Low stakes

Well, I have agreed a fee with the buyer and already solicitors are busying themselves passing bits of paper backwards and forwards.

Get this, the buyer, who is a local property speculator, doesn't even want to see the house let alone do searches or surveyors reports.

"At that price," he said. "I don't need to see anything".

Which gives me the same feeling as when I win at the bookies. Momentarily happy nefore the thought of how much better off I would have been if I'd opted for a higher stake.

In other words - if he was prepared to pay that price without even looking - the how much higher could he have gone?

Ah well. Bollocks to it. It's sold. That's the main thing. He said he can even give me a cheque inside a week. Fantastic.

Posts might be a little sporadic next week. I'm off on a VSO training course. On the other hand, they do have an internet and I'll probably be bored senseless so I may post more than ever.

We'll see.

But tonight, I celebrate.

The power of PR

The downside of PR is that today I appeared in the newspaper. It was full or errors. The picture looked terrible and I sounded like a right yuppy prat.

The upside?

Well by 10am this morning this note was put through the door.

Hi *** from number *** here. I would like to make a cash offer to buy your house and could complete in a couple of days. I would exchange contracts immediately.

If you are interested please ring....

YESSSSS.

PRing me

Before I fly out to Hanoi, the biggest problem I still have to face is selling my house.

But today I had a brainwave.

Many years ago, in my days before switching to the dark side that is PR, I was a hack. One of my least favourite chores, week in, week out, was writing the bloody property section.

So I thought - why not drop them an email? I mean, "Geordie goes to Vietnam - needs to sell house quick," isn't such a bad story. Well, okay, by property press standards it's not such a bad story.

So I emailed them. Would they be interested in the story? Would they like me to write a press release? Can I arrange some pictures for them?

And guess what, they said yes, yes and we'll send our own photographer.

Bearing in mind that writing press releases is what I do for a living, it's nice to be able to write one about myself for a change. Only problem was - when I got to the sign-off stage I felt I needed extra reassurance. Typical. Finally a job when I don't have to clear everything with a client and I still need someone to say it's okay.

Anyway, I eventually told myself it was fine and forwarded it. Fingers crossed. If this gets a big splash in the property section then it might go along way towards selling the house.

I reckon if I could just shift the house, then all the other million pieces of organisation would fit nicely into place.

The clearout

Hanoi - not there yet.

I thought I had better make one thing clear. Despite what the blog says I am not yet in Vietnam.

I know I could have changed the "About Me" bit to say "Newcastle, England" - but it seemed at odds with the title of the blog and its strapline, so I put down "Hanoi, Vietnam" albeit, with my departure still over a month away.

The great clearout started today. The estate agent was coming round to value the place. I spent two solid hours of tidying and chucking out crap and she still turned her nose up and suggested I get in some professional cleaners. Cheeky cow. Then she proceded to value the place at a good 30k less than I thought.

It might sound quite a religious thing to say, but I'm really looking forward to be posessionless. Give or take, of course, a pack on my back.

A fellow VSOer told me what a buzz it had been, getting on his bike outside his newly sold property with nothing but a small bagful of clothes and his passport. I could immediately see his point. What freedom.

I never seem to get sentimental about objects. The house has been a great place to live but it was still just a house. I'll be more sorry to see my lovely yellow Punto go, but to be honest it's reaching an age with the clanks are louder than the revs.

Of the rest of my stuff I'll keep the clothes I'll be taking with me. I'll keep a couple of suits at me mam's too. My CD's can go in a box in the attic. No one is getting their hands on them.

But that leaves me with beds, coffee tables, TVs, stereos, lamps, pots, pans, plates and cups to get rid of. The vague plan is to send out an email to people I know and ask if anyone wants any of it.

They can have the smaller items. The larger stuff they can have on a long term loan. In other words, if and when I get back, and if I'm stopping and want to buy another house, then I might just want it back. Chances are I won't though.

I've also been given the contact details of a charity that helps asylum seekers. That'll be worth it just to annoy any Daily Mail readers I may have accidently befriended.

But imagine it. Imagine the day when it's all gone. How fantastic is that going to feel?

I can't wait till I've finished all my training. Passed my medical. Filled out the million forms. Got my flight details etc etc.

Then I can really enjoy a last beer in the Toon.

Cross town traffic

 
Google-searching for Hanoi pictures on the 'net I was reminded of the traffic.

It's like nothing you've seen before.  On most streets cars are relatively rare.  There are a few bikes, and a sprinkling of cyclos, but the vast majority of the congestion is caused by scooters.

