Hello Hanoi

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Up early to take our taxi to the airport. For the first time, breakfast was late to be served. A touch of class for our departure was the girl at Aquarius Inn with whom we had mostly dealt with, came to the gate to wave good-bye. We had given ourselves an hour to get there, just in case. We had a driver that spoke some English so he offered a running commentary on the countryside we passed and local customs. I must say that this is the cleanest part of the country we have seen. There is very little plastic litter along the sides of the roads. Even in the towns and villages, the rearing piles of rotting compost or plastic. I think I saw only one bottle floating in a canal or on the lake itself.

The driveer’s efforts to be helpful and restraint from using the horn warranted him a bottle of maple syrup that we brought along to reward good service. The Burmese people are not strong on sweets and we have seen very few overweight people, except for foreigners. Even after explanations, he seemed a bit confused about what to do with it.

The HeHo airport is similar in scope to the one in Charlottetown, PEI, except there is a little lunch counter where one can get a cup of tea. You must walk outside to get to the plane. We had booked with AirBagan but were put on an Asianwings Airways, a codeshare partner. I had researched before leaving the various regional airlines but don’t remember anything specific about this one. Now I can give it a glowing report. The reception was quick and efficient.

I was not charged to have my knapsack taped so that there were not any dangling straps to get caught up in any machinery. Upon boarding, we were given a scented wipe to clean and refresh our hands and face. There was no assigned seating but a smiling attendant showed us to adjoining seats. Shortly after take-off, we were served cold drinks, followed by a snack of chicken mush in a pastry and another pastry with jam. Coffee and tea were also served. All this in 45 minutes! It was a double propped craft but the most quiet I have ever experienced. The seat pocket brochure says the company’s aircraft are only 3 years old.
We arrived at the domestic terminal in Yangon, which shows a little wear and tear but has beautiful carved wooden columns, railings and staircases. We had to go outside and walk a short way to get to the international terminal. The oppressive heat of Yangon hit like a wall and I broke into a sweat within seconds. This terminal is newer but totally lacking in character. The staff are excellent though, at directing us through the maze with big smiles and gestures.

Though the terminal advertises free internet access, I have yet to find a spot with a strong enough signal. We have a 6 hour wait for our flight to Hanoi so I will wander around in the hopes of being able to find a connection. Hopefully I can find a place to plug in to recharge the battery. We have not the energy nor the inclination to venture forth into Yangon again. The only attractions close by are yet another Buddha statue, this one an immense block of marble and a park with 4 white elephants.
These albino pachyderms are supposed to bring good luck. These poor creatures are supposedly on a short chain so it is not good luck for them. I refuse to pay money for the mistreatment of these magnificent creatures. From pictures I’ve seen, they look more pink than white. I have seen enough of the pink variety in my life that I don’t care to see more.
This next paragraph is not for the faint of heart. It describes my experience in the airport toilet. A bit of a cultural shock!

Upon entering, one sees that it is sparkling clean with many employees scurrying about to ensure that all is well and shiny. The first empty stall I come to is a squatter. Out of desperation, I enter. I know damned well this is not going to be a pleasant experience. My knees don’t bend enough not to make a mess of the hole or my clothing. I give it a try anyways. Scientific research has shown that it is better to do the dirty deed from a squatting position as the colon is straight and not pinched as with the western toilet bowl. After about 30 seconds, my knees can’t take it anymore. I take the bidet hose to clean myself, trying to aim so that I don’t get my clothing wet. Without success. Sigh. There is nothing to hold on to to pull myself upright. I brace my hands on the walls of the cubicle. My pants fall to the ground. At least the floor is clean as it is mopped after each use. Still, unrelieved, I exit. I see another empty stall. Surely, in an international airport, they would have proper toilet bowls. Bingo. I lower my pants with a sigh of relief that I can relieve myself in comfort. I am almost finished when the stall next door flushes. Mine does too, getting my dangle parts wet. I give my whole underside a good hosing. I had learned earlier in the week not to push the lever on the nozzle all the way. This could result in a water jet so strong that water would come out my ears! I had barely opened the door when the mop was swished around the cubicle to prepare for the next contributor. A smiling gentleman gestured toward the wash basin. When he saw me try a few methods to turn on the water, he stepped in and turned it on for me. I now had his undivided attention. He must have noticed the wet patch on the back of my pants and taken me for a complete imbecile. When I had finished washing, he pulled out a couple of pieces of toilet paper for me to dry my hands. I dared not to ask for more. He then pointed to the waste basket and the door.

