At Long Last, Our Moped Ride Has Arrived
So the thing I was probably least prepared for on this trip was how much I have to work. I know, I know—it sounds contrived, saying that I wasn’t prepared for work on a work trip, but what I mean to say is that I was unprepared for not having control of my schedule between the hours of approximately 6AM and 10PM each day. With that schedule, I’m left with very little time to spend with Matthias.
He has been making the most of his days off—excursioning and exploring Hanoi—albeit without me. He managed to convince James to come out with him a few times, despite James’s pleadings that he has to work. On one of these trips, he says to him, ‘Man, it’s so crazy—that I’m on the other side of the world, exploring this crazy city, but the person I want to be exploring it with is somehow in this same city but not with me.’ ‘Huh,’ James responds, ‘I never thought of it that way.’ When I tell Victoria this she just smirks and nods knowingly, commenting on James’s romantic tendencies.
Luckily, my schedule is wrapping up a little early on our last day in Hanoi, which is doubly lucky for me because I also have some shopping to get to. I stupidly assumed I’d have time to shop for gifts during the week—preferring to let them linger in my mind so I can make sure I’m getting the best ones for all my people—but we haven’t had a moment to ourselves since Sunday.
I keep Matthias apprised of our schedule and meet him back at the hotel. He all but drags me out the door the moment I return, excited at the prospect of us taking motorbikes into town together. We’ve been getting around in private cars or Grab cars here with the group, but both he and I prefer motorbike transportation, for the speed, efficiency, environmental impact, and, well…the thrill.
The problem is that I don’t have mobile data here, and even if I could use WiFi in the app, in order to authenticate a Grab account, I’d need mobile data. We ask a concierge what to do, and she graciously walks outside with us to use her own phone to order me a ride.
I communicate enough with my driver to understand that he’ll take me to where I want to go, I’ll pay cash, and he sees that I’m travelling with Matthias so we’d like to stay together.
We set off, with Matthias in the lead and our little bike following along behind. I relax back on the seat, instantly transported back to my commutes in Tanzania. (The bikes here are a lot more comfortable, but I’d still rather be cruising down Shanty Town Road at unsafe speeds with my arms outstretched and my head tilted back to stare at the tree canopy above me.)
We fake-race with Matthias’s bike for a bit before turning down a side road towards the French Quarter, losing sight of Matthias’s bike. He doesn’t reappear, and it’s only when I notice that we’re circling the block and my driver’s phone directions keep re-routing that I start to get a little apprehensive. Where were we going, anyway? I don’t have any way of reaching Matthias, or knowing where I am. In the same instant that I start to worry, I stop. I’ll pay this driver whatever, wherever I get off, and I’ll find WiFi somehow so I can text Matthias a landmark and we’ll meet up. He knows this city better than I do and he’ll be able to fine me. If I’m late then that’s fine—this is our last night here so we may as well make the most of it.
Luckily I have nothing to fear: we round a corner and there is my too-tall-for-this-land boyfriend standing head-and-shoulders above everyone else, his bright new knockoff backpack peeking out behind his back. He hands me off the back seat and scowls at the driver for kidnapping me. I pay the driver and we duck out into the street.
We wander around and finish shopping, Matthias and I helping each other haggle. He shows me all the shops he has frequented on his days down here:
- The one where he tired of the dressing room and so resorted to just wandering around the shop’s little space in boxers as the staff brought him pair after pair of pants with hemlines that could only dream about reaching his ankles
- The other where he saw the highest quality knockoff shoes
- Another where his attempts to haggle by showing the female proprietors numbers on his phone were only met with shy giggles hidden by their hands until he paid in full
- A stall with a woman who painted cat watercolours and prominently displayed ‘NO PHOTO’ signs but let him take one because he bought three things
- One where he had his wares excitedly piled up on the counter but had to leave them behind because they only took cash…
It was so odd to hear of his adventures in this city without me, the complement to the feeling he had had having them without me. I feel like I’ve missed so much.
We’ll be back, if only to purchase half a dozen or more suits from Daisy, with plenty of lead time for her while we meander these old streets together, instead of apart.