During rush hour it's quite some sight.  Especially just as it's getting dark when you get a mix of commuters traveling home and the bright young things posing for all they're worth.  The lights on the bikes just fly by you.  If you're sitting in a pavement cafe then it's a fascinating spectacle.  But if you have to cross the road then it's not quite so enjoyable.

Your instincts tell you to wait for a break in the traffic then run as fast as you can.  Except there is no break, and if you run then you're only likely to make yourself a harder target to avoid.

Instead you have to walk as slowly as you can.  It's best not to look at the traffic at all.  Just keep walking.  The aim is for them to see you and to take evasive action.  The sea just parts around you and you become the centre of the only space on the road.

Occasionally though, when you do sneak a look at a traffic, the sight of a teenage girl, driving while speaking into her mobile, scares the hell out of you.

Has she seen you?  Will she have time to avoid you?

Scooters appear to be the principle form of transport.  A whole family on a scooter is a fairly regular site.  Dad drives, with a child sat in front of him.  Mum sits behind, often with another child strapped to her back.  Livestock lashed to a bike is also a regular sight.  Occasionally items of furniture too.

As a tourist, quite often getting a ride on a scooter, or moto, was the only way to get around and they scared the hell out of me.  All sixteen stone of me on the back of a moto, plus the driver with my pack between his knees.  

At first I didn't know where to hang on.  I'd cling onto the driver leaving embarrassing marks with my sweaty paws.  Later I discovered the bar under the seat.

Local passengers don't seem to hang on at all.  Girls will even ride side-saddle.

I think I will make do with walking. 

Apparently I will be living on Van Mieu Street.  By all accounts I will be dividing my time between the training centre and the restaurant, both apparently also on, or adjacent to Van Mieu. 

Searching for pictures of the streets, it seems like a rather nice area.  The Temple of Literature is there and is surrounded by much leafyness.


 Temple of Literature

I've been wandering a lot about what my house will be like. I'll be sharing with two other VSOers and apparently it actually comes with a TV and a kitchen.  To be honest I can't really see myself using either much.  I can eat from street hawkers as cheaply as anything I can make myself and I can't think the telly will hold much appeal.  Then again, if I can get ESPN, I might even be able to watch a little bit of footy.

But will the house be clean?  Will it be secure against rats and creepy crawlies?  Will it be above one of those godawful karaoke bars, with it's sickly Asian pop?  To give you some idea about local pop music, when I was last there all I heard was the awful "Kiss Kiss Boom Boom" everywhere I went. 

Who knows what I will do with my weekends?  Maybe I'll be so tired that I'll just want to sleep and potter around.  Maybe I'll take the chance to go off and explore the locality. 

One of the first jobs will be to find the nearest pho joint.  The PieMan has already recommended  13 Lo Duc street, it remains to be seen how local that is.  He has also promised to put a Hanoi food guide on his blog too.  If you haven't checked him out already make sure you do.


 Pho - pictured pinched from NoodlePie

Anyway, all in all, it's suddenly starting to seem very real.  And very near. 

Excitement is building. 

Hanoi - last time around

I first arrived in Vietnam on May 22nd, 2002. I flew into Hanoi airport, which was my first stop on an eight month tour that would take me through South East Asia and subsequently Central America.

I have very little recollection of Hanoi airport but the trip into the city will stay with me forever.

Sitting in the back of a taxi, not having slept for 24 hours, even my tired eyes were forced open by the surrounding views. As you move along the dusty roads, the hundreds of scooters part in front of you and on both sides of the track all you can see is conical-hatted women working in the fields.

It was probably about five seconds into the journey that a grin broke across my face. It mostly stayed there for the next six weeks.

From then on though my Hanoi experiences were a little mixed. For starters the taxi driver ripped me off. I paid $10 more than the guidebook suggested. What's more I knew I was being ripped off but I was too tired to argue.

Little matter, Hanoi was beautiful. No one could fail to be impressed by the architecture and the feel of the city, but for a pale skinned Geordie, short on sleep and naive of traveler ways, Hanoi proved a little difficult.

Compounding his over charging, the taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong hotel and I didn't even notice. Obviously he was getting his cut. I opted to have a walk about in order to delay sleep till local time. Two hours of profuse sweating and being pestered by street kids selling postcards later I decided to return.

It was only then that I realised I wasn't at the hotel I thought I was. But if I wasn't there, then where the hell was I?

