by John Thomson
I landed in Hanoi with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. I’m a history buff; I knew the settlement was prehistoric and I wanted to learn about Hanoi’s transition from a fiefdom to a communist state and lately, to a rudimentary form of capitalism. But I was also nervous. It was 40 years after the end of the Vietnam War, or what the Vietnamese call the American War, and I must confess I was worried about any residual resentment the Vietnamese might harbour towards the West. We Canadians are similar to Americans. We look the same, eat the same foods and share a common language. In the eyes of the world, we are virtually indistinguishable from each other and as a North American, I felt conspicuous dropping into a capital city that had once been bombed.
Noi Bai International Airport was not particularly welcoming. My wife and I were whisked into a cold, grey, concrete outbuilding where we presented our passports to dour, unflinching officials and then to another counter where we paid 25 U.S. dollars each to get our visas stamped. I wanted to question the surtax but we pressed on.
A 45-minute taxi ride from the airport took us to the Ba Dinh district, one of several prescribed tourist districts in the city and dropped us off at our hotel, the Hong Ngoc Cochinchine, an older but well-maintained establishment in a neighborhood loaded with English speaking merchants, lots of ATMs and a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. It was close to the prescribed sights, the Opera House, Bach Ma Temple and of course the Old Quarter. The friendly matron at the front desk greeted us in English but she could also converse in French. In fact we heard a lot of French during our stay.
Dinner time was particularly cacophonous. The tables were close together and I overheard a gaggle of French tourists discussing their day. No surprise there. But German? I struck up a conversation with the nearby table. Peter Wolff was from Berlin and his daughter Natalie was from Wellington, New Zealand. They had agreed to meet halfway between the two in Hanoi but Peter had another reason for visiting Vietnam’s capital city. “My Dad remembers collecting bottles for Vietnam,” said Natalie referring to the decade after Vietnam’s reunification in 1975 when Berlin was in East Germany and Vietnam had an economic relationship with the Soviet bloc. Peter wanted to see Hanoi for himself. His impressions? “Vietnam doesn’t think of itself as a third world country,” he said, impressed with its positive, let’s get on with it attitude.
Truong Tran, the English-speaking manager of a nearby restaurant, Hanoi Fusion, elaborated as we dined sumptuously on stuffed squid and eggplant. Tran was finishing his commerce degree while running the family business. He told us his countrymen were very proud of what they had accomplished since the War ended in 1975. “When they see an opportunity, they take advantage of it,” he said. “The Vietnamese nature is to be happy, cheerful and upbeat,” he continued. “Content but not complacent.”
Hanoi is a city of contrasts. On one hand, we saw leafy boulevards and opulent mansions. Hoan Kiem Lake is literally a sea of tranquility smack dab in the city core. A pagoda, Ngoc Son Temple, sits on an island in the middle of the lake. It’s a peaceful refuge. Turning a corner reveals another side of the metropolis, dense Hanoi with tall, skinny structures fighting for space while thousands of scooters and motorbikes buzz about town.
Walking revealed another facet of Hanoi life; whether it’s conducting business, entertaining friends or eating meals, everything happens on the sidewalk. Hanoi is an outdoor society. It’s also been called “a plastic chair society” because the locals sit on small plastic chairs – the kind you get in toy stores – accompanied by stubby, truncated tables. We passed families cooking the evening meal on curbside braziers while Hanoi youth congregated in the many outdoor cafes, hunched over their smart phones, addicted to western music and fashion.
That entrepreneurial, let’s get on with it attitude came to the fore in the Old Quarter. Sandwiched between Hoan Kiem Lake and the Red River, the Old Quarter is Hanoi’s historic shopping district. Originally it was a maze of 36 streets, each one named after the good or service being offered. The jewellery street sold jewellery; the silk street sold silks. Today the area has expanded to more than 50 streets but Hang Dau, the Street of Shoes, still stands out. “Oh my God,” gushed the teenaged street vendor as my wife and I walked along the Street of Shoes. “It’s embarrassing,” he said as he pointed to my wife’s well-worn sandals. True, the sole looked like it was going to come off and the vendor, who had followed us for half a block with his toolkit in hand, was more than willing to do the repair. Now. At this very moment. And then as suddenly as it began the encounter was over. He flitted away, spying another tourist no doubt, waving us a fond adieu. “Have a nice day” he shouted as he vanished from sight as quickly as he appeared.
