Hot in Hanoi

It is hot, hot in Hanoi. It has been raining over night and this morning the humidity is off the scale. Truthfully, that may be because I am a whiny white boy from Melbourne, sure. Sitting on the balcony eating breakfast at 7am and my clothes are sticking to me. I can feel the beads of sweat running down my body under my t-shirt. Lovely.

Eggs and sausage and fish. A couple of juices and I am now on schedule for my second cup of coffee.

The rain falls in front of me in huge drops. The motor bike riders are covered in wet weather gear from head to toe, but it changes their driving style not a bit. Plastic is draped over the parked machines. There is a sea of umbrellas moving down the street like a colony of bats. And the Hanoi morning throbs and whizzes by as usual.

Horns tooting.

The traffic jams in front of me, as cars continue forward from both directions, until nobody can move, nobody wanting to give an inch.

Horns tooting.

Slowly, reluctantly, one car reverses, then another. Motor bikes rush into the space the cars have left, adding drama to the knot of vehicles.

Horns tooting.

It rained and rained and rained and rained.