Just Like Starting Over: Hanoi 2.0

Can I tell you about our early days in Hanoi?

Back in October?

 

flying with bebe
Let’s fly halfway around the world with a baby. Twice. Why not?

 

So many months ago.

The weeks when we lived in a stuffy, cramped hotel room in a curious neighborhood that would have been more curious if it hadn’t been hemmed in on so many sides by major roads that were virtually impassable on foot. You walk ten minutes in any direction and you hit six lanes of scooter chaos.

For two weeks I carried Thwack around on my front, skirting the nosy, mad, exhaust-rich perimeter, ducking into places selling things I had yet to know for quickly scarfed banh cuon or furtive sips of pho broth and sneakily slurped noodles, before the boy inevitably made a grab for my chopsticks or the hot bowl (tip: babywearing and plastic-chair-low-table Asian noodle stands don’t mix).

We had routes we followed every day and people we said hello to and textures we made sure to touch (nubbly plaster, peeling paint, wooden railings, lichen heavy concrete) and all the other things you do when you have a busy 7 month old baby in a place where you have no family and no friends and no real idea of the lay of the land or the ways of the people or more than a few Lonely Planet phrasebook phrases that don’t actually work in the north.

Sometimes we got into a taxi and went places. We went to the Vietnamese women’s museum twice. Thwack liked the ethnic costume floor.

 

floor thwack
Let’s pen him in.

 

The hotel room was okay. It was a place that was safe and clean, a place to lay your head at night. Nice bed. Minibar for grocery store cheese and pickles and beer. Half assed bath tub shower. Biggest room in the place, $25 a night. Breakfast pho not included. What it wasn’t was a good place to spend 24/7 with a 7 month old boy who was not complacent. It was, after all, a hotel room.

So when we found our house on our second day of house hunting on our second day in Hanoi, the house we are in now, the lovely house near the lake, with four floors and a roof terrace and a glassed in conservatory type room upstairs, we quietly jumped up and down and shrieked internally and told the estate agent that yes, yes, of course we could wait two weeks for the current tenants to move out.

Two weeks in that hotel room, surrounded by six lane roads, living off street noodles, killing time. Lots of time.

No problem.

We envisaged dinner parties and friends popping by and our art on the walls and a real home- a home!- finally, after nearly two years adrift. We would visit the local markets and cook and fill the house with flowers and, hell, we’d run around the lake and get fit and awesome.

 

bia hoi baby
Not Thwack’s first bia hoi meal.

 

Everything that had been on hold while we had bounced around between China and Canada and England would come into fruition and we’d create awesomeness in Hanoi, by the lake, in our lovely big house, with awesome people we would meet.

Hopes were high. Dreams were dreamt. Identities were mentally sculpted, refined, imagined.

Then the antisocial work timetable hit. Evenings and weekends.

Then the construction started, first directly opposite us in the narrow alley, then in a bigger site behind that (running all night for months on end), then another round back, then others still within earshot. Pouring concrete at 3am. Because you do. The clank clank clank of the lengths of pipe needed to bring concrete down a 75 meter long alley that’s barely wide enough for a bike and a pedestrian (ask me how I know). The always slightly-lit bedroom that refuses to be totally dark at night because of all the lights on the cranes looming high over the big construction site. Everything was gritty and dusty and caked with construction grime.

Then I reached the end of my rope when it came to meeting people I might want to actually talk to. Living abroad as an English teacher is one thing. You get to meet other teachers. And students. And admin staff. Living abroad as a stay at home mother is another. I tried to join playgroups to meet people and I met nannies who talked amongst themselves. I joined the Hanoi International Women’s Group but, since I didn’t have a nanny, couldn’t attend most of their groups and gatherings with a Thwack strapped to me.

I went to one coffee morning they organized and was asked why I didn’t just get a nanny (so cheap!). I said, because we are here so I can stay home with him while he’s small and nursing and we can afford to live (very carefully) on one income. She said to get one anyway- her kid was at home with the nanny right now. Easy peasy.

At one of the international kindergartens where I took Thwack for their weekly afternoon free play time (90 minutes for the plebes to use the Little Tykes equipment and to meet nannies and their charges) , the photo board of who was authorised to pick up the kids was a list of nannies and drivers. Many weeks I was the only parent there. Same with the music classes- me and a bunch of nannies, a few random parents, and toddlers and tambourines and ukeleles and a nice fellow singing the Sesame Street theme song.

 

Nha Trang beach
Just us.

 

It was lonely and exhausting and gritty (construction dust) and frustrating.

We never put up our art, because as soon as the construction started going all night we had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t really going to be our home after all.

We never had the dinner parties or the potluck Meatball Fridays, because, well, anti-social work timetables and no one to invite.

We struggled to make friends in a strange new world where I was surrounded by other people’s nannies and he was surrounded by people he was paid to manage. Awkward.

I struggled with all the stupid black hulking SUVs with embassy plates and frighteningly cocksure attitudes about personal space on the road and human rights. I was cut off and sideswiped and smacked by so many side mirrors that I lost count. Broken umbrellas. Nearly crushed toes. Endless beeping when in narrow alleys where they couldn’t pass me but were adamant that they must and would.

