yo, yo, here we go
the Hanoi choir calls
Chicken, horn, baby, horn...
Chicken, hammering, car rumble...
Neighbours fighting, dog whine...
Oooh surprise... two seconds of silence!
Horn, chicken, dog bark...
baby, car..
On a good Friday karaoke, militant Vietnamese... "mot, hai, ba" floats to my ears.
On a bad Friday the cries of the dead in a literal seance, the screaming and wails assail my senses drinking quietly in third floor flat
After the rains, fat frogs chirp happily in my drain pipes
mad geckos screech fight, flight (or fall) on the walls
Water drip, drips and spatter in noisy luscious lines, running rivulets down my ceiling
In the soft afternoon, harsh voices swirl amidst the pigeons flatter flutter and the general wail of you 'sandwiches, hot cakes, fresh breads..and cake sellers, fruit ladies, bread men and flower ladies tune their vocal instruments to an ear splitting key..
I love the lazy ones with an amplifier attached to bicycle with the pre-recorded static distorting across the power lines into my window..
to my un-Vietnamese mind the sticky rice lady selling ang soi dah sounds like "Asshole Day, Asshole Day" over and over.
my ears have factored in the honking and disseminated it into nothing..constant honking for me is just fine.
Dog, baby, horn, car...
And so goes the ambient base-beat of Hanoi...and I live in a particularly quiet part of town.
