As supermarkets go it was spectacular. As shopping malls go it was cavernous. At the entrance were water fountains dancing to music.

There was only one thing missing from this space age structure – shoppers. The place had been cleared, awaiting the arrival of a man from a country most in this city have never heard of.

When Teflon John Key’s siren wailing motorcade screeched to a halt, the flags began flapping. Holding them were lines of uniformed, happy mall workers. Well at least they looked happy, they were all smiling as Key gave a royal wave to them, something he’s perfected quite well as he’s swept around the Communist capital of Vietnam.

Earlier he’d visited a school that has nine thousand neatly turned out pupils in their starched uniforms. Again he walked the gauntlet of enthusiastic flag wavers, which given his affection for our current flag, draws a slight flinch.

School welcomes aren't quite like this back home - Hanoi pic.twitter.com/e9utyT60I7

— Barry Soper (@barrysoper) November 16, 2015

The temptation to give a couple of them a Red Peak was almost too much to bear. They certainly would have been none the wiser.

pic.twitter.com/Q1IgK1wp3f

— Barry Soper (@barrysoper) November 16, 2015

This city is one of contradiction, a sort of capitalist, communist construct. Vietnam is one of the fastest growing economies in the region with the average age of the population a mere 24.

The opulent Communist Party headquarters saw Key marvelling at the architecture. When it was suggested to one of our accompanying officials that I wouldn’t mind taking up residency and that I’d be prepared to shake the shackles of capitalism to be accommodated, she said that would be impossible.

COMMUNIST Party HQ, Hanoi, tough for some! pic.twitter.com/wMJ22IN7d8

— Barry Soper (@barrysoper) November 16, 2015

I couldn’t be a Communist, she proclaimed, it just would never happen. Why not, was the obvious retort to such a firmly held conviction?

“You laugh too much,” she shot back.

That aside this city is a marvel with what seems like the six and a half million inhabitants each having a motorbike. Those too young to get behind the handlebars are incredibly accommodated on every available centimetre of the machine. It’s not unusual to see a family of five precariously making their way through the team of traffic, packed on to a struggling, smoke puffing Vespa.

The official declined to say what the road toll in Hanoi is, not because it’s a state secret but more likely that no one actually knows.

Certainly on our way to the Party HQ a bike had tipped over and the road was awash, not with blood but with the hundreds of burst beer cans it was carrying!