The Blue Sky Hotel, Old Quarter, Hanoi, (North) Vietnam
Just enjoying breakfast on my second morning in Hanoi after arriving here on Thursday evening. After a few fairly uneventful days in Vang Vieng, I left at lunch time on Wednesday, picked up my passport and visa from the bus depot in the Laos capital Vientiane (an arrangement which hadn’t filled me with joy, but at least the embassy would be close if it went wrong!) and headed for the optimistically named ‘VIP Sleeper Bus’ to Hanoi.
The first impression of the bus was that it actually could have been far worse. The ‘sleeper’ bit meant that instead of the standard seats there were pairs of, effectively, dentists’ chairs that reclined fully back and as we rolled out of the bus depot for the 24 hr journey I had a pair to myself and life seemed alright. The bus was half full (or empty, depending on one’s perspective) with an Aussie lad, half a dozen British students, a foul-tempered German couple and a couple of very pleasant Israeli chaps who certainly had not been in the Golani Division or the Sayaret Matkal during their military service.
Sadly, after a couple of hours of good sleep the bus pulled into the side and the driver’s real source of income became apparent. Various extremely poor looking locals hopped on the bus with God knows what in bags and boxes, and filled up the seats that had not been taken. This meant that for the rest of the trip, I had to share my ‘VIP’ berth with this disgusting creature that was coughing, spluttering and reeking of tobacco. I just ended up resorting to the tried and tested method of sleeping in the aisle- being a fine soldier, I make myself comfortable anywhere, although I don’t usually pay VIP rates for the privilege.
The border crossing at first light on Thursday was quite an experience. Firstly we filed off the bus in the pouring rain, along with dozens of other tourists and locals, and into the drab grey Laos official building to have our departures stamped. As we went in there was no power and we had to use candle-light or individual head torches to fill out the docs, before the electricity flickered into life- no doubt some poor chap was peddling like mad in the rain to power the building!!
As we headed out, in the hope of getting back on to the bus we then discovered that we now had to walk about a Kilometre (0.6 Miles) up hill, still in the Brecon-like rain, to the Vietnamese Immigration. Having had my morale tested in the pouring rain many, many times in my life, and being a practitioner of “If you can’t take a joke, don’t join”, this revelation wasn’t as much of a tear jerker for me as it was for various 18 yr olds, still in their flip flops and shorts- bless their little hearts.
The Vietnamese building was again drab and grey, although it had more windows, so any lack of lighting was not as apparent as on the Laos side. They went through the motions of making us put all our kit through an X-Ray machine, though nobody was taking any notice of the fact it was stacked too high to see anything, if anybody was actually looking- having had to put my rifle, pistol and mags through an X-Ray machine at Kabul airport, while wondering what they were actually looking for, I’ve had the opportunity to consider how these things work. There was also a metal detector arch to walk through, but I just inadvertently wandered past it and nobody seemed to mind.
Once we’d eventually got through the border we all got back on the bus, soaked to the skin, and spent the rest of the day on the bus to Hanoi. The only stop we made was for lunch in some ‘authentic’ Vietnamese establishment, in the middle of nowhere, where some minging chicken and rice cost £4, more than I pay for lunch in London and I’m guessing somewhat more than the locals pay. Who says communists don’t understand economics?
We were greeted in Hanoi by some cheerful local chap who guided us to his minibus and took us to his hotel, the Blue Sky, which seemed as good a bet as any, and he welcomed us to Vietnam. Interestingly, after picking out the British and Aussies, he then singled out the Americans (who in this particular case probably had no clue what he was talking about) and said they were very welcome as their 2 countries were now friends. As a celebration of this friendship, after checking in, a crowd of us went for dinner at the local KFC. After this we discovered that the Irish pub was shut early on St Patricks Day (economic sense that leads to bail outs...), so we all headed off for a relatively early, sober night.
In the morning I lead a procession of Aussie and German guys and Dutch girls, who’d been sitting around wondering what to do, down to the infamous Hoa Lo Prison, or ‘Hanoi Hilton’, which is what I’d most wanted to see in Hanoi. This was a French prison known as ‘Maison Centrale’ during the colonial rule from the 19th Century and where the frogs had held ‘Viet Minh’ (the predecessors of the Viet Cong) Communist guerrillas during the 50’s and it still has ‘la guillotine’ used to execute some of them. It had been shut after the French had surrendered (surprising, I know) at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, and withdrawn from ‘Indochine’ in 1954. However once the yanks got stuck in to ‘Nam in the 60’s the prison was re-opened to house captured American airmen who had been shot down. The horrendous conditions and torture that they endured, lead them to call it the ‘Hanoi Hilton’- who says that yanks don’t get irony?
Their most famous ‘guest’ was future Republican Senator and 2008 Presidential candidate John McCain. Lt Cdr McCain was on the last mission of his tour in late 1967 when his A4 Skyhawk jet was hit by a SAM (Surface to Air Missile) and he was forced to bail out over North Vietnam, suffering 2 broken legs and a broken arm in the process. Having landed in a river, he was pulled out by the Vietnamese and ended up in the Hanoi Hilton, where he was repeatedly tortured. As if this was not a bad enough predicament, his father, an Admiral in the US Navy was subsequently appointed commander of all US forces in the Vietnam theatre, and the Vietnamese gave him extra special treatment. Throughout his time in captivity he never gave up, and refused early release or to meet various anti-war protestors who wanted to meet him for propaganda purposes. After 5 and a half years of torture, including being hung upside down by his broken legs, (I think British ‘human rights’ lawyers might want to clarify what ‘war crimes’ actually means) he was eventually released in 1973, and continued his career in the US Navy, retiring as a Captain (Brigadier in real terms) in the early 80's. Compared to Barrack Obama, who is the real ‘All American Hero’?
Today the museum mainly concentrates on the French era but there are a couple of rooms of communist propaganda dedicated to the Americans, including pictures of anti-war protestors in San Francisco under the caption ‘Our Brave American Allies’. They’ve got a captured flight suit and helmet as well as various pictures of American prisoners seeming to have a lovely time at Christmas dinners, church services etc. They also have a picture of Senator McCain on a visit back there in 2006, which was rather thought provoking. Interestingly the Hilton hotel chain opened the carefully named ‘Hilton Hanoi Opera Hotel’ here in 1999.
Anyway, after that we headed off to do what we would all do anywhere else in the world... the girls went shopping (for warm clothes) and the guys went to the pub.
Today most of my companions have headed off to go kayaking in Ha Long Bay (where all those tourists died a couple of weeks ago- cheers!) for the day, but that sounded far too energetic for me, so I’m off to see ‘Uncle Ho’ Chi Minh’s mausoleum as it is only open on some days. Obviously tonight’s priority will be to watch Jonny Wilkinson and the boys smash the Paddies and win the first 6 Nations Grand Slam since 2003...
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