I’ve never quietly shouted fuck off you fucking motherfucker, you and the fucking horse you rode in on quite so many times as I have wandering the gentle, genteel backstreets of lovely Tay Ho.

So many black SUVs. So much honking. So many grazed elbows.

When you move to Vietnam, everyone tells you to watch out for the mad throngs of scooters. No one warns you about the big black SUVs.

So yeah, the whole expat life here wasn’t exactly what we had hoped.

However, that was only the first eight months.

We’re giving Hanoi a second chance.

And ourselves too. We need to give ourselves second and maybe third chances to make our weird new lives work.

This whole Abroad thing is very different with a toddler in tow, very different in your 40s compared with your 20s and 30s.

There is a lot that needs tweaking.

Let’s try again. New jobs, new home, new priorities.



8 thoughts on “Just Like Starting Over: Hanoi 2.0”

  • Thank you for your honesty, Mary Anne- I have been wondering how things have (really) been going for you these last few months. It is so great that you and your family are going to stick it out and give it another chance….because sometimes it takes a few years to actually feel at “home” somewhere. We moved here to Black Creek seven years ago, and it wasn’t until this past year that I realized how much I loved it and how much I finally felt like it was home. I will be praying for you, for safety (Lol!) and for peace of mind as you navigate motherhood and Vietnam. xoxo 🙂

    • Thanks, Stacey. It’s been a huge adjustment- partly because of circumstances, partly due to lousy luck. Now to begin the next chapter in our book of Hanoi…

    • We’re determined to tweak it til it works! We didn’t come all this way (again) to be complacent…

  • Hello there! Yesterday I spent the afternoon reading your blog, and I am back today, was so helpful and thought-provoking.
    I live in Hanoi, and of course I am struggling with the lack of sidewalks, my inability to socialize, the weather and whatnot:) I have also tried to blog for the first time in my life , but after a few posts I feel already emotionally drained, like there is not much more to say.
    I read many of yours randomly, but if I got it right you are based in Saigon now:( Would have love to chat over a coffee!
    Thank you for being my imaginary friend anyways! Keep posting, you are so good X

    • Hello! And thank you! Yes, I’m in Saigon- we moved down in early 2016, thinking it’d be an easier place to live than Hanoi. Um, whoops. It’s been challenging, and increasingly so in the past few years as the traffic has increased SIGNIFICANTLY and construction is as mad as it was in Hanoi when we had building sites on three sides of our little house in Tay Ho. I’ve tried to update my blog– I used to write so much– but it would always come out in a tired blurt about exhaustion, noise, traffic, frustration. Ha. I don’t want to dwell on the negative, nor do I want to make it seem like there’s nothing worth writing about (there is… but I think it would help if I didn’t have a small child, an MA still in progress and a job that keeps me from 7am til 5pm…). What has your experience in Hanoi been?

  • I’ve always regretted not living in HCM as I’d have many more job opportunities there, but I had been there again this August and I was actually re-considering…it’s insane! I moved to follow my (super-busy) partner, I have never lived abroad before and never considered the possibility actually, I had never been to Asia except for Oman either. You can imagine the culture shock I have been through for this first 10 months… I am working for a travel agency, 100% Vietnamese environment (and salary), quite frustrating communication wise and not my job…but as everybody says, “at least you keep busy”. First 4 months I was at home for the first time in my life, I am 33 yo, I have no kids and I am not very into the whatever-women club thing. Nor I am in my 20’s on my gap year, you know. But now I am busy, looks like this is the only thing that matters, my life is fixed then, isn’t it?:) This negativity is also holding me back in making new friends, I think it’s the same process of your writing. I don’t want to be the one always complaining and not able to enjoy this thrilling opportunity of living in Vietnam. On the bright side, I traveled a bit across the continent on my own and I am just amazed! This was a very special year either way. But to be honest I cannot imagine whether and how I will get over 2/3 more years of this life lying ahead. By the way, let’s try to think bigger and consider this as just a passing phase as every other phase actually is. Meantime…luckily we are busy 🙂

    • I understand. The ease of living here ebbs and flows. Day to day life isn’t difficult, though I get a lot of anxiety from being in traffic on a bike. I miss walking. Big fancy SUVs make me angry. I’m not a fan of Saigon- it’s huge, chaotic, crowded, impersonal, snobby, and people who live here tend to just be here for work, so money and status are huge driving agents in the vibe of the city. I am here for work too, and because the opportunities are what we need in our lives at this point, though the restrictions on movement and mental health mean it isn’t sustainable in the long term. I felt calmer in Hanoi, less annoyed, more engaged by the local culture, but maybe that’s me looking back with rose tinted glasses and exhaustion. It’s been 4 years here now, and I’ve hit my mid-40s and I have a nearly 5 year old kid and I think I’m ready for a change. I may be able to start writing again when we move on (and we will, soon enough). What are your plans?

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