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I see dead people...
Entry 48 of 64 | show all | print this entry |
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And back in grumpy old Hanoi again. Oh joy. We seem to have a habit of not liking IndoChina capitals - Vientianne, Phnom Pehn, and now Hanoi. The people here seem slightly grumpier that the average Vietnamese. Certainly, our hotel owners still do everything but pay attention to us. In Hanoi, people seem pissed that you aren't giving them enough of the enormous amounts of cash all foreigners have. The rest of the country is extremely welcoming of foreigners, but here you feel like they just want you to dump your cash and bugger off back to the evil-empire. Of course there are exceptions to every rule, but if you want the exact situation, you should probably pop over here yourself.
So we had just returned from Halong Bay. We got back to Hanoi in the afternoon (with an appropriate final touch, we were dropped off on the side of the street with no idea where we were), and checked back into our apathetic hotel. The rest of the afternoon was a bit of a shopping trip that was really turning into quite a complicated exercise. Even worse than buying suits. Without much luck, we turned in. The next day was our final day in Hanoi - we intended to catch the 10pm night train to Loc Cai. China is only a day away! But we still hadn't seen Uncle Ho in the flesh, so tomorrow morning had to be it. More getting up early.
This time we made it. Just. Had to get a moto over to the Mausoleum (as we tear through Hanoi streets I can faintly hear M behind me, whispering her catch-phrase in Vietnam - "there's nothing to fear but fear itself"), but that had the upside of then knowing which of the multitude of gates we were meant to enter by. Dump all your gear at various desks, skip the Vietnamese-language briefing, and then line up for the big moment. No cameras allowed in there, and no photos anywhere of him in state, so slightly suspicious we'll all end up in a darkened room and announce that they accidently lost him 10 years ago, and would we mind not telling?
Locals and foreigners line up outside the squarish, concrete mausoleum. Locals more excited than the bemused foreigners. Kept in check by very tidy, motionless guards, in starched, white, heavy uniforms. They are sweating. I watch a young soldier at the entrance try desperately not to flinch as a bead of sweat runs, agonizingly slowly, down the ridge of his nose. He still hasn't flinched by the time I get in the door. Inside is cold and industrial looking. We go around a corner. Up a staircase. Around another corner. Down a corridor. Through a door. And there he is. The frail old guy himself. Tiny, was my first thought.
They do it better here than the Chinese do with Mao (although the laying of flowers is a nice touch there). You get closer for starters, and his glass coffin is surrounded by 4, perfectly motionless guards. Boy, what a boring job. Two of them are facing a brick wall, only a foot away. But it looks very solemn. Unfortunately, all the pomp and ceremony can't stop the fact that ol' Uncle Ho looks like a wax dummy.
So, that's 2. Just Lenin in Russia to see, and then we've collected the whole set. Maybe we get a set of steak-knives or something.
We managed it just in time, as by the time we left they were rolling up the carpet and shutting it up. A group of dutch tourists who turned up at 10:31am were busy arguing with the guards that they wanted to go in. Next stop for us is the Museum of Fine Art.
At first this is a bit of a disappointment. A display of pottery/ceramics. I have spent 7 months in China. I have seen more vases than you can possibly ever imagine. But, happily, the rest is mainly post-revolution war art. Obviously, very pro-communist, which is where the delight comes in. I've noticed that, even though both Chinese and Vietnamese men are quite slight of build (in general), in their "renditions" of their boys fighting the evil bourgeoise imperialists, they often have physiques that would make Arnold Shwarzeneger jealous. Also, no horrors of war here (except those perpetrated by the generic "enemy"). Its an amusing time. (M: some very beautiful art here too by the way, in amongst the propaganda) After that we wander, rather surprisingly, into an exhibition of Buddha statues. Including some very good emaciated ones. These I also have a particular interest in now. The guy supposedly survived on 1 grain of rice per day for months. Just what does that do to a body?
Then a short stop for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall. Not great I must admit, but passable considering most of it was in sign-language. We're looking forward to the day when we can use our Chinese menu again. Temple of Literature next, which, in a rare occurence, was actually cheaper than the LP predicted. Not much to see there, mainly a historical thing - it was the site of confucian study in Vietnam from about the 10th century. The usual buildings, temples and lakes. One bit of interest, however, was the 84 steles, on turtles of course, recording the names and details of all those who passed their exams there.
Finally, we popped into the infamous Hanoi Hilton, where American POWs were kept during the war. Its mostly been razed to make way for an actual hotel now, but there is still a small corner that they have preserved. Unsurprisingly, the set-up inside mostly relates to how the place was used for interrogation of communists when the place was run by the French. Not a nice place to go, but the fact that they had active (if underground) schooling there, and 2 major escapes, would suggest it was a lot nicer than what communists later suffered under Diem down south. Quite a few of the eventual ruling government of communist Vietnam served time there.
They also had a quick bit about the POW's, emphasing how well they were treated. No idea how true that is or what.
And so that was a pretty busy day. Stumble onto Lenin Square - quite a few tourists in Hanoi do a bit of a double-take when they realise they just went past a 4m high statue of Lenin. This was when I went off-track a bit, here and there, looking for a nice photo of the uplifting, pro-Vietnam propaganda billboards we had seen through our trip, but of course, they're all hiding when you have a camera handy. We actually found an art shop run by an enterprising you man who had framed original and reproductions of some of the best propaganda posters since the 50's. I love the irony of free-market capitalism based on selling old socialist posters to bourgeois imperialists.
Then we had a rather nice ice-cream, overlooking the main lake in town - legend has it that a massive, 2m wide turtle lives there, and a long time ago it stole a sword off a king. We didn't see it.
Then more of my shopping exercise. It started off leisurely, and then became more frantic as time started flying past. 10pm trains. Dinner still to have. Half a set. Shit, some stuff doesn't match. Bad tempers all around. More running around other shops. Eventually, managed to piece it together from 5 different shops. Great. I love being all sweaty before an overnight journey. At least it isn't a bus.
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