Hanoi .

Memorandum of understanding
By Nathalie Sokolovskaya(by Solomon Natali)

For Libby Zinman Schwartz

All events described below

should be considered not fictional
but factual and purely autobiographic.

In the March issue of the Guide magazine I ve read the story of my colleague Libby Zinman
Schwartz on her desperate struggle with robbery and trickery in Saigon ie about her painful
crisis of harmonious existence with the city dearly loved at bygone days. Although I
subsequently got to know from her article at East n West mag she is getting much better after
moving to the bright new expats-populated Phu My Hung and is admiring again at the unusual
courtesy of Vietnamese citizens ,I can’t resist answering her Easy chair article with the story of
my so emotion- demanding n even health-sacrificing love affaire with Hanoi at bygone days.
Hanoi,the romantic city of lakes ,in the shadow of branchy palms and banian trees,of the Ancient
and the truly Asian looking from pagodas and temples at the rapid stream of motorbikes n
bycicles running by,of fragile Vietnamese ladies wearing something long and flying,of conical
hats,of old French style villas nighbouring with traditional asian houses,and of joyful mess of
local markets-it was definitely the love from the first sight.The love that lasted four years.That’s
admirably long for the merely good jewish boy,I should say.Each day of these were filled with
new sensations n discoveries:of the new sounds, perfumes,tastes,faces and gestes.The smiling
people ,speaking unknown language made of some amazing unfamiliar melody that
subsequently became 0,9 understandable,than 0,5 understandable and o,9 pronouncable and
communicable and at last after 3years –fully communicable n 0,5 understandable.On the second
year of my residing in Vietnam , it was also a decent command of French added by efforts of
French teachers from Alliance Francaise n L’Espace,also the great admirers n probably the
most long established Hanoi residents-expats.On the 3rd year the Masters degree in Vietnamese
philology has appeared on the cloudless horizon n glittered with all the brightest colors as a
perspective to strive for.
Then something has happened.The apparatus of faithful love to Vietnamese capital has
unexpectedly got a system up set.One day on the 4th year of my happy living in Hanoi when
sitting on a balcony of my apartment I suddenly felt I m choking as is of an attack of Quincke
swelling,squizzed between a tiny lanes,tiny distances between people,tiny pavements,heavily
pressed with the dirty gray sky made of smoke of billions of motorbikes n industrial zones,always
hanging very close to earth in the city.One’s personal space in fact is constantly being invaded
in the capital of Vietnam by crowds of people ,touching you,pushing you ,stepping over your
foot,gazing at you.A person is never left alone here ,even in one’s apartment with permanent
sounds and movements in dangerous closeness,with windows of curious neighbores at the
distance of a half of a meter.The artillery shootinglike sounds of permanent constructions
running 24/24 without fail,that always would be in two or three houses from the one of yours
wherever you go,however expensive district of the city n luxurious house you choose.As during
last years Hanoi is shaking in construction fever.The private space of ones house,however new n
expensive it is, would be regularly visited by flying coackroaches of menacing size and obesity
,lizards n mice.In summer one’s house will be fully occupied by the omnipresent heat ,giving no
air to breath in(with only a synthetic artificial air-conditioned air to help) ,in winter it ll
surrender to cold humidity that ll transform one’s lungs into fish gills .All these oppressive
pictures ,drawn and summarized by the vivid imagination reminded me the extremely exact n
successful in its conceipt and in space representation installation of some young Vietnamese
artist I ve seen in Fine Arts Exhibition Centre-the toilet bowl installed in the small dark corner
of the exhibition hall, fenced by plastic walls to the tiny space approximately 0,5 m in radius
,with a live bird in a cage ,hanging right above the toilet attribute ,the old telephone and
casserole placed on its edges and the author of the installation alive squeezed in this scary
improvised aquarium as a final and most impressive touch.The title of this work was “Stuffy”,if
