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21 April 2009

Trouble in Hell's Paradise

Hell's Potatoes is now an established VBG*. Unfortunately, its founding members are off to a rocky start.

R joined Hell's Potatoes with about 23 minutes more motorbike experience than me. But oh what an eventful 23 minutes it must have been, because R has all manner of experience and advice to share with me on any given motorbike topic at any given motorbike time. Don't lock the spokes, mind the muffler, don't worry about wearing thongs, leave the helmet here like this, no-no-no-no-no that's not the way to do it, lean here, careful with shorts, it's free to park here, your blinker your blinker, park like this not that, what the fuck just happened at those lights.

These condescending tips are not just annoying. They are also threatening gang harmony. R seems a little unclear as to who is the Alpha potato in this crop and is skating on very thin ice. Unless his behaviour improves dramatically he will find his membership card revoked quicker than Meryl Streep can throw a child at an SS guard.

This is places me in peril. Here is a recent example.

Last Sunday R warned me that the muffler on my bike can "get very hot" and to "be really careful". 

Derr ... I told him. I'm not an idiot ... I told him. It's not like I've never been on a bike before ... I told him.

What he didn't tell me, is to be very careful of this muffler when I park my bike outside a restaurant, especially when I don't do it properly due to my throttle hand getting twitchy and lurching the bike violently between R's bike and another. Nor did he tell me that his bike muffler also gets hot. Nor did he mention that if I tried to wriggle my body (and dignity) quickly out of this highly visible spot while wearing shorts and thongs, I may bump my left leg against my muffler and it would hurt. Or that as a reaction to this initial pain I might tip back over my seat and fall against R's muffler with my right calf. Or that now, with pain on both legs, I would stumble backwards through our two bikes and land on my arse in the dirt in front of the al fresco diners at - where else - Al Fresco's.


I went to the chemist to get something for my burn. I showed her the leg and reenacted the injury using a nearby bike. She shoved a tube of something in front of me (which I bought) and apologised for having no bandaids, bandages, gauze or related material. That is, if a non-chalant shoulder shrug with a blank face counts as an apology.

Moving on though ... Hell's Potatoes is starting to build it's own language. We are starting to speak in our own code, much like rappers and management consultants. I expect this means we'll be selling drugs soon. 

Here are some common terms.

Potato Salad
Any large gathering of potatoes, particularly when semi clad and in situations requiring immobility and lounging . For example, all around the swimming pool (and adjacent bar area) at the Sofitel Metropole last Sunday they were serving up a LOT of potato salad.

Mashed potato
A motorbike accident involving at least one potato. Often includes a muffler burn.

Baked potato
After a long day on the road, ie last Sunday, you lift up your t-shirt sleeve to find a sharp red line of sunburn.

Potato wedge
A manouever commonly seen when taking off from the traffic lights. It requires at least 2 stupid, fat potatoes  sitting beside each other on separate bikes at the front of the traffic lights. Both potatoes accelerate too quickly on green and get a bit confused about where each other is going. This results in both potatoes weaving back and forth in front of the traffic in a confused manner. In all the confusion the other traffic grinds to a halt, expecting at any time for a crash to open up the road. As a result, by the time the potatoes clumsily recover their trajectory, they have ruined the entire traffic flow of the street.

Potato famine
A potato orders a meal at a local restaurant. On arrival he realises it is completely inedible.

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* Vietnamese Bikie Gang


Never ask a local

266 Doi Can, Hanoi

Across the street from work there is a really popular street cafe. The floor is dirty and the washing up facilities seem dodgy but it is always packed and super fresh and fast and tasty and $1. The customer service ethos here is consistently cold-friendly ... typical Hanoi.

The waiters love taking the piss out of my attempts to read the menu board (I hear 2 or 3 laughing echos at every attempt). The last occasion when I ate in an off-peak time, the cook came out to squeeze my bicep, call me handsome then present me to the head waitress and ask me if she was pretty. She's about 25 so I figure they're worried about her dying an old maid. For some strange reason (not botox) I felt like her child bride. All I needed was a pretty pink parasol.

Yesterday a few of us went to eat with one of our local colleagues (Analyst B). I hate eating with locals - they're so fucking up themselves. You never see the chef come out to grab one of their biceps, much less call them pretty. As I attempted to frogmarch our group into my local, B decided there was a much better place to eat just around the corner. He took us somewhere off the beaten track and I pretended to be impressed and delighted even though I've been there before ... it's shithouse. This eatery's signature dish is a metal pot filled with oil, with 2 fried eggs, 3 chips, 2 beans, 4 pieces of steak and a round blob of something meaty swimming in them. You need to leave the lid on for the first 5 minutes or it spits oil out at you.

Given that today is the first day of the diet, I told him I was on a diet so would just get some pho'. I'm pretty good at saying "pho bo" or "pho ga" but B insisted on taking over by using words I didn't recognise. Show off.

This is what turned up.


When I pointed at the flotsam in my bowl and asked what it was, all I got was "that is a cube of congealed pig's blood" [top left] or "I think that's from the foot" [bottom middle] and "I don't know - probably something near the stomach" [the rest]. I started with sipping the soup, then tried gnawing on an artery to show I could fit in. Then I tried to eat the blood cubes ... I had a nibble then finally lost my nerve after dropping one back into the bowl, splashing soup over my shirt.

50 calories later and an "I'm too full", I started to think how good the local food will be for my diet.