No, Hanoi is the capital of Vietnam you ill informed oiks and Little Spoon and I decided to travel there and beyond now that our contract was finished. We woke up at 5am to get a bus journey to Incheon airport, bristling with excitement at the prospect of visiting a country where a glass of beer is about 15 pence and where there are also some bits of history, culture and other afterthoughts to soak up too.
We were pushed for time because we booked an early flight and because we are miserly beggars who opted for a cheap bus rather than a rapid, expensive train to the airport. But when your destination sells beer for 15 pence, every penny counts.
The bus breaks down.
Of course it does. God couldn't possibly let me have a nice holiday just because I'm an atheist and refuse to acknowledge him. Little Spoon seemed fairly unperturbed as she had bought a stupidly expensive new camera for the trip and was now able to get some stunning shots of us stood on the side of the road with a broken bus.
So at least when we missed our flight, never went on holiday and returned to Daegu, hot, tired and forlorn we would have crystal clear images of Korea's motorways to dazzle our friends with.
Stupid Korean transport system. Yeah so every bus and train is always on time, there are never delays, it's good service and there are multiple journeys to every destination all the time. But now look at you with your broken bus, having me stand on the road for no good reason.
Three minutes later and the replacement bus arrives and we're off again. Okay Korean transport system you win this battle, but I'm keeping a close eye on you. As for you God...HA! Nice try pal, but I've been tempting fate and refusing to knock on wood my whole life, so you're going to have to do better than this if you want me to accept you.
The next few hours are about as dull as life gets, so I will save you the details of my sandwich in China during a 5 hour stop over to change planes, and spare you the hilarious problem with Little Spoon's shampoo at customs.
We got to Hanoi and it's mental. I'd been to Vietnam years ago and remembered the local people's love of courting death on the roads, but I never made it as far north as Hanoi and clearly up here they take suicidial driving very seriously indeed. Everyone rides motorbikes and nobody drives on a set side of the road.
We were in a people carrier so I was confident that any of the almost certain crashes we would have on the way to the hotel would at least only result in maiming or death to the unfortunate families of 4 on their mopeds and leave me happily protected in my first world transport.
So comforted, I chose to warn Little Spoon of the various scams and rip offs we would encounter. I carefully explained to her that people would hassle us constantly to buy badly made trinkets, pose for pictures for money, push unwanted snacks and tours upon on us and generally try to get us to part with our cash.
She nodded sternly and practiced her "No Thank You" line carefully. We worked on the stern shake of the head and dismissive wave of the hand.
Two hours later as we walked along Hoan Kiem lake in Hanoi, I looked at Little Spoon in her traditional Vietnamese hat, wearing two locally made bracelets as she carried two bags of pineapple and a giant Chupa Chups lollypop and wondered when she would first get to use her hand carved ink stamp of an elephant.
A picture of Little Spoon using her lolly as a baseball bat. Well of course.
I was not best pleased with my own efforts at haggling and avoiding rip offs either. I had been reliably informed that a beer from a Bia Hoi venue would be about 15p and sometimes cheaper and yet so far today I had paid 25p and 45p!! I'm not Bill Gates for fucks sake.
But fueled by our extortionately priced beers we went out into the manic Hanoi streets to find a restaurant and to my delight I found a place serving a delicacy I had to try.
Me: "Spoon, let's go here"
Little Spoon: "Stop calling me Spoon. Why?"
Me: "I've been calling you it for 12 months, it's not going to stop now is it? Because look it sells baked tortoise."
Little Spoon: "You're an idiot. Oh my God, that's horrible, I'm not eating a turtle I used to have one as a pet, my Mom calls them 'tootles'"
I stopped her at this point and explained the difference between a tortoise and a turtle, as clearly only a savage, uncouth degenerate would eat a turtle (or a tootle for that matter) but dining out on a tortoise baked in its shell is every Englishman's dream.
I could be overstating the passion for tortoise based dishes in England, but I have grown to hate the lazy little leaf chewers over the years. And I'll have you know this is not an irrational hatred. Far from it. In fact it is a hatred born of a love that was not allowed to flourish. Allow me to explain.
As a young boy, fresh of face and yet dour of character I had a few things in life that I yearned for with a growing intensity as each month passed without them in my life. Each of these things would make my Christmas and Birthday request lists for many years until it became clear that my heartless parents would never indulge me.
These things were a Giant Tortoise, A Rifle, A Dog and a metal platform that you could screw to the side of your house and access via a rope ladder. I am sure that most readers would agree that aside from the dog, none of these requests was particularly unreasonable or outlandish for a small boy.
But my stick in the mud parents clearly didn't realise we were in the 20th Century and that their straight laced, killjoy attitudes were an embarrassment to them both. So never did a young Monkey Roberts get to sit 30 feet in the air on a steel ledge on the side of his house, taking pot shots at the local kids as his dog played cheerfully with a huge tortoise.
And for this reason, I came to resent tortoises. I don't like the fact that they live a long time and I don't like their work ethic. I would like to bake one and eat it on the streets of Hanoi however.
But once again I was to be denied. Little Spoon would not eat it and instead I had to settle for a delicious meal of marinated beef with local dips and vegetables. I bet if I wanted to buy a rifle she would say no to that too! But it's alright for her with her hat, stamp, bracelets, fruit and impossibly large lollypop.
We walked through the bustling streets to find a bar and I fumed at the injustice of it all, especially as Little Spoon had everything she wanted from here and more besides...
Little Spoon: "Oooo look, that man has balloons. Can I get a balloon?"
Ah ha! Justice.
Me: "Erm...no. No you can't have a balloon."
Never let it be said that I am a petty man. Because if it's said I will find a way to get you back, no matter how small the vengeance is.
As the first leg of Hanoi came to a close, it was time to look forward to the delights of the World Unesco Heritage site that is Luang Prabang in Laos...
Until next time.
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