Hours in Hanoi

Hanoi is slow-paced yet quick to charm, with a landscape of lovely lakes, shaded boulevards and verdant public parks

THE GRACEFUL blend of old and new charmed us in a city where the French influence is EVIDENT EVERYWHERE

It was our last day in Hanoi. We walked out of the bustle of the Old Quarter, crossed the flyover and stepped onto an old steel bridge that spanned the Red river or Song Hong. Whilst vestiges of the colonial past were visible in the form of plaques that still bore the names of French contractors who had constructed the bridge at the beginning of the last century, the graffiti of love - squiggles and intertwining hearts - gave it a more contemporary feel. Motorbikes whizzed past us and curious cyclists stared as we walked down the narrow pedestrian path.

Beneath the girders, small fishing boats and cultivated fields on the fringes of the river exuded an air of timelessness. But this was the very spot where, in the savage Sixties, American B-52 bombers had unleashed their might. We were on Long Bien Bridge - patched, creaking but still standing after so many bombings, a symbol of the country’s resilience.

Far in the horizon was the newer Chuong Duong Bridge across which sped the cars and trucks of a nation on the move. The two bridges give Hanoi its sense of history even as the river runs on. Fittingly, it has also given the city its name - Han Noi is literally a bend in the river.

The French influence is evident everywhere in Hanoi, which was the capital of France’s Indo-China empire. The French built wide, tree-lined avenues, grand villas in a hybrid style known as Norman Pagoda and a scaled-down replica of the Opera Garnier in Paris.

It is possible to wander through Hanoi’s Old Quarter on the northern and western sides of Hoan Kiem Lake, watching the Vietnamese cook, eat and live their lives on the uneven sidewalks. Indeed, the tradition of alfresco dining presumably made them receptive to French-style sidewalk cafes because everywhere, people sit at tables under umbrellas that advertise La Vie bottled water. As in Montmartre and St-Germain-des-Prés in Paris, the people chain smoke, argue and drink coffee, though here it’s the Vietnamese brew, so thick that it looks black even after milk is added.

On Hang Trong Street, peddlers sell freshly baked baguettes on the pavement, and Sunday painters set up easels by the bridge leading to Ngoc Son Pagoda on Hoan Kiem Lake. At Fanny, an ice cream shop on the western side of the lake, the nougat ice cream is almost as creamy as at Berthillon on the Île-St.- Louis in Paris.

Cars and motorcycles tear through seemingly impassable streets, weaving around bicycle taxis, known as poussespousses (push-push in French). Wherever major arteries intersect, the traffic is every bit as chaotic as around the Étoile in Paris.

The beguiling character of the Old Quarter is partly a product of Hanoi’s swampy terrain, pockmarked by lakes fed by the soupy Red River. Even after the lakes were drained, roads that once circled them remained in a grid-defying tangle.

Long, narrow tube houses, some of which stretch as far back from the street as 180 feet, became a feature of the district in pre-colonial times but the French encouraged their building in stone and concrete instead of the more flammable wood.

Often picturesquely dilapidated, their facades have green shutters, iron grillwork and plaster medallions. Across the Café des Arts, a bistro on Ngo Bao Khanh Street with credible French onion soup, I saw a tube house restored to its former dignity but painted in hallucinogenic orange.

This same graceful blend of old and new had charmed us during our threeday stay in the city. The drive from the airport had been unremarkable but the minute we disembarked from the car and set foot in the Old Quarter, where our guesthouse was located, we were struck by sights of verve and colour.

One of the first eye-stoppers was a Chinese Buddha statue outside a restaurant with two glass jars on either side. On closer inspection there proved to be a snake in one and a pair of monitor lizards in the other. The reptiles seemed to be stewing up a potent brew, just a friendly indicator of the kind of spirits we could expect if we chose to go inside and eat! Lacking the courage, we lunched instead on Vietnamese spring rolls in another restaurant. Later armed with a map we set off to explore the Old Quarter - a warren of narrow streets that date back to two thousand years.

Named after the guilds that were set up in the 13th century, the streets contained shops or offices that dealt with various artisans and their profession. So one still has a Silk Street, Wooden Bowls Street, Gravestone Maker Street, Vermicelli Street and so on.