I spent the next three hours in Hanoi trying to find the hotel, all the time being pestered to buy something. My panic was mounting. How the hell do you find a hotel that you don't even know the name of? Two cyclo rides didn't even help. They couldn't point me in the right direction. My new sandals were rubbing, the humidity was unbearable and I was badly dehydrated.

Eventually I told a postcard seller that yes I would by some cards. But first he would have to find my hotel. I described it to him and he set off walking quickly, and cursing my blisters I followed. He walked and walked and I started to worry if this was another red herring route. Perhaps this was part of an elaborate kidnapping plan.

Almost 45 minutes later I got to the hotel. Because of my total relief I must have bought nearly all the kid's cards. Ten minutes later, I flopped onto my bed, turned out the light and....heard scurrying noises.

A second later the light was back on and I was in the middle of a staring match with a cockroach. Aaaaarrrggggh.

Call it symptomatic of a sheltered upbringing but I had never actually seen a cockroach in the flesh. They're ugly. Their antennas move independently of each other and they're fearless too.

Suddenly I was wide awake. I was convinced that the second I fell asleep it would walk across my face, probably laying eggs in any orifice it could. Every time I switched off the light the scurrying began again and I would be once again incapable of sleep.

I think I eventually dropped off about three in the morning, only to be woken again at five with the sounds of Asian pop music, scooters revving and general crashing of pans. Vietnamese people, I was soon to learn, work long hours and if they're awake, they don't really see why you should sleep.

So I got up and that day at least was a little more productive. I decided I needed some beach time so I booked myself on the train to Nha Trang later that week. Or rather I should say, the nice man at reception did, he took my money, and bought me a ticket on the Reunification Express fast train.

I also booked myself a two day tour of Halong Bay, the nearby beauty spot.

I set off for the trip the following day, leaving my pack at the hotel. It was magical. For the first time I started to really unwind in Vietnam. The food was amazing, the company was good and I started to warm to the Vietnamese. Vietnamese people manage to be cheeky and shy all at once. They seem friendly, but they're entrepreneurial too - always chasing the dollar. I also learnt that when saying: "No I don't want to buy that", if I did it with a smile, and a joke, they didn't get angry with me.


  Halong Bay

So after a couple of days swimming in the South China sea, eating seafood and mastering chopsticks, I returned to the Roach Hotel in Hanoi. I slept another night and caught the train the next morning.

The hotel owner even offered me a free taxi right to the station. Despite my protestations the very small porter also carried my pack, right onto the train and helped me store it under my bunk. I tipped him of course.

The train ride was amazing. I appeared to be the only westerner on board. There can be few stranger sites that six people sat across a bottom bunk shoveling rice into their mouths from little plastic bowls. There were five Vietnamese and me, in a Newcastle shirt, shaven headed and twice their size.

A whole day later I was ready to get off the train. My pack was packed, I had waved good bye to my cabin mates and made faces at the little kids one last time. The train slowly stopped and I was in Danang, not Nha Trang.

Hanoi had ripped me off one last time. I had paid full fare for the ticket but I was on the slow train, not the fast one. My previous hotel had pocketed the $20 difference. No wonder they took me right to my carriage, they didn't want me asking any questions of the guards on the way. Riding on the slow train meant I was still another 12 hours away from my destination. I did the only thing I could. I laughed and returned sheepishly to my cabin. I was starting to get the hang of Vietnam.

I don't think I was ever ripped off again. The street hawkers also became no bother at all. A smile and a shake of the head was enough, even better was a joke. In fact I came to rely on them. Every finished paperback, every empty packet of fags was normally followed by two or three kids rushing to sell me a replacement.

I still hate cockroaches but at least I can deal with them now. I used to catch them in my soap dish and chuck them out the window.

I didn't do Hanoi justice the first time around. Between sleep deprivation and a lack of experience it sent me scurrying off to the beach pretty quick. But I know it's beautiful and after spending a month and a half in Vietnam, at least I now know how it works.

I'm looking forward to giving Hanoi a second chance. I met many more seasoned travelers who loved it and I know I will come to love it too. But I'll bargain harder this time, I'll be a little less gullible too, but I'll also keep smiling.

Hanoi, I'm coming back.

the why of it

So why volunteer work, why VSO and why now?

If I'm honest life hasn't really been the same since I turned 30.  It was only at 30 that I realised that life wasn't predestined.  I think it suddenly occurred to me that the path I took for granted either wouldn't, couldn't or didn't have to, be as I expected.

I guess I had just assumed somewhere along the line that I'd marry, have kids and settle down.  It was only later on that I questioned whether that was even what I wanted.  And if I didn't want that, was there any room for me here?

