They would never sell for a single dollar.

Today in Hanoi was interesting, though the whole is perhaps not congruent with its parts.

This morning I exchanged the American dollars I had left to Vietnamese Dong in order to have spending money. That was successful, and so I was left with enough money to go about business as usual for the rest of today, and to have a bit for living tomorrow. Hopefully all will be right tomorrow. The Professor's debit card is back up and running now, so we're not completely stranded, either.

While walking around among some shops in the Old Quarter today, we were stopped by a street bookseller. He was selling a travel guide for China, and it would be fairly useful as far as living in Beijing goes, so the Professor started to haggle with him while I was distracted in a store looking at musical instruments (I was unsuccessful, by the way...). He wouldn't come down properly in his price, and we pulled away. The book he had was the French translation, but he could easily have procured an English one, no trouble. At this point, as in a lot of international haggling, he started yelling prices at us down the street. He made the fatal error, though. He said one dollar. I heard this offer, and it struck me that he would actually lose money by selling me the book for a single American bill. Smelling blood, I wheeled around, and I started saying, "Ok, one dollar."

"One dollar, you said one dollar. Ok, the China book, English one, one dollar."

"Seven dollars."

"No, you said one dollar, I want it. One dollar."

The Professor chimed in, "Four dollars."

"No! He said one dollar, I want it in English for one dollar!"

The seller and his friend were standing grinning at us, and they kept saying things about seven dollars and other rubbish. They were clowning because they were caught. There is little honesty when a street pedlar has made a mistake. Then, the book seller's friend started moving, and he made as if to grab my genitals. The fun stopped.

"If you touch me, I will hit you in the face."

We turned and left.

A bit later we went into a café we both like, and the book seller saw us sitting in the window. He came up and stood outside the window, looking at us and motioning for us to buy a book. We were both incensed that he was following us. The Professor asked the waitress if someone could ask him to leave. She told us that there is really nothing the restaurant can do about someone on the sidewalk. I told her that he was harassing us, and she nodded. We changed tables, and we didn't see him again.

That was the first time I have really felt threatened in my travels. Interesting that it was on my last day out.

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Tonight the Professor and I had a dinner at a place called (a bit pompously) Café des Artes. The interior and the food were nice, though, and since it was in a former colony we will forgive the francophone name.

T