The Streets of the Old Quarter

It's approaching 5pm in Hanoi, and the ting-ting-ting of the handbell tells the shopkeepers and street vendors of the Old Quarter that the trash man is approaching.  Pushing a two-wheeled plastic bin, about 1 meter square, the helmeted, safety-vest clad trash man moves up the center of these narrow streets, first populated in the 13th century by the various guilds of old Vietnam.  Our hostel is on a narrow, one-block lane between Hang Phen and Hang Bo.  Hang means "merchandise," and most of the bigger streets are preceded by that word.  Phen means "alum," the substance used to separate the silt from the fresh waters of the Red River, which runs through Hanoi -- since the city's founding, alum has been used to create drinkable water from the runoff-laden river.  Bo means "baskets," and so, in turn, each of the 36 streets that together make up the Old Quarter continue to this day, more or less, to specialize in a particular kind of merchandise.

Tucked in between the storefronts are one after another tiny -- 1 meter wide -- tunnels, leading to the innards of the blocks created by the intersecting streets.  Under feudal law, taxes were based on the basis of street-frontage, so residences cropped up tucked behind the revenu-producing storefronts.  (In Ho Chi Minh City (Sai Gon), it was more common for residences to sit atop the storefronts, with the entrance to the residence usually a staircase at the back of the shop).

Nearly every corner in this part of town -- and I might say, in every part of every town we've seen in Vietnam -- boasts a family-run pho kitchen, along with tiny red plastic tables and chairs for patrons to enjoy their bowls of pho.  Pretty much the national dish, pho is the noodle soup served as breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack.  Without adornment, the bowl of long-simmering broth, flat rice noodles, a bit of chicken or beef, and freshly-cut scallions and herbs is placed in front of you, with tabletop seasonings of hot sauce and garlic oil available for self-service to taste.  At $1.25/bowl, it's impossible to beat, even if the Vietnamese-size tables and chairs are a bit awkward for the Western frame.

The trash man moves up the streets, sweeping in the leaves that were previously swept from the sidewalk to the curb, lifting the small plastic bags of garbage from the residences, separating out the aluminum cans and bottles, and, finally, collecting the day's refuse from our corner pho stand.  Dishes at a pho stand are cleaned in three large plastic buckets located by the curb, with the third bucket invariably having a rubber hose running from an unseen interior faucet dribbling a steady stream of ostensibly-clean water.  In the first bucket goes the solid waste of the diners' dishes; in the second, made hot by a periodic replenishment of water heated over the propane stove that sits against the building, the dishes are cleaned, and then rinsed in the third bucket.  It's efficient, and there seems always to be someone cleaning dishes at the more popular pho stands.

Hanoi is located well north of the equator -- certainly further away from the equator than we've been in over a year.  Days are pleasant, and nights are cool -- about 50 degrees Farenheit.  The cooler air is accompanied by a more moist air than we're used to, and the mist, combined with the high level of air pollution in these motor scooter lands, combine to create a soft hazy light, which dims as the sun continues to set.  It's dark outside now, but the streets remain busy, the pho stand continues its steady business, and the trash man has turned the corner to another Hang of sorts.

Tomorrow, we arise early to take a bus to Haiphong, a minibus transfer to the dock, a ferry to Cat Ba Island in Ha Long Bay, and, from there, a taxi to our hostel on the shore of Lan Ha Bay, a bay studded with hundreds of karsts, pinnacle islands with caves and sheer cliff walls.  We're looking forward to getting back on the water -- even if only in a kayak to explore these wonderfully beautiful islands.