We tackled the Military History Museum next. This was the exhibit I was nervous about because I expected a jingoistic diatribe against the United States. The outdoor concourse was filled with captured American warplanes. The centrepiece was an obelisk fashioned out of the wreckage of a B-52 bomber. Was this setting the tone? Suddenly a column of schoolchildren filed past us on their way to an interior gallery. “Hello” they chanted in unison, anxious to practice their English, Vietnam’s second language after the fall of Vietnam’s economic partner, the Soviet Union, in 1991. “Xin chào” we replied in Vietnamese. Inside, homemade weaponry and dioramas showcased Vietnam’s conflict with both France and America. Thankfully, the propaganda was toned down. Instead much was made about homegrown ingenuity and persistence, the point being Vietnam had endured centuries of conflict and it always would.
By week’s end, we had acclimatized to the humidity, the congestion and yes, the people. Leaving the hotel at dawn one day to take advantage of the cool morning air we stumbled into a residential enclave bordering Truc Bach Lake. The community was just getting up. Families were eating their breakfasts on the sidewalk at those ubiquitous stubby tables and plastic chairs. “Hello,” children yelled to us as we passed by. “Xin chào” we replied. We passed a group of men doing morning exercises in the communal park. One man was pulling himself up on parallel bars and I asked him if I could take his picture. He flexed his bicep and gave me a huge smile. Surprisingly, the camera seemed to draw people to us rather than scare them away. A young mother squatting on the stoop of her apartment wanted me to take a picture of her child. Her child, no more than four, formed the peace sign with her fingers. An older child, playing by herself on the sidewalk, followed her example by flashing us the peace sign too.
Hanoi is a young city, half the population is under the age of 35 and as our Vietnamese friend Truong Tran, the manager of the nearby eatery, pointed out his millennial friends are too young to remember the American War. Or to care. The young made us feel welcome. They were open and friendly and curious.
Make no mistake; Vietnam is a one-party state. Dissent is not encouraged. It is not an ideal situation. There’s poverty, pollution and a ramshackle infrastructure but there’s also optimism, enterprise and an easy going give-and-take vibe that, for me, can be illustrated in the simple act of crossing the street. Since there are few controlled crosswalks in Hanoi and the locals don’t stop for pedestrians, getting to the other side required good timing and a stiff resolve. The trick was to look for a break in the traffic and walk slowly and confidently into the stream while looking the driver straight in the eye. It worked. Nobody cared if we were Canadian, American or whatever. Scooters and motorbikes gracefully swerved around us. We had miraculously melded into the rhythm of the street. Mission accomplished; my curiosity had been satisfied and my trepidation squelched.
If You Go:
There are no direct flights from Vancouver to Hanoi. BC travelers must connect through Europe, China, Australia or Indonesia. We travelled from Vancouver to Hong Kong via Cathay Pacific with a connecting flight to Hanoi via Dragonair.
Hanoi is awash in over 500 hotels, from the opulent to the perfunctory. The Hong Ngoc Cochinchine at CDN$55.00 a night came with free Internet and air conditioning. The legendary Sofitel Legend Metropole Hanoi can be yours for Cdn$400.00; the nearby Hilton Hanoi Opera costs CDN$200.00 a night.
The local currency is expressed in dong. For rapid calculations we reckoned on 20,000 dong to the Canadian dollar. Large 50,000, 500,000 and 1 million dong notes are commonplace.
Vietnamese food is phenomenal, a mixture of French, Thai and Chinese influences tempered with their own unique blend of herbs and spices. A simple, rice noodle soup called pho (pronounced fah) is the staple.
John Thomson was trained in television news and current affairs and although his work took him around Canada and the United States, he never made it to Vietnam. It was too far away, too dangerous or too expensive. Now that the country is once again part of the global community he felt it was time to see Vietnam for himself. Mr. Thomson’s current stories, other places and other issues, can be seen on his Woodfall Media page.
