Monday 3 March 2014

March 3: Arriving in Hanoi ...


We landed here in Hanoi, in the tumbling rain
It's cold and it is very wet, the fog has formed a plane
Through which our driver cannot see, as he goes about his task
I can't see a bloody thing, and I'm too afraid to ask

It is dark and very late, and we are on our way
To our very flash hotel for an shortish one night stay
It's forty five minutes in the car I'm told, til we reach our destination
The traffic it is very thick, I’m feeling his frustration

Tramcars and taxis, like a waxworks on the move
I'm still channeling the Angels, and this road is none too smooth
We pass some shops, homes and hotels; it’s raining very hard
That the French were here is very clear, a picturesque postcard

The architecture is fantastic, the old and new combined
The bikes they weave in traffic, hey, I think he’s driving blind
It's a comedy on wheels; how they're not dead I can't work out
With one hand on the throttle, into their mobile phones they shout

It seems we're in a traffic jam, but it's pretty hard to tell
No problem, up the gutter and we'll drive up here a spell
Once more we are moving, we've made it to third gear
I wish he had a mini bar, I sure could use a beer

The lights are red, no matter; it doesn't count a jot,
As traffic comes from everywhere, no one prepared to stop
Soon our trip is over, we've made it safe and sound
To the front door of our flash hotel, my feet are on the ground

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