Isn't order the standard of all things, but its opposite?
The afternoon train departs punctually around 15.40 according to the urgent warning of the extremely friendly receptionist. Enough time to say goodbye to Hanoi, this wild animal. Once again I throw myself into the crowd, wonder about collisions that don't take place, meet friendly, dismissive, astonished, expressionless looks and faces - and almost feel at home. Which of course means that I will have a hard time saying goodbye, but there is still a little time left.
It is always amazing how quickly a connection to a place is established. There is always a before – no great expectations, everything you know has been created over years, much of it little according to the facts – and a an afterwards. This, too, should be taken with caution; also here momentary feelings play a role, which are determined by specific experiences. So what is true? Is there any objective truth about a place at all? Or is everything – like so many other things – the result of random emotions and supposedly rational conclusions?
I don't know, and the older I get, the less there seems to be a conclusive answer.
What's clear in Hanoi's case is that this chaos has touched something deep inside me. A kind of archaic feeling that order is not the measure of all things, but its opposite.
I have to reflect on that. …
Tough old ladies
So one last time I stroll through Liet, the narrowest, most jammed, but at the same time most exciting alley. Here the crowd is the densest, the noise the loudest. And in the middle of the chaos – visible from afar by their pointed, round braided hats – the ladies I admire most. With a bar on the shoulders, heavy loaded on both ends, they scurry through the heavy traffic, an eternal smile on their wrinkled faces. It’s their daily work but meaning a massive overload for most of our muscle-bound young men in the fitness centers …
Yeah, Hanoi's tough old ladies. You have my complete admiration, all my respect!
The end of the Hanoi adventure
And thus the adventure Hanoi ends. There’s a brief excitement when my train ticket seems not to be conform to the general requirements, but after some discussions I am assigned to the right car, the right compartment.
With much noise and the deafening clash of the cars, the train sets in motion. On to warmer places ...
Nadège
Nadège – that’s the name of the pretty young lady who will share the compartment with me and an unknown number of Vietnamese. We immediately get into talking, and even though she is from France and I offer her to speak French (yes really!), she insists on speaking English (I will be eternally grateful).
Sometimes those random and completely unpredictable encounters happen. This is one of them. It’s that strange feeling that we know each other for ages, an immediate familiarity which establishes in short time. The conversation between XNUMX in the afternoon and late evening starts with the usual travel anecdotes, the hair-raising adventures one is proud to tell again and again, even knowing that they get less and less true in the passing of time. But after some hours the discussion takes another route. The longer we’re stuck in our conversation the more personal it gets and one suddenly realizes that this is no longer one of those usual travel encounters, but something very special …
Gault-Millau and talks about God and the world
Our Gault-Millau menu, consisting of Tuna sandwich with French fries and ketchup, a vanilla snail and bananas as desert marks – although very frugal – the culinary highlight of the evening. Our intensive discussions about God and the world, getting older and the inevitable grief that goes along with it, are interrupted by the meal but not for long. As usual there’s a lot told between the lines, such as loneliness as well as joy of living, which means that sometimes, almost a little embarrassed, we turn away, and in these delicate moments we understand a bit more of the world and how it works …
But let's leave that ...
P.S. Matching Song: The Sonics - Livin 'in Chaos
For Hué, the old royal city, click here ...
