have that musty smell that goes with rising damp and washed clothes now hang on the line for several days before they dry. We’ve even started ironing – not to get the creases out but to speed up the drying process. On the wildlife front the household Geckoes have disappeared and the mosquitoes are moving more slowly.

The ceramic floors in all rooms except the kitchen (what is under the kitchen floor I wonder?) are now noticeably colder on the feet and most of my colleagues have started wearing socks around the house. The butter stays hard whether in the fridge or out of it and I have put the thin quilt I bought on the bed, though I occasionally still wake up sweating.

Sweating has become an issue at work as the air-conditioning has been turned over to heating mode and I find it sweltering. My Vietnamese colleagues on the other hand are still wearing boots and scarves around the office!

One piece of headgear I am going to get is a cycle helmet. On Friday evening I had my third collision with a motorbike, the most serious yet. The (young, reckless etc) guy hit me from behind as happened on the previous occasions. This time however he was travelling fast enough to take the cycle completely from under me so I ended up on my back with the motorbike under my legs and my cycle on top of my legs. As I went backwards I cracked my head on the road and added yet another head wound to my collection. My assailant must have jumped off when he realised the collision was inevitable since he was standing without a scratch before I had even fully taken in where I was.

I do wonder how these incidents happen, there was a clear ten metres of tarmac on the side he came from. With all that space why did he have to try and occupy the little bit of road my bike needed? The first time I was hit was the first day I had my first bike (remember I’m on my third bike now). I saw this guy coming, he was behind me and to my right and I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. I was in heavy traffic with nowhere to go so I stopped dead and put my feet down as he drove straight past me into my front wheel, turning it at right angles to the handlebars. At this point he seemed to be aware of my presence for the first time and turned to look at me, grinning to reveal a mouth full of black teeth before he carried on his way.

The second time I was on the VSO mountain bike stopped at a set of traffic lights when a motorbike ran into the back of the bike, not fast enough to cause whiplash or anything like that but fast enough to make me jump forward to stay upright. “Sorree” sang the smiling youth who had probably intended to go straight through the red light until he noticed I was in his way.

So if I’m going to keep getting hit from behind a helmet might be a good idea. I know from experience that they are not great at preventing injury when I go over the handlebars, but on Friday last a helmet would have stopped me getting the latest two inch diameter hole in my head. Still the guy did not get off lightly. After I extracted myself from the tangle and picked my bike up, he quickly pulled his motorbike upright and made to jump on it. Unfortunately for him one of the soldiers who guard embassies stationed across the road had seen the whole thing and, unusually, decided to intervene. He pulled the young man back off his machine, told him to stay where he was and came over to me. I felt ok, I’d done the two legs, two arms type checks before I got off the floor but I was aware the back of my head was bleeding. I’d also checked the bike, which miraculously appeared to be undamaged – just the handlebars a few degrees out of line.

The man in uniform looked at me enquiringly, was it ok to let the offender go? I decided to ham it up a bit so I looked in pain and dramatically wiped a handful of blood from the back of my head and held it out. The guard stepped back in shock and looked outraged. The young man made for his motorbike again but was pulled back again and told to stand still. A crowd was gathering, most of them standing in a semi-circle behind me to look at my wounds and making ohh arh noises. I shook my head and looked sternly as my assailant. The guard took this as his cue and marched up to the now nervous looking young man, who was also surrounded by the crowd. The guard said something and the young guy turned to face him. The guard stood to attention, looked sternly at the now shaking motorcyclist and proceeded to give him a lecture which appeared to finish with something like “now get on your bike and never darken my doors again” which is what he did. The crowd made sympathetic noises to me and the Vietnamese equivalent of tut tutting in the direction of the departing motorbike. I smiled at them, got on my bike and headed home. Along the way a woman overtook me and shouted back to me “excuse me your head is broke”. I thanked her and continued home to let Fiona practice her new first aid skills.