However, with increasing modernisation and tourism, many of the traditional lines are blurred. Several shops have turned into restaurants or cater to tourists by offering a variety of souvenirs like masks made of bamboo or porcelain, lacquer bowls and pictures.

The sidewalks were crowded as women in conical hats scurried about carrying their wares in baskets attached to a tall beanpole. Friends and families hunkered down on low plastic stools nursing either a glass of bia hoi (Vietnamese beer) or strong Vietnamese coffee.

The energy brimmed over onto the streets where motorbikes whizzed past in a steady stream. Interspersing them was the cavalcade of rickshaws or xich los moving at a more leisurely pace. These differed from those in India because the passenger seat is in the front propelled by the pedal-pusher at the back.

Wandering through this ‘Soul of Hanoi’ we found ourselves exiting out on towards the Hoan Kiem lake. The name, which means Lake of the Restored Sword, is derived from a legend of the mid 15th century. It is believed that emperor Ly Thai To used a magical sword to drive the Chinese out of Vietnam. Soon after this successful attempt, a golden tortoise appeared in the waters of the lake and jumped up to grab the sword, which was restored to the divine masters.

There are a number of modern cafes on the lakefront and signs of globalisation are prominent with KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) outlets.

We crossed the bridge over this lake to get to the Ngoc Son temple situated on an island. It was clearly a favourite leisure spot. Pensioners played a game of draughts whilst teenagers chilled out and young lovers exchanged sweet nothings. Cats gambolled but there was no sign of tortoises even though a Vietnamese scientist has been crusading for their protection and one was sighted in 2006.

The significance of water and water bodies in Vietnam’s cultural and social life became evident when we attended the water puppet show at the Municipal Water Puppet Theatre. Traditionally performed in flooded paddy fields, these shows were a reflection of several aspects of Vietnamese agricultural life and folklore. That evening we watched colourful dragons chase each other across the waters, a young boy play the flute sitting atop a water buffalo and a golden turtle of Hoan Kiem jump up to claim the magic sword - all enacted on water.

At the end of the show, the curtains parted briefly to show us how the magic had been created. We saw the puppeteers standing waist-deep in the tank, using wooden poles with great dexterity to which were attached the puppets.

The next day was a double celebration - Ho Chi Minh’s birth anniversary and also celebrations for the birth of Buddha. Once again it was interesting to observe the prevalence of old and new traditions in this country.

There were snakelike queues at Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum but they moved with military precision. Once we were inside, the guards ensured that one moved briskly past the sarcophagus. Discipline was strictly enforced. They made sure that one kept pindrop silence and that one’s arms were held solemnly at one’s side!

Under the red and blue floodlights the embalmed figure of ‘Uncle Ho’ with his trademark wispy beard presented a surrealistic sight. But there was no doubting the very genuine reverence and awe this incredible man still inspires.

The mausoleum also housed his home - a French colonial stilt house - and his cars including a Peugeot. It was a fascinating glimpse into the life of the founder of the Vietnamese Communist Party whose political consciousness evolved whilst working in France as a gardener, cook, waiter, photo-retoucher and stoker, among other things.

The mausoleum complex itself is situated in an area marked by grand French colonial buildings, many of which house embassies or government offices. With its broad tree-lined boulevards, it exuded an air of gracious living.

We next visited the Temple of Learning or Van Mieu dedicated to Confucius and meant to honour scholars and men of learning. A fine example of traditional Vietnamese architecture, the Temple is also Vietnam’s first university where sons of mandarins were sent to study.

After lunch in a workers’ canteen where we sampled Vietnamese food, we wandered around Hanoi’s other lake - Ho Tay or West lake which covers an area of almost 5 sq km.

After walking around the lake we too stopped to rest under a grove of trees. Besides us was a sculpture that was representative of socialist art. In front of it a small fountain played. Suddenly our ears became attuned to another sound besides that of the splash of water. It was the loud drumming sounds of cicadas and crickets. At times it seemed almost overpowering.

Out on the streets the steady hum of Hanoi’s 1.5 million motorbikes kept up their own din. It was a peculiar symphony of man-made and nature’s rhythms but one that seemed to best sum up Hanoi's own music.

We listened for quite a while before hunger pangs forced us to go in search of supper in a city whose frenetic vitality was tempered with a certain grace that made it unique.