Long distance air travel is airways a blur for me. I barely sleep, I bloat like a startled octopus and eventually a Boeing or Airbus spits me out in an unknown country where everything works, but just differently enough to bamboozle anyone (me) still in a T–6 time zone.
And so. FRA–SGN happened. Congratulations to the kid in 15E who wailed and bashed the armrest for seven solid hours, and further congratulations to the older gent in 14F who played whatever version of a gem-matching game existed on the in-flight entertainment system for the entire flight.
Checking baggage ‘through’ is an alien concept so I had to reclaim it after immigration in HCMC. That itself was a minor cultural highlight as just before I got to the front of the queue, all the border guards changed shift, saluting as they did so.
Having retrieved my bag, I then handed it over to a man who was repeating the word “Hanoi” over and over, and hoped for the best.
Having then found the domestic terminal and rather cursory security, this was the kind of resplendent accessory on offer at the store. 10/10, no notes.
Nothing else to report from the onward flight SGN-HAN except spotting perhaps the most disturbing infant medication advertisement ever at baggage claim.
And now I’m here in Hanoi. Further thoughts on that, in due course. (Spoiler alert: loving the chaos energy).
