It's 10:45 pm when we land in Hanoi. The immigration line stretches like a snake beyond the counters. Vietnamese officers dressed like their Chinese counterparts abound. An argentinean couple argues about which line they should stand in. We wait. Tired from the flight, we wait. It finally comes. We stand in front of the counter and get stamped. We ask about a visa extension when we are about to leave. The officer dribbles something on my passport and we move on. Onto the carousels to get our backpacks. After some bargaining, we sneak into a shared minivan in front of the airport and wait to be driven to the city. A dutch couple murmurs on the front seat. 10 vietnamese passengers get in and we are ready to leave. A dust cloud covers the outskirts. Motorbike is the mode of transportation here. 3 sometimes 4 (with kids) people can ride easily in one of these two-wheeled horses. The vietnamese passengers get off and it's only the dutch and us. We are headed to the french quarter. All of the sudden the driver stops and tells us to get out. Disoriented at night, we ask about our hostel that is nowhere to be found. Turns out the driver wants to drop us off with some of his taxi driver buddies. We argue. The dutch couple who has stayed inside the van comes to our rescue and tells the driver that we are a few blocks away. Back in the minivan. We finally locate ourselves in the Hanoi map. St. Joseph church is over there, so we ask the driver to stop. We get out and our dutch comrades keep on. We are grateful. Travel generosity is a bit uncommon these days. After a short walk, we find our hostel. Top floor, tiny room, no windows. Welcome to Hanoi.
Acommodations: Trying to forget
Good post.
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