Your foot leaves the hotel doorway and you step into chaos. Motorbikes scoot past while throngs of tourists and locals move by in clumps, distracted by all that the shops and hawkers have on offer. You try to use the sidewalks, but they're blocked with child-sized green and blue plastic stools. Perhaps you'll sit down on one and place an order for a large bowl of pho. Or you could keep walking, hugging the gutter and jumping onto the sidewalk when there aren't any motorbikes, tables, or squatting elderly women in the way.
The decaying French colonial buildings are attractive in that way old buildings being taken over by nature sometimes are: you look up and see faded yellow paint, green shutters, and vines creeping down a balcony. Some colorful clothes hang from a wire to dry, and a satellite dish is sticking sideways from a roof.
But this is the Old Quarter, known for its alleyways, so you duck down one on the hunt for some bun cha or banh cuon. It's darker here and less crowded: with the narrower space, only puttering motorbikes can get through, and usually just one at a time. Residents have strung up plastic tarps between buildings to shade the alley from the high sun. You step over fruit peels and vegetable trimmings that have been discarded as a small nearby kitchen prepared a fresh meal. The alleyway twists and turns until you come out onto a new street selling garments. Bras, spandex, elephant pants galore! Every shop sells the same thing. A local passes on her lunch break and you wonder how she can look so put together in these sweltering temperatures and high humidity, her black trousers crisp and elegant silk top unmarked by sweat.
You spot a family-owned restaurant; it looks like a house with an open kitchen in the front but you confidently go up the staircase behind the oldest son (who is taking orders from a couple squatting at a nearby table) to the second floor, where there are rows of tables and two rotating fans. Christmas decorations are still up even though it's May. You order the bun cha and it arrives in less than 5 minutes, a bowl of vermicelli noodles and grilled pork. You season it (spicier, please) and scoop the noodles into your mouth with the chopsticks on the table. You don’t drink the cold broth.
It's back downstairs to pay and off you go to the market, for night has fallen. The market is crowded with slow-moving tourists, gawking at the identical items for sale in each stall. The atmosphere is fine for a while, but you grow tired of it so when you see an even smaller alley, more of a passageway really, you step inside hoping it will lead to a less-crowded street and not dead-end into someone's courtyard.
At first there are a few people sitting on parked motorbikes and chatting; they barely pay you any mind as you walk past. The lane narrows so that only one person can pass at a time. There are little offshoots that you initially think might be your way out, but they turn out to be kitchens and parking spaces for the families that live here. You keep going, uncertainty creeping over you until in the darkness, you see a light reflected in the curve of the wall, and know that you’ve reached your exit. Walking with invigorated confidence, you step out of the passageway feeling swarthy in your local knowledge, and look around for a familiar landmark on this new street. You carry on, tasting the city with your feet.
Hanoi Recommendations:
Pho bo from Pho Suong, 24B Ngõ Trung Yên
Bun cha from Bun Cha Ta, 21 Nguyễn Hữu Huân
Banh cuon from Banh Cuon Nong, 14B Phố Báo Khánh
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