I figured that a walk outside in the 30+ degree would quickly dry my damp pants. I attracted many stares as I made my way to the door. Gad, was there wet stains on the front and down the legs? No, it was just my beard. It stood out more than before since my $5 haircut the day before. The barber had wanted to trim my beard also but I refused, due to his lack of experience and given the scarcity of facial hair on Asian men.

Still 4 hours to go. We wandered some more and stopped at a food counter for a tea. The floor was covered in Astros turf, as were the walls. More wandering until we found a restaurant. Might as well eat. We were able to linger for an hour. We decided to go through customs. Still too early to check our baggage. More waiting.

Finally checked our baggage and moved upstairs where there were new shops to browse. Same stuff, higher prices. More waiting until it was time for a beer and then through the final checkpoint. Again our carry-on bags were scanned and we also went through a pat-down. I had to take off my belt and I was so afraid my pants would fall down in front of the girl waving her wand. It would have served her right. There was nothing dangerous we could have acquired since the last check. More waiting. Claudette is getting impatient. She has tried to board twice and has been sent away.

I am content to sit here. I have finally found a place to recharge the battery. At last, we board and take off for Hanoi, about a 90 minute flight. The seats are a far cry from the padded leather ones we started with the morning on Asianwings. Still, there was lots of legroom, unlike Air Canada Rouge seats we crossed Canada with.

We arrived in Hanoi and made our way to immigration. It was quite a distance. Thankfully, there were lots of moving walkways. I wondered why people were rushing. They would only have to wait for their luggage. We joined the foreigner line-up. It seemed to be moving smoothly. We discovered a few minutes later that we had to go elsewhere. We only had an invitation letter to enter, not the visa itself. That process took much longer and by the time we had paid our $25 fee, the other line-up had disappeared, thus we were able to sail through. Our baggage looked very lonely on the carrousel.

We looked around for our driver. Not finding him, I went to change some money while Claudette went to get somebody to call the hotel. At 16000 dong to the dollar, I expected to walk away from the ATM with bulging pockets. Surprize, I left with only a couple of banknote. I wonder how long they will last. We had been waiting at the wrong gate but it only took a couple of minutes for the driver to appear. Off we went along a six lane highway. At least there were painted lane dividers and little traffic. We must be out in the country because there was complete darkness on each side of the road. Or people go to bed early.

We crossed a long bridge and then there were more lights and signs of life. I saw a strange machine. A garbage truck! The road began to narrow. Our taxi finally stopped on a narrow street and our bags dumped on the sidewalk. The driver pointed up a laneway, too narrow to accommodate a car.

We walked up the lane about a hundred feet. There were hotel signs at the entrance to most of the tall narrow buildings. The Beaute de Hanoi’s glass doors open into a simple small lobby. We were greeted by a couple of smiling employees. We were given a cold grapefruit juice while we were signing in. We entered a small lift and taken to the fifth floor. Only two rooms per floor. The beautiful carved teak door with shiny brass handle opened into our large room. The high ceilings has nice cornice work. The bed is the largest I have ever seen, almost the size of the room we had in Hong Kong.

Now let me see. We have single, double, queen and king size. This must be called the party size, or bicker size, for a couple that are arguing and don’t want to sleep together. There is a safe, closet space, a large TV and a triangular tub with a bench to sit on. The hotel info sheet mentions several tips for tourists about city life and I see that they even lend laptops to guests. Great. Now I can post my backlog of blogs. I haven’t yet figured out how to copy paste from Word to my web page using the touch screen which is partly the reason I haven’t added any blogs.

Time to try out this party bed.

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Photos

Rice Paddies
On the ride in to Hanoi from the airport.

Proud Papa
This guy was so proud that I requested to take his picture with his baby.

Airport Woodwork
The domestic air terminal in Yangon. Beautiful woodwork.