No-one here believes that we take the local buses, rather than a taxi, but we do. The bus has its own lane sometimes and can be faster than a taxi. To boot, you can travel the length and breadth of Hanoi for 7p and all life is there.
I am on the No 1 bus to the northern outskirts of town by the northern bridge for my first session at the Blue Dragon. It will take me 40 minutes and I have been told not to get off where everybody else does.
Bx ha dong
Tay son
Khanthieu
Phun Hung
Hang dau
Long bien
I have marked up instructions on my bus map. Next to me the man makes strong repetitive sucking noises. You have to have your wits about you to get on and off this bus. A young mother steps down onto the platform ready to alight at Tan Son with her two year old hanging like a starfish in her arms. The doors open and shut before she can exit. At the next stop she alights but the folding door closes within an inch of a heavily pregnant woman. At Phun Hung a very elderly passenger approaches the door singing loudly. The travellers and young conductor with a squint eye who is squatting on the floor at the front all laugh and smile at each other, appreciating in a comradely fashion the old woman's ruse. The doors stay open for her, but motorbikes undertake the slowing bus (buses never completely stop) Double hazard. She weaves them.
An otherwise traditional gent standing with both hands clasped over the rail (very wise) wears a T-shirt saying SEX POT BY THE ROADSIDE – FEBLE BASTARD. This reminds me that at home I have a T-shirt printed on the front in Basque Spanish which I bought it because I liked the 50's looking faded blue and turquoise colours and the look of the number of X's in the words. But I do not know what it says. Was I wearing it when I had that puzzling encounter with Simon's friend at a party two years ago, I wonder.
I alight at no. 1's last stop with my books and bulging bag of story props. I get lost in identical alleyways. Finally I find no. 60a. The Blue Dragon.