Hanoi, Halong Bay and the Fibreglass.

5 million mopeds in Hanoi and they all seem to be on the road at once.  It’s busy, and by busy I mean; Duck! Watch out! Woa! Hey! Shit!  Crazy but we like it.  Sam and myself like it for the pirate dvds, Chris likes the trees?, Big Chris likes that there’s a KFC and Alex likes it because he knows how to say “Fuck off” in Vietnamese. 
First things first, we need to replace the women we’ve lost.  First stop - collect my old flat mate Elisa from the airport.   Looksy, she’s brought my shiny new laptop with her.  Now off course I’m happy to see Elisa but ooooh look how shiny it is!!
For Elisa’s first stop in Vietnam I make her feel right at home and we meet the boys in the local Irish bar for the football.  We all become honourary Liverpool supporters for the night as we team up against Mikey (met on the bus from hell) and his fellow misguided Man U fans.  It’s truly the authentic Vietnamese experience; Irish pub, English football, Dutch beer and ABBA on the stereo!
A quick look around Hanoi and we’re off to Halong Bay under the supervision of a guide named Tongue (they just keep getting better).  On the bus we meet Leigh and Sophie and we’re nearly back up to our original quota of girls in the group.  The girls make the fatal error of letting slip that they’re from Essex and I know we’re in for some entertainment.  Sam’s eye also noticeably light up.
So, how to describe Halong Bay?  Big load of water with a vast collection of towering islands, some holding tether to floating villages and markets, some housing labyrinthine caves and some appearing particularly phallic.  Our 2 days in the bay are spent swimming from the boat (more backflips from Sam and an impressive superman impression from Chris), seeing how many wasabi peas you can eat at once and taking a tour of a gigantic cave that, within 5 minutes I have convinced Sophie, is made entirely from fibreglass.  I knew I liked her for a reason - she will actually believe anything you tell her - this is going to be fun!
Our evenings are spent firstly arguing with the boat’s captain who wants to charge us $10 corkage for each of the $1 bottles of vodka we bought aboard (of course the agent selling the tour said byo was fine).  We then spend our time being unconvincingly secretive about our drinking.  The first 2 bottles of vodka go down with the usual enthusiasm.  There’s a bit of a sing song, Leigh shows of her dancing skills (the stuff of legends!) and Elisa remains unconvinced by the ongoing cocktail combinations (the italian palette did not evolve to enjoy the subtleties of a drink that costs less than a dollar).  The third bottle raises it’s head and turns out to be something I don’t think I’l ever forgive Chris for; It is technically vodka but it’s made from fermented sticky rice and tastes very much like a Ukranian shotputter’s armpit (don’t ask me how I know).  Not even 2 cans of dodgy Vietnamese redbull-a-like can disguide the taste although Sam now think it smells like Ameretto.  If Ameretto is the smell of a communal lavatory the morning after the night before then sure, it smells like Ameretto.  The fact that it ends up in a gerkin jar in an attempt to improve it speaks volumes.  Still, it did provide the inspiration for an interesting rendition of ‘No Woman, No Cry’.
‘Cultural’ excursion over and we head back to Hanoi.   Everybody meets at Quan an Ngon which roughly translates as “double price for tourists”.  It’s a pretty slap up affair which is a pleasant change from our usual roadside garages with the playschool chairs that the owners start frantically doubling up when they see our band of giants approach.  i manage to disgust everyone by ordering swan and then disgust myself by tasting it.  There are though some spare spring rolls on offer after I’ve told Sophie that they’re wrapped in skin!  Too easy!
Next stop; Alex’s birthday celebration on Paddy’s day - it’s back to the irish pub.  This promises to be messy.  The deal is; buy a rugby shirt and get free beer all night! - oh dear god!  Once bored of beer (and with a much lower centre of gravity) it’s time for the jagerbombs and assorted things in small glasses.  Now, there is talk of conducting singing form atop a chair or table, there are pictures involving a small hat and there was definitely a beermat grabbing competition won by Chris ‘baseball mitts’ Hill.  There are evne reports of a crazed englishman running down the street in a stolen helmet before being tackled out of the path of oncoming traffic by regular sized Chris.  I however, remember nothing past the point of a very tall ginger guy handing me a shot of something nasty at the bar and therefore absolve myself of all and any responsibility.  Still, it could have been worse; when I later meet Mikey again in Thailand he tells me that his night ended standing next to a guy who lost 2 fingers to a cleaver wielding street chef!
So, up until now Elisa has had to see many sights solo as I’ve nursed numerous hangovers so I feel a little obliged to see at least one.  After getting lost within markets where I can’t tell which are the food stores and which are the pet shops, we find a merchant’s house museum.  The draw being that this is a step back in time.  Authentically completed by the gift shop (half the house) and plasma tv’s.  5 mins and my emersion into the history of Hanoi is complete.  Time to buy some dodgy dvds!
That done and having failed to buy Sam a family because he refused to take the husband as part of the deal, we catch the night bus south.