Return to Hanoi
We’d been to Hanoi before, briefly, back in 2007 and really enjoyed the local vibrancy of the city. All narrow lanes, masses of bikes, & food stalls serving whole roast duck & dog on a spit (interesting though not something we wanted to try). So we were looking forward to a return and the chance to see the city in more depth.
What we found was the stark reality of ‘progress’. Nearly nineteen years later and the Old Quarter area was no longer a joyful local experience, now it was wall to wall bars & cafes, souvenir shops & tourists. And cars, there weren’t any cars last time, just bikes, bikes & more bikes. But much worse was the horrendous blanket of grey smog smothering the city. On reading weather reports, we discovered that Hanoi is currently number 4 on the list of worst polluted cities in the world. We’ve never experienced anything like it and we’ve travelled to polluted cities before; Lahore, Delhi. It was like being in a thick dense fog, everything was grey, misty and muffled. Breathing was noticeably difficult. It didn’t do much for my lingering cough but it made Simon sick as well. We seriously considered sacking it off and going somewhere else, but there were things we actually wanted to do here so we stuck it out. Where we’d envisaged wandering around the streets and lingering over Vietnamese coffee & tea in local cafes, we instead wandered less and got taxis more, and drank a lot of tea in our hotel.
Added to this, was the evidence of Christmas being just around the corner. Up until now we’d pretty much avoided any vestiges of Christmas, much to Simon’s delight. But now we had hotels decked out with trees, mini Santa outfits hanging above stalls crammed full with red glittery decorations and (Simon’s pet hate) Christmas songs playing in cafes. Being mid-December, I personally think that’s perfectly reasonable, I want it to feel a little bit Christmassy.
It carted it down on our second day and the rain, along with feeling pretty dire following the smog ingestion, put paid to any inclinations of meandering around. Thankfully though it did have the benefit of clearing the air and the following day we could actually see some blue sky and breathing was so much easier. It was now pleasant to be out once the rivers of dirty water had drained from the streets.
Our disappointment and fume inhalation of our first day was relieved temporarily by an afternoon visit to the Water Puppet Theatre. The Thang Long theatre has been performing the traditional art for over 55 years and performs five times a day, every day of the year. Vietnamese water puppetry originated as a story-telling at celebrations in rural communities and was originally performed outdoors in ponds and lakes. Today the tiny auditorium resonated to the ringing notes of the Ðàn Bàu (monochord). The sound coaxed from plucking the single horizontal string and then manipulating the vertical rod to alter the pitch. Beautiful and haunting, the sound was the perfect introduction to the water theme. From behind the jade curtain colourful dragons lept from the pool, spurting water from their mouths as they writhed across the water. Boys on water buffalo galloped across before somersaulting into the water. The mythical unicorn and phoenix danced across the shimmering water all whilst the instruments continued their melodic tinkling. Quite a feat to manoeuvre so many leaping and spinning puppets at the same time with each one on their own long stick. The puppeteers, hidden all the while behind the curtain, came out in their waist-high waders at the end to great applause. Very touristy but highly entertaining.
For the second time on this trip we visited an embalmed man. Just as with Lenin, Ho Chi Minh wanted a quiet burial. Instead, as with Lenin, he lays embalmed and on display for viewers to parade past, once they’ve negotiated the elaborately intense security. It was like deja vu. A very similar grey and red marble structure, dimly lit corridors where you walk past immaculately turned out armed guards before entering the inner sanctum, where Ho Chi Minh lies on a bed of satin with an eerily glowing head and hands. But whereas Lenin had a phosphorescent glow, Ho Chi Minh had a more yellowy appearance – must be a warm glow light bulb – still it was most peculiar. It was something we felt we should see while we were here, but as with Lenin, I really don’t think it’s very tasteful or an appropriate way to honour someone. What’s wrong with a gravestones and a nice photograph?
As is so often the case, just a few hundred metres off the main streets and you find a different world. A place where we rediscovered the Hanoi we’d enjoyed last time. In the charming Ngoc Ha neighbourhood we wandered down narrow alleyways strung with red Vietnam flag bunting, feeling like we were in a real life maze, twists and turns and dead-ends everywhere. Tiny ornate temples on miniature lakes sat amidst the houses, some perfectly kept with red paper lanterns & pruned bonsai trees, others with blackened stonework covered in dark green moss. At each one incense smoke perfumed the air above the grey curls of spent sticks filling the offering bowls. Another small lake held the slowly rusting remains of an American B-52 bomber shot down in the fighting of December 1972. Left where it landed, it’s now considered a victory monument.
A wander down another alley took us to the quiet grounds of a once grand house, now the faded mustard painted walls and ornate wrought iron balconies looked out onto a photographic exhibition showing wonderful depictions of traditional Vietnamese life; lime green rice paddies, glistening boxes of silver fish, elderly ladies weaving on ancient looms. Fabulous and something we’d have happily paid to see in a gallery. We stopped off in a tiny local cafe for cold fresh juice & croissants next to a giant plastic snowman (hardly a typical Vietnamese activity) and an inflatable Santa Claus. The Christmas decorations are not just for the tourists.
