Mr Tran meets us at our hotel. It is 7.30 pm. The train to Lao Cai leaves at 8.30. We spill out of our hotel like time travellers. Inside it is all cool marble and sophisticated decor. Through the glass doors we are met with the melee that is Hanoi's Old Quarter. The noise, the heat and the bustle. The footpath is only a couple of feet wide and a seemingly endless stream of people parades past. Our car is waiting, blocking half of the one-way street. There is no other place to park. Motorbikes and cars and people flow around us.
I know that it will take us just as long to drive to the station as it would to walk. Its not far. But Mr Tran’s job is to facilitate our departure.
Arriving at the station, he takes off at a cracking pace and we trot along behind him. We are travelling light. Sharing one carry-on bag, our camera bags on our backs. As we traverse the tracks to reach our train I remember that a friend of mine had his wallet lifted here, and take heed of the people crushing in around me. There is urgency and confusion around us, but Mr Tran delivers us safely to our carriage. He hands me two envelopes, one with our tickets to Lao Cai, and one with our return tickets to Hanoi. He tells me that his associate in Lao Cai will meet us on the platform with a sign. He holds up a piece of paper with “Lyons” written on it. “Like this.” He says. In case there is any confusion that I will not recognise my own name.
I have paid for the “Private King Deluxe 2 berths wooden cabin with soft sleeper berths and A/C”. Being acutely aware that Vietnam’s definition of Deluxe doesn’t always gel with mine, I have relatively low expectations. The cabin is actually a 4 berth cabin with two top bunks closed to the wall. A fact reflected in the fact that I hold 4 tickets for the berth. Red sheets, white pillow cases and a heart-shaped Christmas wreath hanging between the curtains at the window. It is small, cosy and quaint. On the table below the window, is a basket containing one complementary can of beer and one can of soft drink (for the ladies). I don’t intend to drink either.
There is something about train journeys that conjures up images of mystery, intrigue and romance. Perhaps it is the sense of adventure, combined with a sense of confinement... and the lineal nature of the journey. A train journey can only start, stop, and finish, it is unlikely to deviate.
We settle into our cabin, turning off the lights so that we can witness the activity on the platform.
There is a knock on the door. A Vietnamese man from the neighbouring cabin wants to swap his complementary can of beer, with our can of Pepsi. He thinks that because our lights are off, we’d already gone to bed. He apologises for waking us up. It is not quite 8pm.
We decide to leave the door open, so we can spy on our fellow travellers and the activity on the other side of the platform.
It is then that the Italians arrive. Big and loud, with big loud luggage. They crash their way down the narrow corridor, talking excitedly, as only Italians can. There are six of them. Three middle aged couples, they are tall and they are animated and now occupy the remaining three cabins of our carriage. I am immediately irritated by them. I resent their intrusion.
Meanwhile my travel companion, “Mr glass half-full”, the one who will find humour in every situation, reaches for his iPhone. Before I can muster full indignation for the Italian invasion, he sticks his head out of our cabin door and plays Dean Martin “That’s Amore”. There are peals of laughter from the Italians. They don’t speak any English, but we immediately become “friends” as we all start singing along to Dino.
The Italians have to pass our door to use the communal bathroom. Each time one of them passes, he plays another Italian love song for their benefit. He has the comic timing of Roberto Benigni in Life is Beautiful.
The train suddenly groans, lurches forward, and stops abruptly. I can feel the carriages all impacting on one-another down the line, It lurches forward again. Steel against steel. Slowly gaining momentum, its settles into a rhythmic clickety clack... in approximately nine hours we will be in Lao Cai.