I m not mistaken.
The next day after the great deception ,when leaving the house with a bag of rubbish to throw
away n passing by small stall with green tea of so sweetly affable old lady yet yesterday I
nearly lost consciousness after having heard her telling some client the following:look how
disguastingly rich the guy is ,how much he eats ,what a big bag of garbage…No comments.I
nearly lost consciousness not because I felt profoundly offended or hurt but of a total etonnement
how people can live thinking this way n not to get asphyxiated with the negative.On my way to
work that takes ar 15 minutes walk at each crossroads of the four I listened attentively to xe om
s commentaries behind my back how fat/skinny ,tall/short ,well-dressed/bad-dressed ,bad –
shaven,unbrushed/too chick brushed I am .Not a single of those presented could n t resist
expressing his opinion loudly ,being sure tay khong biet tieng Viet-westerner doesn’t know
Vietnamese.Amazingly funny.On my way I did cross 2 men,that kept silence,in fact –busy with
pissing on the walls of Vietnamese- Russian cultural palace. To take distant walks one should
have steel nerves and healthy sense of humour.Riding a motorbike is a solution but much more
dangerous than long tongued pavement commentators .
Hanoi is a land of small wonders and great amazements.To make the portrait of outspoken
Vietnamese transport more colorful I d say that in addition to possible crashes with other
motorbikes involved ,one also has a real chance to hit a big noodle soup metallic stall on the
wheels ,crossing a street with a driver pushing it from behind, so absolutely deprived of any
sight of a street ahead,though as self-confident as Bentley driver can be or with something
hardly discriable –some wreck-carrier on three wheel ,hand –made from old motorbike and
usually overshipped with vegetables, pigs or plastic stools.If one managed to escape such sorts
of road accidents, he still risks to get striken by torn electric cable under voltage which can be
daily seen hanging right at the level of passing driver’s heads or one risks to be hit with 2meter
long bamboo trunks,transported on a motorbike or perceived with metallic sticks of unknown
provenance and unknown destination often carried on a motorbike as well.When going on a long
ride one should keep off the long distance buses,coz of bus-sick passengers doing their urgent
needs from the bus windows,or bussickness-resistant passengers throwing the bags with rests of
their abundant meal from the windows.When flying these last gain the hitting power of a
catapult ball!May God bless riding expats!
When crossing a street on foot,even if crossing skillfully just as balerin Maya Plisetskaya
,making graceful pirouettes, one still risks to be hit by…a pedestrian crossing the road from the
opposite side.Keep off the panels-covers of sewage at the edges of pavements in order not to
have one’s foot go deep in fecal stream.Once on the pavement ,to relax is the reckless thing one
can do.Keep an eye on small lanes n houses along the way in order not get the rests of green tea
or the rests of something ,darted by inhabitants from the door cut.The chance to get the bunch of
welding flashes or a good piece of a brick on the head from some construction ,always stays
real.While walking in the very center I once had my pants caught with a hook of…a fish –
tackle of some insane who decided to fish in the old quarter.I was n t that very much surprised
,remembering how I was bitten by ..a crab on a.. train car(!!) when traveling to Sapa.My
traveling companion carried crabs,one of these has escaped from the basket n got in to my bed
in the night.May God bless walking and traveling expats!
Public buses in Hanoi can barely become a safe auberge for too sensitive tourists.They have
an inexplicable habit not to stop at the bus stops but lightly slow down there.So for 5 seconds
proposed one have to complete the following mission impossible:make a fight with a crowd of
others striving to get on n squeeze oneself in between the crowd inside.In the afternoon of that
very day of the deception while on a bus I observed a Vietnamese man had his neck pinched by
the bus door in such a manner his head was outside.He travelled in such a condition a good half
of a quarter .He as well as others around with courtous bus driver included were laughing.I
admire the great optimism of Vietnamese people.

