Vietnam - first impressions

Touts, like flies to shit, attack us even before the bus grinds to a halt, climbing on the wheels to attract attention. They are frantic and intense, touching my arm and jostling competition away. As usual, we refuse all assistance, and wait for the melee to recede. After more than an hour of traipsing the main road, fending touts off and looking at rooms, we arrive at a guesthouse/restaurant. The distracted hostess, sweat beading on her forehead, appears from behind a bamboo screen, and after looking us up and down, approaches our table with dog eared menus. She wipes the table resentfully with a grubby, damp cloth, and stands looking blankly our the window at the busy street awaiting out order.

Do you have any rooms? I ask. Her eyes flash as she considers the proposal. Thinking about money I assume.
Yes, she coos. Would you like to see?
Please, I respond. But first we’ll order food. I’ll take the vegetable fried noodles and a beer. Steph orders fried rice.

The lady yells our order towards the kitchen and beckons us to follow down a dank, poorly lit passageway. She stops and pushes back a creaky door. Two fans already set at maximum stir the humid air, as our host explains the various features of the room. A three quarter wall separates the bathroom from the simple bedroom, where 2 beds are crammed into the corners, sheets stretched across weary, sagging mattresses. I poke my head around the divide, assessing the bathroom. It’s a standard Asian issue – toilet in the corner, complete with waste bin for toilet paper. Toilet paper causes Asian sewerage systems to block. Wall mounted hose with shower nozzle attachment and a basin with mirror and side board. The hand basin is not plumbed in so water drops directly to the floor and flows to the shower drain. It’s relatively clean at first glance, and although a closer inspection would yield all manner of filth, I’ve seen worse.

How much? I ask, hoping the direct approach will reduce the asking price.
Eighty thousand, without air-con, she replies in perfect English, holding my gaze. Check out is at 12.
And air-con?
Forty thousand extra. A small grin comes across her face, but she stifles it, replacing it with a cold, unemotional business expression.
We’ll take it, I say. No air-con.
Fine, she says, passing me the key. Don’t forget your food, she adds and closes the door.

I remove my sweaty clothes and jump under the shower nozzle wearing only thongs. It’s lukewarm on the cold setting, a legacy of summer afternoon heat, but refreshing nonetheless. I pull on some fresh clothes and join Steph in the restaurant. The beer is colder than the shower (a good sign), and the food is hot and tasty. Adding a generous squirt of chilli sauce, I scoff it down. So begins our auspicious month in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.