November 1993

From the top balcony of the Dream Hotel in Yet Kieu Street Hanoi, I could see the white smoky exhaust from the steam locos shunting the station yard puffing over the roof tops of the nearby tenement houses. The constant whistling of the locos could be heard most of the night and always first thing when I woke in the morning. Curiosity was getting the better of me. I just had to find time away from work to get down to the station and get some photos of the few remaining working steam locomotives in Vietnam.

Following my nose (in reality the sound of the steam whistles) I made my way to the station, just a few blocks away from the Dream Hotel. The old station building with the austere concrete centre section looked deserted and the few station staff that wandered by totally ignored me. The doors to the platforms were locked and there was little to see anyway.

Only one thing to be done - find a way into the station yard to see what's happening. It wasn't long before I discovered that finding a way in wasn't going to be easy. For a start, the yard was walled by buildings: shops, houses, all manner of construction filling every available space. At both ends of the yard were huge steel gates over the tracks north and south that obscured any view into the yard. Waiting for a train to leave Hanoi and head either north or south, or conversely waiting for a train to arrive at Hanoi, was like waiting for Godot and I didn't have that much time!

There had to be a way in! Every rail yard I had visited in the past, like Singapore for example, had a hole in the fence where the locals took a short cut through the rail yard to get to work or to school or to shop. If there was such an entrance, I couldn't find it despite wandering down several blind alleys I probably shouldn't have been in.

So, back to the south end of the yard - the yard nearest the Dream Hotel - and wait. Before too long, the gate opened a fraction and a couple of workers headed off down the street, leaving the gate slightly open.

This was my chance. I casually wandered up to the gate and took a peek. Through the slightly open gate I could see into the time warp that was Hanoi station and Vietnam Railways. Nobody was looking, so I quickly sidled through the gap in the gate and looked for a hiding spot that would also serve as a vantage point to get some photos of the ancient locomotives copied from French designs. I found a hiding place amongst some stabled passenger carriages and fervently hoped that they weren't required immediately for a train somewhere.

To my left was another gate over tracks leading to a compound - a gated compound within the walled and gated yard. This gate, complete with guard box, led to the loco depot. Straight ahead of me was the station yard where shunting locomotives were making up both passenger trains and freight trains. I managed a few photos of steam locomotives in the distance as they shunted towards the south end of the yard before backing up to the station.

To say I was anxious as I hid amongst the passenger carriages would be an understatement. As a visiting representative of a state government in Australia, I was just a bit concerned that if I was caught and arrested, there might be an international incident. So, get some shots and get out before being detected (and caught), seemed to be the best plan.

But like all good plans, things go astray. Several things went astray with my plan. Firstly, a steam loco with a goods train passed by me prior to leaving the yard through the south gate and heading off to an unknown destination. In my excitement and anxiety, I forgot to check how many shots I had exposed on the roll of film and just at the crucial moment when my finger pressed the shutter - nothing! The film had come to an end - no more frames. A quick check of my camera bag and all the film I had was exposed.

I cursed all the old buildings I had photographed as I walked around the station, I cursed the shots I took of the barbecued dog sitting dismembered on a street stall, as I realised that the best train shots were not going to be captured on film.

Next problem - was I spotted? Must have been, surely. The answer came in the form of 6-8 men in green uniforms and helmets running towards me. Damn, looks like I'm in strife.

My first instinct was to stow the camera and seal the camera bag before the cavalry arrived.

With the camera barely in the bag, a very agitated group of soldiers, police or whatever, arrived and surrounded me, yelling in Vietnamese, demanding, pointing. I was in no doubt that they wanted me to leave and now. I tried to bribe them, offering them each a couple of US dollar bills. These were refused and they got more excited and more demanding. I hadn't a clue what they were after.

Before long, they gave up demanding and pointing, grabbed me by the arms and began to physically remove me from the yard. At this stage I realised why these guys won the war. There were a lot more of them than me and they had no trouble in lifting me off the ground - all 192cm and 95kg of big, bearded Aussie with camera!

I was frog marched back out through the south gate, clutching my camera bag tightly to my body so that despite the manhandling, we wouldn't be permanently or even temporarily, separated.

Once through the gate, I was put down, and summarily dismissed with a lot more yelling and gesticulating. The uniforms and helmets disappeared through the gate which was then closed much more firmly than when I found it.

Shaken, but relieved that I had seemingly escaped arrest (and an international incident), I decided to beat a hasty retreat back to the Dream Hotel and be content with just listening to the squeaky steam whistles from Hanoi yard.

There was however, a rather ironic sequel to this episode. I asked the hotel staff to find out if there was a way I could get permission to take photos inside the railway station. A couple of days later, I was informed that it was indeed possible to get permission to take photos in the station. The advice was that a special ticket could be purchased from the station staff that would allow photographs. I was intrigued. I hadn't seen anywhere where such a ticket could be purchased on my previous visits to the station.

Back I went and sure enough, there was a solitary desk inside the austere central booking hall with a person attending that wasn't there before. I inquired about the special ticket and was told that I could purchase a platform ticket for US$5 that would allow me to enter the station via the platforms and take photos. Couldn't have been easier! Just needed a bit of local knowledge.

So, I happily wandered around the station platforms and goods yard for a couple of hours photographing the trains without any fuss or bother. Seems that all the yelling and demands made by the men in green uniforms and helmets was for that magic piece of paper ... the $5 platform ticket!

© John Kirk. All rights reserved