This is the snobbish district where gay boys wearing tight t-shirts like to "sip coffee":
And this is the rundown district - the old city - which I infinitely prefer:
And these are the kids who screwed me over, much to Chris' consternation (that I naively bit their modus operandi hook, line and sinker):
Chris was buying a highlighter from a stationery shop when I felt a tug on my shoe. I looked down in shock to see a wisp of an urchin trying to take it off.
"I fix for you," he said, "I make better."
He proceeded to yank both sneakers off of my feet and replaced them with bright blue rubber slippers, instead.
Before I could even process what was happening, two more boys arrived to "help" their mate with the task of repairing my sneakers.
The first boy started started re-stitching my shoes with a terrifyingly thick needle and some really ugly twine. "Nooo..." I protested. "Yeees," he replied without looking up from his task, gleefully poking my shoes as though though were voodoo dolls.
The second boy started cutting new soles from a fresh sheet of rubber, then stuck them on to the soles with liberal glops of amber-coloured glue.
The third boy jumped in on the action by "cleaning" my sneakers with some leather shoe polish (!!!), at which point I looked up helplessly at the elderly stationery shop keeper.
The old uncle, sensing my distress, rolled up the day's newspaper and charged towards the boys to swat them away as though they were flies.
"No, it's okay," I held my hands up to stop him. "It's okay." I was fearful that the scene might erupt into full-fledged violence.
"James," Chris barked. I could sense disapproval in his tone.
"Just please take some photos," I pleaded Chris, "so at least I'll have something to blog about."
And so Chris snapped away, after which he physically removed my sneakers from the boys' busy hands. "That's enough," Chris said sternly. "Enough."
"Pay," the third boy - the one so brazen as to "clean" my shoes with leather shoe polish - demanded. He poked me in the chest. "Pay," he said again. He was the tallest of three, he looked the oldest, and he was obviosuly the ringleader.
"How much?" I asked.
The other two boys kept their heads down.
"800,000 dong," the boy in blue replied.
"800,000 dong," the boy in blue replied.
"NO!" Chris exploded. "James, let's go!"
"You're rude!" the boy in blue yelled at Chris, breaking out into a run to catch up with us.
"YOU'RE rude," Chris shot back, stopping the boy right in his tracks.
"Here, take this" I said, passing he boy 150,000 dong.
"Not enough," the boy frowned, "for me and for my friend and for my friend."
"That's more than enough," Chris growled.
And then Chris yanked me away, with stern instructions not to look back.
