Traffic in Vietnam is a seriously frightening thing, and kudos to all the Westerners who actually believe they will be able to navigate it with some degree of proficiency- I can't. Often, the thought of the struggles involved in leaving the hotel- finding a taxi, actually getting to the intended location, agreeing on price- sends me scurrying back inside to watch Cartoon Network or Spanish News.
Our hotel in Hanoi, though, made it easier, providing us with a reputed brand of taxi, and settling on a price pre-journey. One morning, we set out to see the Museum there, armed with nothing but our Tourists' Map and healthy amounts of Dong (I was a Dong millionaire). Unfortunately, the destination was much farther from the hotel than we had thought. Hilarious results ensue.
After much quiet debate, we thrust the map in the driver's face, pointing angrily, and demanding to know why, after a 15 minute ride, we aren't at the museum. A heated argument continues, made no easier by his only English being "OK OK", even when the situation clearly wasn't OK OK. After 5 minutes of this, the car stops- we're there. Thank god, though not before we've complained to the hotel about our driver. Also, he had ridiculously long fingernails, which I later speculated were to cut the faces of tourists disputing the 30 000 dong fare ($1.50). We all get desensitised to the amount of money we are actually spending in a cheap place like south-east Asia, and subsequently, really really tight.
So we tip the man for his ordeal, and I force my dad to the ring the hotel and admit that "Taxi no. 4705 is OK", though I suspect their english wasn't much flasher than the driver's.
I feel better, but the Museum is awful- full of fat, pale, sweaty tourists reminding me that I am no more than this.
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