Building Site after the fire

This morning I woke up to gentle early morning light and blissful silence. I spent a moment luxuriating in the calm as well as in the knowledge that I still had an hour or more until I had to wake up for real. I drifted off to sleep for what seemed like a second and was brought back to reality by gravel being dumped a few metres from my head. This is my reality now, living with a Vietnamese building site in my pocket. I tried to block it out but there was an enormous bang and crash and my fan sputtered to a halt. In moments Mum was on her balcony yelling at them to “turn her electricity back on!” and to “fix our electricity!!”. Of course no one in the vicinity speaks english, but you have to do something, right? In a moment her screams became tinged with terror “Fire, FIRE!!! THE POWER LINES ARE ON FIRE, SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!”.

Explosions happened with the fire hit that white cable.

I jumped out of bed, threw some clothes on (a grabbed a dress and put it on back to front, stylish huh? Effectively I was still asleep) and went to see what was going on. Mum was standing in her nighty on the balcony, pointing at the power lines maybe 3 metres away from us that were on fire. The labourers were looking up at us not doing a thing, so I started screaming too (I’ve developed one hell of a teachers voice) “THERE IS A FIRE, DON’T JUST STAND THERE, DO SOMETHING!!”. When I have just woken up I can be very vocal and aggressive while the logical parts of my brain are still warming up. Like the time in Sydney when the neighbours cat jumped through our open window at 2am and landed on me, claws out. I exploded out of bed screaming about I don’t even know what and chased it around our apartment. Felix made me sit down and shut up while he calmly opened another window and herded the cat out. Had he not been there I may have chased that stupid animal around, screaming at it til morning. So this morning I stood, sweating and screaming at no one in particular in a language they don’t understand. But hell it made me feel better.

The metal bar is the top of our balcony.

In a moment thee labourers had disappeared down the other end of the alley, neighbours were out on their balconies and hanging out of windows, and we just kept screaming. Then it occurred to me, maybe Vietnamese people don’t know what to do about an electrical fire. So I stood there, shaking with adrenaline and still mostly asleep yelling “but god, don’t just throw a bucket of water on it, oh no!” and to our neighbour who I’d lost sight of “Where are your daughters who speak English”. My ranting monologue was interrupted by multiple explosions. Huge bangs and sparks flying everywhere. We took cover inside and missed the fire being put out.

The labourers were soon back at work, dumping gravel and sand, blocking the lane and obstructing our exits as though nothing had happened. I sat and calmed myself, sweat dripping into my eyes at 6:30 in the morning.

Quality, huh?

I apologise if this is unintelligable, I’m still hopped up on adrenaline and drama, that intense Vietnamese coffee didn’t help much either.

I haven’t been doing much exploring or photographing lately. It could because of the heat, or the working full time, but I think it has more to do with my feeling towards this place. I chose to come to Hanoi, not for the delights of the city, not for the people or the food or even for the exoticness of it all. I came here because I had an opportunity to live here easily and rent-free. This has really been living-overseas-lite for me and for many reasons I haven’t connected with Hanoi or Vietnam. I cringe when I see myself living here and not learning Vietnamese (I honestly have no desire), I’m camping here in my little handmade Australia in Hanoi. Most days I venture out, I ride my bicycle, I eat on the street  and I explore, but this isn’t home and it will only ever be a temporary layover.

Since they demolished the house across the way (building is supposed to start today after the site was blessed) I have been seriously thinking about what I am going to do next. There are so many options and that makes me both giddy with excitement and exhausted with the weight of it all at once.

Despite everything I still enjoy this city. There is so much more food to discover and I know that I will never be able to taste it all. Hanoi isn’t all bad, but the reason why it has been quiet around here is that I’m not terribly inspired and excited to talk about my life here.

Some scenes from a lovely morning stroll around town last weekend.

I saw my neighbour as I left this morning. She carried a plastic bag full of clothes in each hand, I didn’t think twice, I guessed it was laundry day. Eight hours later I returned home to find their hovel no longer.

I don’t blame my neighbours for wanting to live somewhere with windows and natural light and they can certainly afford it. But I had never seen so much demolition before I came to Hanoi. I can understand knocking down a horrid little squat house like this one, but what I am offended by is building temporary houses.

Please excuse this messy ramble-fest. I am just thinking about the next 4 months of  construction noise. The top two photos are taken from the balcony of my bedroom. The green and yellow fence in the top photo (taken in March when their eldest daughter got married) is our fence. Maybe it is time to leave Hanoi.

Friday night. Liberation day public holiday. I had spent the day relaxing, grocery shopping, eating bun cha and was just getting ready for an early night when Mum came home, thundering up the stairs calling my name. I heard my door clang open and my name called, but I was in my bathroom pantsless and mid-floss and my timid replies were lost.

Dental hygiene process complete and pants on, I went to see what all the commotion was about. I shouted. She wasn’t in her room or in the kitchen. I stood on the stairs and screamed, frustrated that her insufficient search hadn’t found me and now she was missing and I was missing out on whatever it was that was going on. Stomp up the last flight of stairs, turn right, open the door and onto the roof. “I thought you were out”, she said “there are going to be fireworks at 9pm”. Fireworks. A decade of living in Sydney, as well as making you despise public transport and mexican food ensures that you’ll be jaded against fireworks. Pfft, seen ‘em all.

9pm struck, and I was in the shower, as I often am on such occasions. I could see flashes of colour through my frosted bathroom window, and the entire room was vibrating with violence. If it weren’t for the pretty bright colours high in the night air and the feeling of festivity, bombs could have been exploding.

Fear of missing the fun saw me on the roof minutes later, eyes glued to a clear expanse of sky straight ahead. Synchronised flowers exploded up there, planets and stars fell apart and floated towards us. Wave after wave of booms followed by explosions of light delight had us gasping in awe. I could hear onlookers on nearby rooftops applauding after each new set of coloured sparks boomed and suddenly appeared, lighting up the darkness.

More than a few times we stepped back from the edge, worried that those burning flying scraps would take out an eye they were so close. It was almost like watching a 3D movie, except I was standing outside in the breeze smelling burning sugar and getting showered by ash. Palms grew above us and spiders came so close that they almost touched our roof. There was booming like machine gun fire and whistling like bombs being dropped. Neat choreography kept us entertained and in awe. There were sperm-like fish that exploded when they hit each other, mini waterfalls, and any number of flowers. A pause and suddenly the whole sky was alight again with not yet seen shapes and colours. We had front row seats to our own private war-themed fireworks display.

These Liberation Day fireworks have made me love pyrotechnics dearly, and ruined them for me forever. No longer will I be able to happily view them from afar, around trees and buildings and jostling for space with hundreds of other onlookers, no. I’ve seen how amazing fireworks can be and I can’t ever go back, I’ve had a private screening and being shoved in with the huddled masses just won’t do. I fear that this is what flying Business class would be like.

What seemed like hours later it was over. As I picked burned and blackened scraps of plastic off my arms Mum said “next year we’ll have a party”.