The Sepia-Toned Pandemonium Of Hanoi, Vietnam

I arrived in Hanoi airport just after a white-knuckle roller coaster courtesy of the lingering typhoon in the location. I had no thought what to count on, seriously. My thought of Southeast Asia was something along the lines of a ramble by way of Cambodia and Laos. Like the good relationship maintainer that I am, I put these on the back burner for my fiance’s choice, Hanoi.

This article at the Economic Times reminded me of that wide-eyed taxi ride into the heart of the Old Quarter. My very first surprise was the conglomeration of architecture that blindsided me. Traditional homes are flanked by ominously tall, brick and stucco French-influenced buildings, and the scattering of temples and churches tends to make the appearance of this energetic city mirror the chaotic roads that entangle it.

Our next few days had been spent wandering the labyrinth of streets producing up the Old Quarter. Almost everything was thrust into our faces not the hawkers, but the life that tends to make up the streets. Every thing takes on a worn, difficult-functioning look to it.

As the FT puts it, “There’s hardly a sharp edge or sleek surface to be noticed anything has been worn down by human hands, pollution, rain, heat and floods.” Folks selling their goods everywhere, bia hoi’s being sold subsequent to pho noodle stands, all whilst the gazillion horns seem to make a continuous noise you discover to tune out. It is a poetic pandemonium of power and life within the city.

“Hanoi, Vietnam’s capitol, is a city in sepia.”

I was seduced by it all. So significantly, that I know I will walk these streets again. Perhaps even before I get to those other areas I want to get to.