The life of a war correspondent isn’t easy; constant travel, unsavory locations, and, of course, the occasional attempt on your life. But I don’t let a little thing like rocket blow deter me, oh no – I was born a Journalist. (It does throw “hard hitting journalism” into a whole new light though, doesn’t it?)
[Disclaimer: Not actually a journalist]
Happy New Years 2008! (I’m going to throw temporality into the wind for this story – you can read about Christmas another time). I rang in the new years with my 25 companions in style; we patronized Bobby Chinn’s in down town Hanoi, apparently the most popular restaurant in the city. Bobby Chinn himself was the MC, enjoying himself immensely. Of course it’s easy to enjoy yourself when you have the mike and you’re handing out fireworks in a country where the liability laws that would normally hold his restaurant culpable simply don’t exist (as he repeatedly reminded his clientele). At 11:30pm he also was nice enough to give each person a gift! Packets which contained the following: one condom, two codeine. Needless to say, good times were had by all.
Even though we were yawning at 10:30 like the wimps that we are, my sister and I were determined to go out after midnight, and managed to convince two others of our approximate age to join us. Once the New Year was rung in, confetti spilled and hugs distributed, we left the restaurant to circle the small lake across the street. People were dancing, we wore hats, the lake was beautiful – the recipe for an excellent night, yes?
Let me impart upon you a little nugget of wisdom: when you’re in a developing country, and it’s right after midnight, on New Years, and you happen to see a few little sparks coming from the bushes, just a few, less than an inch high, and they peter out and stop, don’t wonder about a brush fire. Don’t stop to look. Don’t even slow down. Run.
It’s New Years! 2008! Wooo! Haha, that Vietnamese couple is grinning at my hat – give them a wink and a nod of the head, and – oh… are those sparks in that bush? Is there a fire? Take a step forward. Not a fire but a tube – a firewo-
Ringing. My eyes are closed. My head is numb. I reach up and touch it. My hands come away red – and now I can feel it streaming down my face.
“Guys…?”, my own voice sounds distant. I’m in Hanoi. I’m in Hanoi and I might need medical attention. But I’m not going to a hospital – I can’t risk the infection. We need to get in contact with our guide, Marco. He’s western, he’ll know what to do. People must get injured on biking trips in developing countries all the time.
“Holy shit! Are you all right? That’s a lot of blood!”
“Was that a firework?”
“I was standing thirty feet away and my ears are ringing, can you hear me?”
People are staring – the area is crowded. An old English guy offers me tissues which I press to my head. Is the blood spurting? Head wounds bleed a lot. I just have to keep up the pressure. No matter what, keep up the pressure.
“Guys we need to get back to the hotel”.
But I’m the only one that knows the way back and I can’t really see with the blood coming down my face. We’re talking and none of us can keep from laughing – I still have the party hat on. We’ll have to take a cab – it’s a one minute ride. The cab driver gives me more tissues but he’s arguing price while I bleed. Seriously? What a night.
As you’ve probably determined by this point, I survived my run in with the faulty firecracker in the brush. The bleeding did slow, and we cleaned it out. The half inch gash runs just above and to the left of my right eyebrow. In the states (or Canada) it would probably need a stitch or three but here I’m better off going without.
Of course that means it’s still an open gash. And this little wound is determined to bleed me out. Unfortunately for it, it’s a runt of a wound – the kind of wound that other wounds wouldn’t let join in their reindeer games. It won’t precisely stop, but it’s only draining me at a rate of about four or five drops an hour. At that rate it would take 167 day to lose what I lose when I give blood, and another four times that to drain me dry.
But be warned about 2008. I’ve seen it, and it will be an explosive year.
[Writer's Note: I typed this up when it was still before midnight in North America. Of course I’m only posting it now, so my warnings about 2008 may be too late. But in the 12 hours following midnight there were no less than three explosions that affected my group, of which mine was only the most severe. More posts to follow tonight or tomorrow recounting the events that occurred between the 25th and the 31st.]
[Disclaimer: Not actually a journalist]
Happy New Years 2008! (I’m going to throw temporality into the wind for this story – you can read about Christmas another time). I rang in the new years with my 25 companions in style; we patronized Bobby Chinn’s in down town Hanoi, apparently the most popular restaurant in the city. Bobby Chinn himself was the MC, enjoying himself immensely. Of course it’s easy to enjoy yourself when you have the mike and you’re handing out fireworks in a country where the liability laws that would normally hold his restaurant culpable simply don’t exist (as he repeatedly reminded his clientele). At 11:30pm he also was nice enough to give each person a gift! Packets which contained the following: one condom, two codeine. Needless to say, good times were had by all.
Even though we were yawning at 10:30 like the wimps that we are, my sister and I were determined to go out after midnight, and managed to convince two others of our approximate age to join us. Once the New Year was rung in, confetti spilled and hugs distributed, we left the restaurant to circle the small lake across the street. People were dancing, we wore hats, the lake was beautiful – the recipe for an excellent night, yes?
Let me impart upon you a little nugget of wisdom: when you’re in a developing country, and it’s right after midnight, on New Years, and you happen to see a few little sparks coming from the bushes, just a few, less than an inch high, and they peter out and stop, don’t wonder about a brush fire. Don’t stop to look. Don’t even slow down. Run.
It’s New Years! 2008! Wooo! Haha, that Vietnamese couple is grinning at my hat – give them a wink and a nod of the head, and – oh… are those sparks in that bush? Is there a fire? Take a step forward. Not a fire but a tube – a firewo-
Ringing. My eyes are closed. My head is numb. I reach up and touch it. My hands come away red – and now I can feel it streaming down my face.
“Guys…?”, my own voice sounds distant. I’m in Hanoi. I’m in Hanoi and I might need medical attention. But I’m not going to a hospital – I can’t risk the infection. We need to get in contact with our guide, Marco. He’s western, he’ll know what to do. People must get injured on biking trips in developing countries all the time.
“Holy shit! Are you all right? That’s a lot of blood!”
“Was that a firework?”
“I was standing thirty feet away and my ears are ringing, can you hear me?”
People are staring – the area is crowded. An old English guy offers me tissues which I press to my head. Is the blood spurting? Head wounds bleed a lot. I just have to keep up the pressure. No matter what, keep up the pressure.
“Guys we need to get back to the hotel”.
But I’m the only one that knows the way back and I can’t really see with the blood coming down my face. We’re talking and none of us can keep from laughing – I still have the party hat on. We’ll have to take a cab – it’s a one minute ride. The cab driver gives me more tissues but he’s arguing price while I bleed. Seriously? What a night.
As you’ve probably determined by this point, I survived my run in with the faulty firecracker in the brush. The bleeding did slow, and we cleaned it out. The half inch gash runs just above and to the left of my right eyebrow. In the states (or Canada) it would probably need a stitch or three but here I’m better off going without.
Of course that means it’s still an open gash. And this little wound is determined to bleed me out. Unfortunately for it, it’s a runt of a wound – the kind of wound that other wounds wouldn’t let join in their reindeer games. It won’t precisely stop, but it’s only draining me at a rate of about four or five drops an hour. At that rate it would take 167 day to lose what I lose when I give blood, and another four times that to drain me dry.
But be warned about 2008. I’ve seen it, and it will be an explosive year.
[Writer's Note: I typed this up when it was still before midnight in North America. Of course I’m only posting it now, so my warnings about 2008 may be too late. But in the 12 hours following midnight there were no less than three explosions that affected my group, of which mine was only the most severe. More posts to follow tonight or tomorrow recounting the events that occurred between the 25th and the 31st.]
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