Hue to Hanoi

I checked out after handing over what felt like wads of cash to the smiling receptionist who gently asked if I was still sad about losing my memory card before reminding me I still had to pay for my tour. Got to the station early as wandering around in the morning had proved pretty fruitless. One of the hotel guys gave me what I would guess is one of the few rip-off free motorbike rides since I got here. I had a couple of hours to wait there so I sat watching looping snippets of Mr. Bean and Tom & Jerry on a big screen tv. The station filled up with people fairly suddenly and I found myself sitting next to a badly burned and disfigured kid who was still bandaged and looked like he was just out of hospital. Other waiting passengers gawked and sympathised with his mother until they all got up and rushed out to the platform to wait for their train. My next micro-friend turned out to be a Vietnamese business man who sat down and started chatting about Wayne Rooney and the Premiership. I vaguely thought he might be trying to sell me something until I got his business card that said he was in construction. I knew he wasn't going to try and sell me a bulldozer so I relaxed a little and told him that, actually, Michael Owen wasn't from Ireland. He was a nice guy though. After an eternity of waiting it was my turn to get up and scamper out to the platform to wait for the train. It was well late when it finally arrived and though I had seen one or two westerners waiting and walking around they'd all disappeared when out on the platform. As the train pulled in people on all the carriages stuck a little sign out of a window to show which carriage number it was. That is, all but one of the carriages. All except number 10. My carriage. After a few minutes of uncertainty a guy who looked like he'd just been rudely awakened and with a nice crop of pillow hair stumbled out and stuck a "10" onto the window and I climbed on. I showed him my ticket and he grunted me in the direction of my berth. I wasn't exactly sure what my soft sleeper ticket was going to get me but immediate impressions were that this was the worst train I'd ever been on. And it was! But in a way, it was so bad that it was good. When I slid open the door to the berth there was a sleepy Vietnamese man and woman on opposite bottom bunks while the top two, though empty, looked like their occupants had just slipped out to use the toilet. My bunk still had a crumpled blanket and pillow, and plenty of curly hairs to make me cringe. I dumped my stuff on the bed and went to stand at the window outside, and for the next few hours along with the local smokers watched the countryside slowly role by. There was a big Vietnamese family in the next two births and they must have known the couple in mine, so everybody was in and out and walking around (I got some free tea at least from one). I really got to feel like I was surrounded by some salt of the earth locals. At one stage the family got locked out of their birth and when they asked for help the grumpy train guy from before just shouted at them like it was their own fault. We stopped after a couple of hours and a couple got on; the husband was going to take the last remaining bunk in my berth. When the wife saw the state of the bed she freaked out at the train guy who grudgingly went and got some clean sheets and a pillow. I tapped the guy on the shoulder to say "Me Too!" but I got a viscious stare and some mumbled hatred, but no sheets. At the stop people hopped off to buy freshly steamed corn on the cob and smoke with the train staff outside. There was something weird about the scene, late at night with all the stalls at the platform; I expected to see Michael Palin walking around the corner any second. I must have slept eventually because I woke up as it was getting a little light and everyone was gathering their stuff. We pulled in to a cold and drizzly Hanoi just after 5.30am and stepping off the train was immediately surround by hordes of moto guys offering me lifts to anywhere. I got a lift off one and got driven to the old quarter of the city and dumped at a grimey looking hostel where I definitly didn't want to stay, so I set off with my rucksack. At this time of the morning everywhere was closed and all the streets of the Old Quarter looked the same. I walked and walked and occasionally came across other backpackers doing the same. After ages and frequent checks of my compass I got the the alley I was looking for but the receptionist (ie. teenage daughter of the owner) was still rubbing sleep from her eyes and told me to just dump my bag and come back at 9. So I did. And walked off to try and find some breakfast. Five minutes down the next main street I found a nice looking Pho place open and beginning to fill up with locals. I plonked myself down at a table and got a steaming bowl. Just as I was finishing up who walks in but the feckin' bastard train guy from my carriage, still wearing his uniform! I suppressed the urge to throw my bowl at him.