Pedalling fast – but not fast enough. Racing from the opposite direction of this unmarshalled intersection come waves of scooters and cyclists, chaos sweeping around me as I slow, swerve, sandals scraping asphalt. Phew! Another accident averted.
Lake at dusk - Hanoi, vietnam
Despite the odd traffic scare, for a couple of dollars a day, hiring a bicycle is good way to see the sights of Hanoi, Vietnam’s capital.
Carry a map and orientation is easy: Hanoi is flat and compact and the streets follow a grid, with the Red River flowing through the eastern side of the city. Elegant French-colonial architecture, grassy parks, pagodas and lakes make good landmarks.
According to legend Hanoi’s origins date from 1010 AD, when Prince Ly Thai To, from his boat on the river, saw the auspicious sign of a golden dragon preparing for flight and decided this was the site for his capital. The placement of the royal city and all development of Hanoi was determined by geomancy, the Chinese divining science. Over subsequent centuries palaces, temples, esplanades, artificial hills and man-made lakes were built, but later, during the French-era of 1883 – 1954, much of Hanoi was razed and westernised.
Hanoi’s charm is its tree-lined boulevards of faded French villas and grand government buildings, which surround the lakes and pagodas of past Vietnamese dynasties.
Marooned in the middle of ‘The Lake of the Restored Sword’ is an island pagoda built to commemorate a semi-historical legend. It’s said that a golden tortoise snatched a magical sword from the 15th-century warrior Emperor Le Loi – which he’d used to defeat the Chinese, to then disappear back into the lake, returning the weapon to the gods.
Seated in the park surrounding this legendary lake, I’m oblivious to the hum and swirl of Hanoi. It’s a great place to relax; best around dusk. From a street-vendor I purchase a bowl of pho: shredded chicken, bean sprouts, parsley and noodles in a clear, spicy soup. Delicious! While swigging beer, I watch a family of five picnic upon the grass, two young lovers coo and kiss, old men drawing long on their cigarettes as last light fades from the island pagoda.
Activity in the Old Quarter of Hanoi makes every day seem like market day. Men in Vietcong helmets weave their Cyclos (cycle-rickshaws) past pavements congested by parked scooters and women vendors wearing traditional conical hats, hawking fruit and vege or a few cigarettes. Others have set up small street kitchens consisting of gas burners and woks, frying something resembling shrimp, egg and veg pancakes (they taste great!). Shops are boxed side by side, some little more than a wall of stacked cans and cartons, selling everything from washing powder to Milo to biscuits and cheap Chinese beer. Grouped beneath shady trees there are chairs and mirrors and barbers offering me short-back-and-sides.
Meantime in the mainstreet the traffic rushes towards modernity.
Cautiously, I pedal into a fast-flowing avenue, passing the old citadel and the Army Museum to reach a quiet street where hundreds of bicycles stand in racks. Within walking distance are many of Hanoi’s main sights, including Vietnam’s most revered monument: Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum. (Ho Chi Minh was the leader responsible for defeating the French and challenging the Americans, dieing in 1969, before final victory.)
Ho Chi Minh’s tomb is grey, marble-clad, Soviet-styled. I’m part of a procession who pass soldiers in white uniforms, red trim on their pants, jackets, caps, white gloves clutching AK-47′s, bayonets fixed. The interior is stark and silent. Shiny marble corridors with sentries every 5 metres. Four guards stand rigid – like stern-faced statues at each corner of the glass coffin where “Uncle Ho’s” embalmed body lies in eerie light: wrinkled, waxy-pink face with a whiskery chin.
Nearby, the Ho Chi Minh Museum, opened on 19 May 1990, commemorates the centenary of his birth. It offers everything from simple exhibits of Ho’s personal items to a colossal statue of the man to high-tech movie imagery and avant-guard displays of war and Socialist revolution.
Of Hanoi’s many temples the One Pillar Pagoda, a wooden structure sitting on a pillar amid a lily pond, is probably the city’s most famous. Built during the 11th century but destroyed by the French in 1954, to be rebuilt a year later, this shrine was constructed by Emperor Ly Thai Tong to celebrate a dream in which a goddess granted him a son. Subsequently, he married a peasant girl who bore him a male heir.
Today the One Pillar Pagoda remains a place of pilgrimage for childless couples.
Another Vietnamese tradition is that of water puppetry. It dates back to the 12th century. I watch a performance by the Thang Long Water Puppet Troupe. It’s strange; magical. Staged in a theatre with a pool, with a backdrop of cottages and pagodas and palm trees, puppets – grinning peasants, singing fairies, smoking dragons, flying ducks – glide along the water to the sound of music and banging of drums, to explosions of smoke and colour.
The great Chinese philosopher Confucius, goatee beard and golden crown, gazes serenely from his throne amid the Van Mieu, the Temple of Literature. This is the cultural heart of Hanoi. Built in 1070 AD as a dedication to Confucius, six years later it became Vietnam’s first university.
Within the temple’s enclosure of ponds and pavilions, shaded by banyan and frangipani trees, there stand rows of steles on stone tortoises, recording the names of scholars who were successful in exams between the years 1484 – 1780. These honours were erected in recognition of the scholars, but also to encourage others in learning.
Two days of touring Hanoi by bike leads me to believe that I’ve mastered the art of cycle-survival. But this isn’t so.
Passing the railway station I notice a policeman whistling, shouting in my direction. I assume he’s harassing a local and continue pedalling. Suddenly pain in my arm. Cop’s ran after me; whacked me hard. In heated Vietnamese he indicates: I’m riding the wrong way down a one-way street.
Hanoi is a relaxed, friendly, fascinating city. Yet I’ve second thoughts on touring by a clunky, old Chinese bike. Over the following days I sit back and let someone else pedal, cruising the city of lakes, legends and pagodas in the safety and comfort of a cyclo.
[ travel article published 1997 & 98 / travels 1994 ]
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