13 October 2011 / leggypeggy

Do I look like I’ve been hit by the proverbial bus?

A barrage of motorbikes. This was taken in Hoi An, which has about one-tenth as many bikes as Hanoi.

No! But I do look like I’ve been knocked down by the not-proverbial motor scooter! Let me explain. Oh, and no pictures of my wounds just yet. Maybe if I end up with a shiner.

Late this morning, we arrived in bustling Hanoi, VIetnam. Poor John had arranged an airport pick-up for us—$22 for a 45-minute drive to the hotel. The driver wasn’t too bad, but would probably have had to pull over if his horn had broken. Nevertheless, we were irked for two reasons. Poor John was annoyed because the driver gave a freebie lift to one of his friends. I was annoyed because it soon became apparent that my seat (in a virtually new car) was soaking wet. Obviously, somebody had left the window open during some torrential rain storm. The driver giggled when I told him about it, and while I know it is common for Asians to laugh when they are embarrassed or apologetic, it’s still infuriating.

I was not at all pleased to walk into the hotel (even a budget hotel) with a soaking wet bum.

But after a change of clothes from the waist down, we set out to explore the old city. Everywhere we went, the streets were a sea of vehicles—cars, buses, taxis, minivans, motorcycles, motor scooters, bicycles, cyclos (pedicabs) and sellers’ carts.

Crossing the street is a nightmare. The traffic lights do change and the little green man lights up, but the vast majority of vehicles simply don’t stop, so you make a tentative dash, weaving between the vroom-vrooms and blaring horns. The element of danger is compounded by the fact that here is no such thing as a one-way street—even if the arrows point one way.

About 4pm, I must have been getting cocky because I saw a break in traffic and strode out into a road near the Opera House.

That’s when she nailed me—from behind. A woman on a motor scooter going the wrong way on a one-way street. The crowd was furious with her. I was lying face-down in the road, on top of my camera. I’d made a perfect three-point landing—on my left knee, my camera (just under the left boob) and the left side of my forehead. Poor John hauled me up. I gathered my things, and walked off slightly dazed and in search of a place to sit down.

I knew I was wounded, but I also knew I wasn’t bleeding (except a bit on the knee). But when I showed Poor John the emu egg on my forehead, he headed off to find a taxi to take me to hospital. I saw him standing beside a taxi negotiating with a fellow who suddenly rushed to my side and said he’d be right over with his cyclo. Oops! Rather than argue (although I rather ungraciously said I might as well walk) I took a seat, and scooted over so Poor John could squeeze in.

Our ‘driver’ pedalled up the road about a kilometre and stopped in front of a very swish building that looked more like an office block. No, no that wasn’t the hospital. So he pedalled on until we arrived at what looked like a hospital—a seedy one.

The Hanoi Opera House and surrounding traffic. Snapped a few moments before I was decked—a bit off to the right of the photo.

Once there, we tried several entrances (displaying my forehead each time) before we found anyone who did anything other than point us toward another entrance. Finally Poor John found a nurse who found a nurse who spoke a bit of English. She took one look at my head and disappeared into the surgery, returning with an ace bandage that she wanted to wrap around my head.

Just in time, a trio of young doctors in jeans and sport shirts appeared in the hallway, at least they said they were doctors. Poor John explained the situation. They examined my head and said the outside looked okay, as long as the inside (my brain) was okay. They said I might have an absess in a week and if that happens I should go to hospital. They too offered to wrap the ace bandage around my head, but I thought that was overkill. I am the walking wounded, but I don’t need to look it.

I suspect I’m concussed, but I’ve been awake now for five hours and I plan to stay awake for another three. We walked home from the hospital which was several kilometres way from the hotel. I haven’t been nauseous. The emu egg has expanded below my eyebrow. Two of my ribs are hurting like the dickens. They’re not broken, but they sure are bruised. It hurts to go up and, especially, down stairs. The camera still works, which is the most amazing and relieving aspect of all. A Canon 450D is tougher than I ever suspected.

I wonder how much I’ll hurt when I wake up, and where exactly the bruises inflicted by the motor scooter itself will be felt. Tomorrow morning we’re going on a junk into Ha Long Bay for two days and a night. Another medical emergency is the last thing I need.