Photo credits:
Hanoi street food market by Daderot under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
All other photos by John Thomson:
- Central Hanoi, Hoan Kiem District
- Ba Dinh Street Vendor
- Ba Dinh Street Cooks
- Old Quarter Street of Shoes
- War Museum Concourse
- Lunchtime in Hanoi
by Anne Harrison
Yet to discover the true town, I had to be brave and run the gauntlet. Passing through the chaos I wondered if this was where the belly of the dragon had scalded the land. It certainly seems so. Or perhaps his fiery breath so scorched the earth nothing of beauty could grow.
Further up the hill, some half hour from the port, a tiny laneway opened onto the local market, which had been somehow hidden from view despite its size. Once inside it felt totally chaotic, but with a mood completely opposite to the turmoil down by the water. With the stalls run largely by women (for the men are down by the port, scamming tourists), the place is roughly divided into sections: clothes, hardware, household items, fresh fruit and vegetables, then a wet market which stretches forever. The range of seafood is incredible – and largely unrecognizable.
Nourished and refreshed, we headed back to the water. After all, this is why people come to Halong Bay. The afternoon began in a whirl of noise exploring the islands on a boat about the size of the African Queen, and about as sea-worthy. A trip amongst the islands is a rather crowded affair, but by now I had adapted to the chaos. Standing on the bow, I enjoyed the spectacle as our boat assumed ramming speed to gain prime position at any mooring. With all the boats covered with old tires, the moorings resound to the thuds of collisions, and the creak of wood as the boats jostled among themselves.
The first stop was Thien Cung Grotto – or Palace of Heaven. After climbing some 100 steps, a crowd of us went along a dark tunnel to the cave proper. Some hold this is the actual cave where the dragon sought refuge. It was simply huge. Neon lights of all colors highlighted the various formations: a dragon with a small man riding his back, elsewhere a pair of angel wings. Small rivulets ran down the stones and into vast chasms of nothingness. A dragon could easily live here – as could dwarves or a horde of orcs. There was a perfect cave for Gollum.
I sat in the bow of our boat as it potted among the islands. Each one, it seems, has a name such as Island of The Two Hens or Tea Pot Island. Many caves open straight onto the water as the islands rise straight form the sea to tower over everything, their tops covered with lush vegetation. The Surprise Cave was not discovered until 1901, and was used by the Viet Cong as a hide-out. At Ba Hung Cave, featured in the movie Indochine, a small grotto opens onto a lagoon inside the island, surrounded by walls of steep jungle.
After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat.”
Further along Duong Dong Khoi stands the Rex Hotel. Here the rooftop bar (complete with elephants) overlooks the heart of Saigon; perhaps this is why a bottle of champagne here comes with six waiters. The heavens of the wet season opened just as we sat down, so for an hour or so we had the place – plus waiters – to ourselves. After beginning life as a French garage, during the Vietnam War the Rex Hotel became home to the Press Corps, and probably the CIA. Now it is owned by the Communist Party.
I had seen him last September coming across the square towards the bar of the Continental.”
A few tree-lined blocks to the north of the Rex Hotel, the Cathedral Notre Dame and the Central Post Office face one another across a small square. Although Fowler was dismissive of the style, the cathedral is quite delightful, with each stone shipped from Marseilles, and the stained glass from Chartres.
by Graeme Greene – essential reading
Hanoi is a contrast of old and new with some intriguing contradictions. The National Museum is housed in an old colonial building. The 900 year old Temple of Literature was a center of Confucian learning and thought. The French-era Opera House is beautifully appointed … and located opposite the Hanoi stock exchange in a square that includes a Gucci store and the Hanoi Hilton, that’s the hotel, not the prison which is across town.
But Hanoi’s Old Quarter is a source of wonder too – vibrant, vigorous, visceral. Delicious pho (pronounced “fa”) dished up in noodle soup restaurants. Egg coffee served on a balcony overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake. Sidewalk food stalls, bakeries, bars and coffeehouses proliferate. The narrow streets are packed with mini hotels and hostels, family shops, crafts and trades, and small businesses – the never-ending hustle of street life.
I’ve been curious about the impact of the “Vietnam War” on this country. Vietnamese history cites many wars, not just the one we talk about. There are earlier wars against the Chinese and the Mongols, conflicts between the Nguyen lords of the north and the Champa kingdom of the south, the war of independence against the French (aka First Indochina War), the civil war (aka Second Indochina War or American War) between north and south divided politically by the 1954 Geneva convention and geographically by the 17th parallel, and most recently the 1980’s war against the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia.
