Hanoi

Rather thrillingly the day began with a visit to see "Uncle Ho".  His mausoleum, as you would expect, is a giant concrete communistic affair surrounded with much pomp and ceremony.  Immaculate soldiers in snowy white uniforms form the guard and ensure that decorum is kept.  You are not allowed to carry anything, wear sunglasses, talk, put your hands in your pockets, wear shorts or sleeveless tops and you have to walk two by two at a steady pace.  

You get surprisingly close to the waxen body whose image, with its long, wispy beard, is so familiar.  He had very small hands.

Afterwards we visited the Palace and the stilt house in its grounds, where Ho Chi Minh chose to live.  Then, a visit to the Army Museum completed our sightseeing.  I find the history of "The American War", as it's known here, extremely interesting but the hardware leaves me a little cold. What was very touching, to me anyway, was the large group of war veterans on a tour of the museum.  Many were wearing their old military jackets and hats and were very smiley. 

There are many lakes, of all sizes, in Hanoi.  In one, tiny one, there are the vestiges of a B52 bomber that crashed into it during the Christmas bombings of the city in 1972.  It is overlooked by a school.

It was whilst we were in the palace complex that we witnessed something so violent, so shocking, that I'm still reeling from it.  A couple with a boy of about 5 years old, were taking photographs near a tiny temple.  The father started to yell at the little boy about something, although he hadn't done anything that I could see, he then hit him so hard I yelled out at him to stop. Then, appallingly, he kicked the little chap on the bottom with such brutal force he flew in the air and landed on the ground.  There were many people around and a shocked silence ensued.  I went to go over but the mother had grabbed the boy and dragged him away.  It was awful.  What compounded the horror of the attack was that the poor little boy didn't cry, not a tear - he didn't even shout out, when the force used must have hurt so much - it would certainly have made me cry.  One can only imagine what he has to endure at home.

Tomorrow we actually start driving. We are going to the Ho Chi Minh trail museum, on the outskirts of Hanoi, where we will collect our Jeeps and start moving south.