This story of the deception has finally got its evil end.When riding back home on the 8 march in
the night after having congratulate all the ladies dearly loved I got hit with some truck that
nessia from behind.The courtes driver didn’t even disturbed himself to stop ,but continued his
way.If I had no helmet,which I ve seen after having regained consciousness , scattered in to
pieces like an egg shell,this had surely become the end not only of the deception but of the
existence.When I regained consciousness I was already standing ,inside the square meter fully
covered with blood,talking with my friend on phone in calm voice if somewhat university prof
,informing him I had an accident . While lying on the road unconscious ,someone very kind n
compassionate came n evacuated my golden ring ,chain n wallet much faster than ambulance
arrived n evacuated me.I was taken to a hospital.Then it was 8 unforgettable hours of doctors
non-action n waiting for docs actions of mine.In the beginning of the 2nd hour after the arrival to
the hospital I actually had a blood SIDA test n X-rays.Nothing was done during the 3d hour at
the hospital.I was left in the stuffy room together with some 20 or ab injured.Several groups of
docs came n interrogated me,shook their heads n left but no aid was offered.Although I ve paid
800 dollars at the very arrival on their request.On the 4th hour-still nothing has been done and I
started to realize how survivable a human being with a big hole in the head can be.If nothing
has been done,I probably can go back home ,glue 20 centimeters of my scalp back to the head
there on my own and it will recover soon.Khong sao!-Take it easy n Don t worry-the favorite
expression of Vietnamese citizens.I tried to get up from a bad to start the way back home but
suddenly felt I don’t feel any feet below.No,thanks God,they still were there but didn’t obey me.I
stayed at bed.
A very old Vietnamese lady that had apparently her cerebral twisted was lying on a bed next to
mine moaning of pain and despair.For 4 hours I stayed there I ve seen only a nanny came up to
her once.I sang her Tfilat yom huledet –my favorite song.If I could I would give her a hug.But I
was paralysed.She stopped moaning n sang a song for me.It was me who started to cry.When I
saw a man in the corridor with his 4 cut fingers in a plastic bag in ice doing a long queue to
some doc’s cabinet(he was n t even complaining but standing calmly is if he was waiting his turn
to buy a loaf of bread )I understood that either the whole world has gone mad together with
heartless doctors or I were already dead in a hell or happened to enter at one of Bosch’s or Van
Eick’s pictures. If I m still alive I d be dead soon.And this evill hospital surely has a huge hole
in the backyard where they throw dead bodies.And this room is the last thing I am contemplating
in this life.Then the lights has been swithched off n the curtain fell.I has been operated on the 8th
hour as my friends said,ie I had 20 centimeters of my scalp resewed to the head .The docs ve
said after, they r sorry for the delay n the reason was that they were waiting for some skillful n
experienced neurosurgeon to arrive(from Saigon,probably)n make the operation .My friends said
the docs together with the surgeon have had a chic dinner before the operation.They ve finished
only when one of my embassy councels told them he ll call the police if they are n t to start the
operation.I regained consciouseness 6 hours after I had lost it in a separate room full of my
compassionate friends .I realized how many frank n devoted friends I have .One Vietnamese
friend came from Hai Phong to stay with me day n night ,to read n sing song for me.Another
filled the room with flowers and brought a TV .My vietnamese teacher took my Mom at his home
,who had an extreme unluck to visit me right at that weird time.Another Vietnamese friend
,working at the embassy abroad was constantly calling to the best hospitals seeking the most
professional docs for me.In fact I ve never met such a devoted ,kind –hearted friends before as I
had met in Vietnam.The Vietnamese usually pay generously for a kindness, for a sincere interest
in their culture ,for a talk with them in Vietnamese. Many of them become good friends ,many of
these are ready to put off the last pants left and to give them to a friend.Well ,Vietnam is a
country of contrasts.
Three weeks in bed ,gave me a plenty of time to review and reflect on what ve happen and what
to do after.The wish to leave forever was more than strong.But to leave the country I really loved
meant to quit many important things incompleted.There is nothing worse of the non-completion,
a bitter feeling that is to stay with one long after .So I finally decided to stay .But under the
present circumstances it was barely possible to stay with Hanoi .Definitly not because I hate
it.Not at all ,I still loved it. May be in a bit less idealist way but in more realist one. Two of us
had ,as authorities in my country write in a divorce certificate ,the noncompatibility of
characters.I changed the situation ie moved to Dalat,a Vietnamese Paris of mine ,my mysterious
noble lady ,hiding her real face under a voile of cold inaccessible beauty of French style high
hill city,the city of French architecture,lash pine forests and sun-colored bamboos ,where I can
breath in the full chest of mountainous air, spread hands without hitting a couple or three
passers by,where I live n work comfortably.
I moved to Dalat n Libby Zinnman Schwartz moved to Phu My Hung,we both did the right
choice-chose czohes ,not nahes by changing the situation but staying faithfull to the love to
Vietnam.
I still love to come to Hanoi.On business.Not more then 3 days preferably.I love Ba Dinh square
full of children playing at week-ends,turning into the immense kinder-garding on Saturday n
Sunday.As when one sees so many happy children ,one realizes that life goes on n everything is
normal.Bet, Uncle Ho always dreamt to observe such a peaceful image from his Mausoleum.If
he ever dreamt of being canned in the Mausoleum.I love the West Lake with no banks,with swan-
pedalos drifting peacefully,the Opera House in lights ,waiting for a stage play or concert to
start.I do love profoundly the boiling mess of the old quarter,the true life that is being poured out
on the street,which I would never change for this synthetic ,polite n clean ,enclosed at
apartments of multi-storeyed buildings in the West,as a banal present hidden within richly
decorated gift- box.But I m sure I would never be back to Hanoi as a permanent resident.As we
have disaccord of characters.
With a profound gratitude to Hanoi for the life lessons it gave me, with great respect, sympathy
and kindest regards to Hanoians,I put a final point and sign below this Memorandum of
understanding between us .
And here remain
Solomon Natali