We headed back to Hanoi Backpackers to wait for our pickup to the coach station, where we’d board an overnight sleeper bus to Hoi An. The madness and chaos outside on the streets of Hanoi, and the stark contrast in here, made it felt like an embassy and a place of respite and protection. We felt the same familiarity as any Wetherspoon pub. Even the two Vietnamese receptionists felt like they were on our side. A little bit like during the Anglo-Zulu wars, when the British still had Zulu’s fighting for them. Or like Men In Black, as I seem to remember Aliens working in the Intelligence HQ.

Knowing we had a long journey in front of us, and with some experience of how treacherous these journeys could be, we went on a hunt for valium, which we heard was available from all good chemists. This was not the case, as it hard to convey to shopkeepers what we wanted. We only had the hand gesture of putting something in our mouth and saying “V-A-L-I-U-M” and then doing the gesture to indicate falling asleep. It’s normally used to treat anxiety disorder or alcohol withdrawal pains but that might be a bit hard demonstrate. God knows the embarrassing difficulty girls must have when trying to buy sanitary towels (especially as their is a brand of tissue out here called Tampon). After walking around the city for nearly 2 hours and visiting almost every chemist, we had to settle on some herbal remedy called Rotunda. Now tired and ready to go to bed, I started to wonder if valium was in fact a tangible thing, or if it was the hunt and the quest for it which made you sleepy and drowsy. A concept of sorts.

We got on the coach around 7pm and necked some Rotunda. The coach seemed quiet which was good considering we only had 14 hours to our next destination. But just as I was getting comfortable, with the sound of the coach slowly driving off, I heard shouting outside. The coach came to an abrupt halt to let three guys get on. Now I would expect them to have just got on, settled down and let the peace continue. But no, they get on laughing and talking extremely loud. Two of the guys were of Mediterranean appearance and well built, while the other one was a much shorter pale thin lad with short curly hair. After he was happy that he and his mates had woken the whole coach up, the pale one looked over at me and Ben, and triumphantly stated “We’re Israeli”.

Well done Lads.

“We’re Israeli” he boasted, scanning us for a reaction.

“I thought you guys were Israeli” he said, to which I tried my best to look put out. We coolly told them we were English. Pointing at Ben he said “you do not look English, you look Israeli”.

I thought this was kind of ironic as Ben looked just as Israeli, as this bloke looked like Norman, the little kid who worked in the sweet shop in Postman Pat. They continued to laugh and one proceeded to cough throughout.

Ben’s account

One of the worst facets of travelling is spending vast amounts of time in confined chambers with dense concentrations of people in transit. I don’t perceive these people as potential friends but potential vehicles for airborne diseases. I think I’d rather be well in an average place than ill in and exceptional place. As our 50-bed sleeper bus departs, I think I’ve got away with it, but out progress is checked to allow a group of Israeli lads get on. One of whom has an audibly malignant chesty cough…..I hate him. 14 hours! Two berths away from this prick. may try to sleep with a bit of my jacket over my mouth. There is a two-man buffer between me and him, hopefully enough to absorb the lion’s share of malignant molecules before parading to my side of the cabin. ‘Throaty’ colds for Israeli’s must be exacerbated since the coughing up sound is an integral phoneticism in their language.