More Than Scenic Landscapes

From UNESCO-listed Halong Bay to the heritage lanes of Hội An, Vietnam balances cultural preservation with a rapidly modernising economy and tourism sector; writes Vinod K

- Vinod K

I landed just after dusk, the sky bruised purple, the airport smelling faintly of star anise and floor polish.

At the taxi stand, a man in a green jacket tapped my shoulder, pointed toward the motorway and said, “Be careful—cross like river.” It made no sense until the next morning, when I faced my first Vietnamese street. Traffic in Hanoi doesn't follow lanes so much as intuition. Scooters move like schools of fish, pausing, splitting, rejoining, but rarely stopping. Eventually, I learned the trick: don't hesitate, don't run, don't overthink. Just walk steadily and trust the universe—or the drivers.

One morning in Hoàn Kiếm, I tried crossing nervously, only to freeze mid-road. A woman on a scooter slowed beside me, expression half-amused, half-concerned, and simply said, “You okay?” before guiding me across like a child. That moment stayed with me—kindness delivered casually, without expectation or drama. Vietnam does that often.

My hotel overlooked an alley where mornings began with metallic clinks and laughter. Street vendors emerged before sunrise, assembling their mobile kitchens like ritual. Women in conical nón lá hats arranged herbs with reverence, and a man with a portable charcoal stove roasted chestnuts, humming without pause. I followed the smell of broth to a woman ladling phở from a steaming steel cauldron. She handed me a bowl before I could even order, nodding as if she'd already expected me. The first spoonful felt like something softened by time—meat tender enough to fall apart, broth layered with cinnamon and patience, and basil so bright it tasted like a new beginning. When I finished, she refused my tip and waved me away like family overstaying breakfast.