We’d discovered that the Da Sy neighbourhood on the outskirts of Hanoi was famous for it’s knife producers and they ran workshops. An opportunity not to be missed. On either side of a central canal, a row of tiny, dark workshops sit below the houses, their shuttered doors thrown open to light the small work-space. Inside, a mini brick furnace burns in the corner and grinding wheels spin furiously, orange sparks flying.
We were instructed by the only female master blacksmith, a lovely, enthusiastic lady who didn’t speak a word of English but managed to make it very clear when we were doing a good job, or not. We chose the style of knives we wanted, a small round-nosed cleaver and a larger curved blade kitchen knife. We started by carving the wooden handles from small blocks, first chopping the rough shape and then carving the fit to our hand using an extremely sharp longhandled blade precariously wedged against our legs. Successfully completed and no blood spilt.
Then came the fun part, bashing the merry hell out of the red hot iron as it was pulled from the burning embers (we weren’t allowed anywhere near the furnace) before using a heavy duty pedal-powered basher to flatten the blade further. Careful sharpening and polishing on the spinning grinder, sparks flying in all directions and we* had produced two magnificent knives that sliced smoothly through paper no problem at all. We were well chuffed. They will serve Simon well in the kitchen once we’re home.
One of the unique things about train travel in this part of the world is the fact that trains tracks run along the most narrow of gaps between buildings. Here in Hanoi it’s known as Train Street and local entrepreneurs have made the most of the opportunity by opening cafes the length of the narrowest stretch. Small colourful chairs line either side of the tracks, fairy lights and paper lanterns hang above your head and you’re encouraged to place the cap from your beer bottle on the rail which sits about 30cm from your feet. Photo opportunities abounded, chairs were placed on the track and people lay between the rails. Coins were added to the beer bottle tops on the rails only to be gleefully collected by a young passing tourist as she trailed along the track behind her parents. Lots of shouting caused her to drop her haul and scarper. Health and safety isn’t such a big thing here.
The afternoon train was due at 4.20pm, the chairs were full, everyone was on alert for the sound of the train. ‘Train running late, not here till 5pm’. Everyone relaxed and ordered another beer. As it neared five the cafe owners went about moving everyone further back against the walls and giving strict instructions for no-one to move. And finally we saw the lights blazing down the track, drawing closer and closer. Everyone knows that a train is large. But up close, when it passes 10cm from your nose it’s bloody massive. A huge hulking mass of metal clanking past in front of your face, towering above your head. It completely filled the alley, overhanging the tracks where our feet had been minutes earlier. It was surreal. It was exhilarating. It was really quite scary. We rescued our bottle tops, squished to a millimetre thin – an unusual souvenir.
Was it worth coming back? Yes and no. First impressions were not good, in fact I’d go as far as saying we hated the first couple of days. But once we looked under the surface, away from the horrendousness that the Old Quarter has become, especially on an evening, it did improve. Early mornings found locals sitting at cafes and stalls pushed along by conical Non La hat wearing vendors trundling the streets, quiet alleyways were full of traditional medicine shops and atmospheric temples. It’s not that it’s a bad place – it’s actually very pretty and enjoyable in parts – but it just isn’t a place that we’d rush back to again.
* I say ‘we’ produced two magnificent knives – we might have had just a little bit of help in ensuring they were completely flat, razor sharp and with perfectly fitted handles, but we did do a lot of the work ourselves.
Footnote: We took the train down to Hoi An a week or so later and had the opportunity to experience Train Street from the other vantage point – the train carriage high above the tracks. It was just as surreal. Looking down onto people’s smiling faces that were just inches away through the mucky windows decorated with snowflakes, skiing penguins and tinsel. This view somehow made it seem even more dangerous.
Helen (17th December 2025)
Merry Christmas Gleesons!!
Thanks Claire, best wishes for 2026
Merry Christmas, keep the emails coming. They’ve been an interesting read over the last few months.
Thanks Alison, glad you’re enjoying them. Happy New Year
Happy Christmas x. Wishing you safe travels & getting those knives through customs on every occassion x x
Thanks Clover. Knives arrived safely & speedily, a while to wait before we can use them though. Happy New Year
The knives arrived safely and were opened by customs then re packed.Really well made by master craftsmen Simon & Helen
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Well done. .merry Christmas. XXX ❤️ ❤️
Thanks Carole. Hope you didn’t cut yourself too badly checking that we’d made them nice & sharp. Happy New Year
Happy Christmas to you both. I’ve loved reading about your fabulous and very interesting adventures. You’re both so brave and inspirational. Sending much love xx
Thanks Jo. Glad you’re enjoying our updates. Happy New Year