The Streets of Hanoi

Cars still comprise a small minority of vehicles in Vietnam, and thank goodness for that! When I look back at my nearly 2 and a half years spent in Hanoi, the picture that comes to mind is a street scene. Most streets in urban Hanoi are paved and regularly repaved, but never seem to lose their moonscape-like unevenness and craters.

Looking at a map, what you see is that Hanoi contains a sparse web of large arterial streets, few of which run parallel or perpendicular. Filling the space between these are labyrinthine networks of tributary roads that shrink as they branch until they obtain the size of alleys a person can about reach across with the spread of their arms. Only the larger streets have Proper names. Other streets and alleys are numbers appended to the name or number of the larger street they come off of. My first address was on Alley 43, off of larger alley (or lane) 31, Xuan Diu Street. This can be written as a fraction, like 43/31/Xuan Dieu, or using commas and Vietnamese terminology; I.E., Ngach 43, Ngo 31, Phố Xuan Dieu. Just how locations were written, and in what order of street was inconsistent – it seemed natives had little idea of their address, let alone how to describe it in English.

In truth, street names were often the last thing on anyone’s mind. The important thing, when a lowly pedestrian out on the street, was to try to be as small and out of the way as possible. Pavements/sidewalks were plentiful on the larger streets, but almost always smothered in either vehicle (motorcycles and scooters), plantings, and commerce. The latter consisted of people selling their goods for the morning market at small tables, or usually tiny plastic seating belonging to countless cafes, ice-tea stands, and small restaurants. While trees seemed absolutely necessary in Hanoi’s scalding summer heat and infamously sooty air, it was baffling why the planters had to consume the whole diameter of the sidewalks, forcing pedestrians into the busy traffic in what otherwise would be fine places to walk.

Countless motorbikes flooded the street during and between rush hour, and heavy rains could inundate the same streets under several inches of sooty, icky water. Ick! Restaurants and other businesses habitually dumped their dishwater onto the street, which did little to improve conditions.

One of the first things I learned when I went to Vietnam was to wear sandals. Other shoes could work on cool dry days, but one should prepare for their feet to get wet if they are walking the street. Vietnamese folks are also big about taking their shoes off (understandably) when entering a home, as well as many places of business, and this is a snap with sandals or flip-flops – bere feet are generally accepted. Just make sure you give your feet a good washing when you get a chance.

Oh, the motorbikes. It seemed like a foolish thing to think I could share busy streets with this mass of motion. Constant beeping made it sound like a flock of wild ducks. It was as though the beeping was for echolocation. But for many countries, such traffic is a way of life. Motorbike drivers are used to captaining their vehicle through the chaos, including others of their kind, and poor pedestrians. Unlike cars, bikes can constantly weave through the narrowest of obstacles. This doesn’t mean pedestrians, or anyone for that matter, are particularly safe on the street but share it they do.

My constant companion in my years in the busy Vietnamese capital was my 67-inch, non-collapsing white cane. On the street, and almost everywhere else, I kept this quite close to me, in a pencil grip, as I shoreline the edge as much as I could. I would move at a constant though unrushed pace, my feet sometimes landing in the wet that might have been road drainage or what someone dumped from their home or shop. A few birds sang from the trees and windows, but mostly what I heard was traffic, plus some karaoke music and pop from the shop fronts. I was quite fortunate, as I was able to walk to the school where I taught English and back each work day. I walked there one time just before the first class of the year with my supervisor, and the next day I was off on my way! -- nervously. A parent of one of the pupils recognized me on my journey, about halfway to the school, and offered me a ride, which I took. I was also offered a ride home… Ok, well the next day, I was off again, and I made it – only getting slightly lost as I detoured down a relatively peaceful and green, but sinuous path through a hotel property. I took this 1-mile-long trip twice a day during the week for a year. Luckily, it involved only relatively minor street crossings. The most difficult part was the final quarter stretch to the school, where dozens of vendors crowded the pavement and spilled out onto the street. When proprietors saw me come, they would push me, usually gently, away from their stand, and into the street, sometimes guiding me roughly by my arm to where I was in the clear of this crowd. Sometimes they would offer to help me with the final street crossing. It was rather chaotic, and not altogether pleasant, but generally bearable – on good days.

I learned quickly to carry a change of clothes to school. While we had a casual dress code, by the time I made it to the school, I was sweating bullets, and my clothes were like melted frosting. I wasn’t particularly heavyset, but I lost some 35 LB living in Hanoi. These daily, sultry walks may have contributed.

About halfway between my home and my school was a corner, where I quickly noticed other languages spoken besides Vietnamese. I heard what sounded like Arabic, and, wouldn’t you know? – English! I was shy, highly absorbed in the business of walking these crazy streets and starting to sweat cascades, but after a month or so, I found the courage to regularly make a stop at what turned out to be one of the most popular cafes for Hanoi’s foreigners. It was here that I began making perhaps the largest network of friends I’ve ever had, as I rebounded from tiresome days of teaching with some Vietnamese coffee along Hanoi’s West Lake. I could have shelled out just over one US dollars’-worth a day to get round trips on a motorbike from Grab, Vietnam’s most popular rideshare service, but I’d always been used to walking to places when practical. Plus, I was quickly discovering that the footwork was paying off.