Time out

I have been very very quiet ever since I got back from Hanoi and continued the rest of my leave at home. As I told Camellia when I met her yesterday to visit the National Museum (the Musee D’Orsay exhibition is there and I simply had to go after having had the bad fortune to try and visit on a strike day last year), she was the first person I’d talked to, other than Mr. Manx, in the past four days.

Not to worry, Dear Reader, it is no bout of despondancy that I am falling into. I don’t know if you are anything like this, but there are times when I need to be by myself and keep social interaction to a bare minimum. It may be a side-effect of being a shrink, but I think that it is primarily due to my personality. Sometimes I allow myself the guilty pleasure of trying those online quizzes that promise to Find Your Hidden Personality, and I have since discovered that I am the opposite of folks who Feel Energized By Frequent Social Contact. I have actually been quite happy and at peace during this period of hermit existence, and, if you will excuse the Austenish manner of saying so, do feel myself in a more agreeable disposition because of it. 

(Obviously, I have been spending a fair chunk of the past few days with my nose in books.)

I will continue writing, most probably about Hanoi, in due course, but I’d also like to show you a tiny glimpse of what I’ve been occupied with while I haven’t been talking:

The first two pages of what I hope will be an album of my trip to Melbourne. This is the first time I'm experimenting with a program named Album Stories. It lets you compile your pictures into an album and prints it out for you.

I am finally getting around to editing my hundreds of photos from previous trips to put in albums! Whether or not I eventually succeed is pretty much up in the air, but I shall take as much advantage while I can of the impetus to continue.

(The sunrise picture on the left, by the way, is also featured on my other blog, Manx Pictures.)

Heading out to Hanoi

1534. So here I am at Terminal 3 of Changi Airport, being, for the first and possibly the only time in my life, the first person through the boarding gate. I must admit to feeling just a tad lonely because I am taking this flight sans companions, and that is why my trusty little Asus Eee is seeing some use now. It’s either this or watch a local soap rerun of some fifteen years’ vintage.

Have I ever mentioned here that I hate flying? Love travelling, but hate the process of getting there. It’s partly because I have the most heinous tendency toward motion-sickness, and partly because I dislike having to sit in limbo, being transported with a herd of other human beings. Also, as far as today is concerned, it’s partly because it’s that time of the month. Arrgh.

2331, Hanoi time. As with the Bali trip, the start of this one was unpromising. It consisted of sitting in the plane for a whole hour, waiting for air traffic to clear so that we could actually leave. It was a full flight and I remember thinking that it was a good thing that most of it was made up of Vietnamese people, who tend to be small, light and wiry in build. They also have fine, clean-cut features. Wedoryn would blend in quite well here.

Once I had cleared customs (a process infinitely less painful than in Bali– I must have had my worried expression on because the officers were really quite nice), it was plain sailing. There was a lady who was holding up a sign just for me, and after I got my suitcase, I was led to a swanky black Mercedes (whee!), complete with moon roof, refreshments and Wi-Fi (whee!), as well as shades on the back windows to impart the cool-mysterious-passenger look, which ferried me in high style to the Intercontinental Hanoi Westlake.

Checking in was equally painless, and, after doing that, I was surprised for a minute when I was led outside the main building, to a golf buggy. Then I realized that the place was actually bloody immense, hence the subsequent whiz around on said buggy. There are separate blocks of rooms, each one standing on stilts in a huge lake, far apart from one another, so as I write this, I feel like I am practically inVenice. It helps that the weather is absolutely perfect, something like 16 – 18 degrees Celsius.

I met my friends, who had arrived on the preceding flight, in the lobby so that we could go and have our first bowl of pho and our first glass of Hanoi beer. You can see some of both in this picture:

The pho was very, very good.

And now, full and happy, I am waiting for my pillow selection to be delivered to my room before I go and have a nice bath and hit the bed. I am a lucky bug, I know.    

Going to Hanoi tomorrow!

Excited again! I’ve never been to Hanoi.

But I never learn my lesson, do I?

Ah, CRAP.