A Glimpse Through Time: Hanoi's Old Quarter

A billow of motorbikes surges by, the sound of their horns lingers in streaks of iridescent light. One step forward and I'm off the curb. Another buckshot cannonballs past, screeching like raptors. A few more steps and I'm in the middle of the horde--alone--in a legion of headlights. I've been holding my breath the entire time. In the center of the road, I exhale and inch my way forward--carefully--like I'm dodging an electric current. I place my feet safe upon the opposite curb. Victory.

This is Hanoi. A warren of corridors replete with life in constant motion. Narrow alleys serpentine through the district, slicing their way through ancient streets and tapering off into shadows. Spindles of wire struggle with the wiry branches of bare trees. Their black skeins fracture the sky into a quilt of jigsawed grey and white. Moss melts green down the side of gaudy yellow buildings. Rusty water-trails cut black, moldy fissures where the moss can't root. Old women in conical hats prod along, shouldering baskets of lychees, dragon fruit, bananas, or anything else that can be balanced on their bamboo scales. Others squat on their haunches, hawking jade pendants, carved trinkets, and other souvenirs. Incense and exhaust perfume the air. The scent of fresh cut herbs wafts from sidewalk food stalls, their territories defined by miniature plastic stools where throngs of diners slurp noodles and sip tea. In the markets, streets are categorized and named based on the items they offer. There is a street for silk, one for jade, one for ceramics, rice, baskets, bamboo mats, copper, and sugar. There is a street for underpants and a street for etching headstones. 

The district is an organism, it's alleys expand and contract around me. Life is seamed to the breeze that blows through its streets. This is the heart of Hanoi, maybe it's the heart of Vietnam.

 

It's impossible to walk more than ten paces without wanting to eat. The aromas rising from the sidewalks are as intoxicating as they are diverse. I soon find myself planted atop a plastic stool, hovering above a bowl of grilled pork, cold noodles, fresh herbs, and fried spring rolls. All around me, young people convene in streetside cafes. They laze over glasses of coffee; iced down and sweetened with condensed milk. 

Spring rolls of every variety

Beef and noodle salad with fresh herbs and green mango

The cafes of Hanoi

In the evenings, the blue plastic stools slowly swell into the street. The cafes and restaurants give way to curbside "bars" where bia hoi is consumed in great quantities.

Bia Hoi

I pass through different points in time as I wade through a medley of old and new, a tapestry of fresh, young life and that of a world bygone.

The Temple of Literature

Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum

Museum of Vietnamese History

The Opera House

Dong Xuan Market

Food Stalls

Perhaps the most telling sign of a new world weaving it's way through the fibers of an old one comes from above, where black telephone wires have merged with the branches of trees, streaking across the facades of tarnished yellow hues.

Seething with a character uniquely it's own, this is the Old Quarter--the "Asia" as imagined from afar.