Emboldened by the triumph of my sunrise cycling tour around the temples of Siem Reap, Cambodia, I booked another for Hanoi.
My guide zoomed up mounted on a moped – the death traps I had sworn to avoid, no matter how temptingly my ride booking app dangled fare discounts. Beaming and buoyant, he flourished a spare helmet and waved me aboard. I gulped down my protests and bowed to courtesy before scruples.
I had insisted on a tour of the “countryside”, wishing for rice paddies without the two hour bus ride to accompany them. He obligingly escorted me through the thick of the Old Quarter traffic to the unfamiliar lands that lay just beyond.
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