Reminders of the civil war can be found everywhere. In Hanoi, they are present in all the museums. In Hue, capital of the Nguyen Dynasty, a large national flag flies from the Citadel which dominates the Imperial City and Forbidden Purple Palace. The national flag flew here for 28 days when the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army captured the Citadel during the 1968 Tet offensive.
Hoi An is a wonderfully historic city, and also a UNESCO World Heritage site. Night lanterns light up the streets of the old town with its Chinese clan houses, pagodas and covered bridges. I stumble upon a house that belonged to one of the early revolutionaries in the city. His grandson proudly shows me photos of grandpa with General Giap, chief architect of the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu, and of the strategy that led to the North’s victory in the civil war.
Nha Trang is a sun, sand and sea beach town. It’s predicted to grow exponentially. The Long Son pagoda is full of families praying for good fortune in the new year, and paying their respects to their ancestors. Clouds of incense carry their prayers heavenward past the enormous white Buddha atop the hill overlooking the pagoda. The Tet celebrations culminate in a spectacular fireworks display from barges off the beach. Thousands of people are out to watch, young and old. The beach is vast, and there is much construction in progress. Signs in Russian and English vie for attention.
My friends and I arrived in Sapa at 6am. We gathered our luggage, hoping to catch the morning market. Our friend, May, was waiting for us at the train station. He would be the tour guide for our trip. May is a teacher from Ha Noi, the capital of Vietnam. He had moved to Sapa to teach the children here seven years ago. He was among many other city dwellers who came to Sapa to volunteer and then fell in love with this little town. We would take a cab to Ta Phin village where we would live with a family of the locals for three days.
At about noon, the fog subsided. We took a walk around the village. At a playground near where we stayed, there was a swing that was at least 4 times taller that the swings I normally see. You are not supposed to sit on the swing. You have to stand on a small piece of bamboo on the swing and let it swing for at least half a circle back and forth. It must have been at least 10 metres.We had to stand on two long bamboo trees and walk as if the bamboo trees were our feet. Of course we all fell. None took more than two steps successfully. Yet all the children there could do it, they did it very well, swinging in the air every round!
In Sapa, people have no Internet connection and no telephones at home. Their only social meetng place is at the morning market. Once a week, people come down to the valley from different mountains, bringing along their best products and hoping to exchange for something they lack. People walk instead of driving cars or riding motorcycles. They hardly travel out of the vicinity of their homes except for important occasions. The morning markets have become such precious opportunities for people to meet that it has been known more popularly as the “love market”. Local girls and guys in this central meet-up take the opportunity to express their affection for each other. Girls and guys are shy to show too much intimacy in public, so they express their love through songs. It is said that the water drank from the mountain sweetens the voice of local girls. Through their voice, you will feel the tears, the joys, the tenderness and the passion these lovers give to each other.
On the second day, May took us to a Sapa restaurant. In this restaurant, all customers sat on the floor and gathered around a long bamboo table. Eight of us were served a large hot pot called “Thang Co”. The pot was so large that it looked like a mini bath tub to me. It smelled like Chinese medicine and we were told that this pot was made from one whole big horse, not excluding any part at all. The recipe of this horse steam boat is said to be very good for men. It was served with a vase of wine. It looked exactly like a large vase and was as tall as me sitting up. It had holes for us to put in the straws. We were supposed to use the straws and drink right from the vase/ bottle of wine. The alcohol was very strong and had a mild taste of rice.
The scenery in Sapa is beautiful. Trees stand side by side with a background of mountains and hills. A river flows in the middle of the village. The water is so pure that we could see rocks of different shapes at its bottom. Once in a while, we pass by a stretchy paddy field. These green mini trees are always swinging as if they are following the dancing tune of the flow of wind in the air.
After dinner, we visited a coffee house. The house was made of wood. It was small and looked beautiful among the vastness of natural scenery. People from Sapa are exceptionally friendly. The owner of the coffee house offered to sit with us. Together we sang songs and shared stories of our life. He even asked his son to walk to his neighbour and borrow a guitar for us. After a while, a group of eight became a group of twenty, singing and having fun together. The house become so small for the friendliness that some even stood outside the window and sang along.
