First Impressions of Hanoi
All I hear is the cacophony of horns as we step outside our hotel into the sunshine. Our neighborhood is, despite being part of the Old Quarter, quite modern. The street is lined with chic clothing shops whose mannequins’ hips are too wide for the Asian sizes, so none of their zippers are closed, making them seem a little raunchy. Looking across the street we spy a little boy mooning us as he crouches to do his business into the gutter. We are on a main artery, Hang Bong, which is a never-ending stream of honking mopeds and the occasional car. I long for the days of silent bicycles, some of which still skillfully maneuver among all the motorized vehicles.
Crossing the street in Hanoi feels like a suicide mission, as mopeds stream by on both sides of you as you inch across, hoping they won’t hit you. There is never a clear time to cross, as most drivers disregard red lights. I thought Phnom Penh was crazy, but it had fewer vehicles in more space. In reality however, we know we are okay, because these drivers are used to people obstructing their path and with a subtle change in their steering, easily miss us. Vehicles here don’t have a space bubble like they do in western countries, and they drive much slower and are able to stop quickly. In the case of one renegade motorist, a whole slew of mopeds came to a honking halt to avoid colliding with him. The jam lasted for a minute as everyone tried to untangle themselves. Yet no one seems to suffer from road rage like in the US (Except for that instance when a passenger on one bike tried to pull a motorcyclist off his seat as they swerved down a main road).
We head to Hoan Kiem Lake to visit Ngoc Son Temple, which was originally a fishing terrace for the king, then a summer palace. Now it is a temple, built on the ruins of the palace, and is dedicated to the scholar Van Xuong, General Tran Hung Dao who defeated the Mongols in the 13th century, and La To, the patron saint of physicians. Its altars feature a mix of three religions: Buddhism, Confucianism and Taoism. The Chinese influence in Vietnam becomes evident here, as the Buddha of Thailand, Laos and Cambodia has become a jolly, plump, shirtless figure. Red is prominently featured, as are Chinese characters. A giant embalmed tortoise and photos of tortoises adorn one room. The lake itself was once named “Lake of the Restored Sword” after a legend claiming that the Emperor Ly Thai To used a magical sword sent by Heaven to drive out the Chinese from Vietnam. One day after the war, a giant golden tortoise swimming on the surface of the water grabbed the sword and disappeared into the depths of the lake. The tortoise restored the sword to its divine owners, hence the name. Occasionally a tortoise will appear in the lake and is seen as a very auspicious sign. Even our Dutch friends were fortunate enough to see one during a walk one day. We are not that lucky.
We are in the Old Quarter, whose commercial streets are named after guilds. We walk down the shoe street, crammed with every type of shoe. It is crowded and noisy, and the shoes and the vendors spill out onto the sidewalk. We are forced into the street to walk, as products, people, food stalls and the omnipresent moped fill the sidewalks. Lars hazards a guess that there are more mopeds than people in this city. I think he’s right. The locals that we see are either on mopeds or are squatting outside their respective shops. It is rare to see Hanoians walk. We continue into a street market, headed by flower stands with the most beautiful flower arrangements I’ve seen in a long time. Directly behind are the seafood hawkers, with fish, water snakes and crabs kept alive in plastic tubs with air tubes until they are sold. Vegetables and fruits are next, looking mighty tempting. I wish I had a kitchen to go back to so I could pick out some delicacies. In the tight space between the stalls and the buildings, moped drivers insist on squeezing by and as they honk, we jump out of the way. We get to the fried and prepared foods section with sesame covered fried shrimp and beef on skewers. The smells wafting by awaken my olfactory glands. I decide I need to spend some time tasting all these wonderful foods. I never had that feeling in Laos and Cambodia.
The market goes on as far as the eye can see and where the fresh produce ends, clothes begin. Shop after shop of cute outfits and small spaces crammed with lingerie. At first I want to go in, but then it becomes too overwhelming. Turn a corner and we are suddenly in a road lined with shops selling towels, tissues and toilet paper. Cross a street and our noses are overwhelmed by the scents from the herbal sellers, with jars of ginseng and bags and tubs full of fungi, powders and mostly unidentifiable herbs. Again, I am reminded of China. Turn another corner and we’re surrounded by hardware. I call it the “home improvement road”. Take a left and we’re on the street of the Mirror shops and Tin Box makers. High pitched whining and hammering fills the street where men squat on their haunches, creating boxes out of sheet metal, refitting old pots with new bottoms or shaping air ducts. Their labor is reflected from the other side by the countless mirrors lined up. Shards of glass lie scattered along the street, glittering. Our last craft road is where Buddha altars, statues and other temple objects are sold. Bright shining gold fills our vision, in which floats the laughing Buddha, sitting among piles of gold carved boxes and bowls.
It is no exaggeration to say that the Vietnamese and indeed, most South East Asians, live in the street. The downstairs is where it’s all happening, and it spills out onto the sidewalk and street in front. In the back of the shop or upstairs, in the tall narrow buildings of Hanoi, the family escapes the light and sound and lives their private life. Looking up, all is quiet, but it is hard to escape the sensory stimulation of what lies below. A motorcyclist pulls up next to us and unveils a box stuffed with cheap, locally printed copies of books that defy international copyright laws. This is big business. We buy a book after much haggling, then head back to the hotel. It’s already late. On the way we pass many fine boutiques of silk and lacquer ware as well as art galleries and wish we had the money to spend in them. Not that any of it would fit into our backpacks.