There comes a time when you're the only single person at the wedding.  And maybe, as it has been pointed out to me, maybe I just haven't met the right person.  And of course that's correct.  Of course if I had met the right person, then I probably wouldn't be doing this.  But I always liken it to winning the lottery.  Yes it would be nice if it happened, but I'm not going to plan for it or build my life around it. 

Putting aside the Camelot comparisons for a second, I'm not even sure that I'm ready for it.  Even at 33 I'm still too independent to consider settling down.  I still need too much me time.   I'm still far too selfish.

And as for kids, well I'm starting to like them.  But only other people's.  Two hours maximum is pretty good, anything longer than that and they lose all their appeal.  I'm becoming an uncle for the first time in a month or so - that'll do nicely for the time being.

My biggest fear of being a dad is simply that I wouldn't ever be able to do this.  Namely drop everything, sell up and move on.  It's hardly been at the drop of a hat but it beats waiting till they've grown up and left home.

But why VSO?  Well somewhere between turning 30 and now, I took time out to think up a new plan.  A plan that deviated from the norm.  During this time I went traveling.  The change in me was far more wide reaching than I expected.  I spent a lot of time thinking.  A lot of time reading and a lot of time simply staring at sunsets.

I learnt that there's more to life than the UK.  Actually forget the UK.  I learnt there was more to life than Newcastle.  If you know me, then you'll know what a leap that it.  I love this city.  It's the love of my life.  But it is time for a trial separation.

Staying in Newcastle meant continuing with normality.  Continuing with office jobs and office politics, and while it's been nice to be self employed this past 12 months, at the end of the day I'm still not cut out for the commercial world.

Post traveling it all became less important to me.  Everything seemed so slow, so dull, so trivial.   I considered traveling again but I was worried that it was literally a road to nowhere.  So I needed something that wasn't so slow, dull or trivial.  Something where the commerce that bored me would be replaced with a challenge that would keep me fresh and motivated.

Then there was the war.  Excuse me using the next phrase in this context, but Iraq has been my Vietnam.  I know when I look back in decades to come, people will ask what I did to oppose the war.  Well I marched, I wrote letters, I bored the pants on my friends and I became angrier and angrier and angrier.

I have no level of nationalism left in me.  Between the war, the BNP and the Daily Mail it has all been stripped away.  Britain is simply somewhere I was born.  And right now I want to get out, I don't want to play a part in what is being done.  And as many times as I repeat "Not in my name", I know it is in my name.  It is being perpetuated by my country and by the Government I voted for. 

So that is it.  I fought.  The fight will go on but without me.  I am swapping a life of being angry for the choice of not being involved.  I want no part of Great Britain for the time being.

VSO from the outset looked like the perfect organisation for me.  They pay.  Albeit something like $5 a day, but at least enough to get by.  They provide training and they provide help and assistance that is genuinely sustainable.  Meeting all the VSOers, I know I have made the right choice.  I know because, as different as we all are, we have all reached the same crossroads in our lives.

VSO meant two years too.  Two years is a good length of time.  Long enough to be genuinely life changing.  Long enough to be a real adventure.  Long enough for you to really settle into a culture.

But short enough for the end still to be in sight.

So there you have it.  That's why I'm off on September 3rd. 

Exciting isn't it?

A blog is born

So here it is.  The new blog.

This will document, from this point onwards, my experiences as a VSO volunteer with KOTO in Hanoi, Vietnam.

As it stands, my leaving date is September 3rd, but there is a great deal to do in the meantime.  People keep asking me whether I am nervous about my new life.  The honest answer is no.  It's all the work that has to be done first that scares the hell out of me.

Typically, having muddled along for the past 12 months as a self employed PR person, all of a sudden, when I am looking to wind down - everyone seems to be throwing work at me.

The good news is that the cash I'll make will help clear things financially before I go, the bad news is right now I just don't have the time.  Unfortunately I don't have the guts to turn it down either.

To complicate matters even further, I have managed to do something very painful to my ankle.  I have played five-a-side without a single injury for years now, suddenly, when I really need all my mobility, I go and knock lumps off myself.

The good news is that despite the worrying bruising and a bit of swelling, it only appears to be a bad sprain, or at worst ligaments.  An xray in the next couple of days will hopefully confirm there are no broken bones.

Either way, clearing out the house and helping to fix it up for a potential buyer is beyond me right now. 

I'll blog a little more in the future about why I wanted to do VSO as well as my love affair with Vietnam.  I just wish everything could be sorted so I could really start to enjoy the anticipation.