Hồ Tây - West Lake

After he had slain the monster fish Ngư Tinh, the Dragon Lord of Lac ventured to Long Biên, on the western bank of Sông Hồng, the Red River. There, he confronted another demon, a nine-tailed fox a thousand years old that had been devouring maidens by taking the form of a handsome man and enticing them into his lair. The dragon lord called upon a great deluge of water, assaulted the demon fox with the water, and vanquished it. In the wake of the battle, a vast swath of land along the Red River's western bank had been destroyed, and in its place was a lake.

It's the last week of August, and today is the first day of the eighth lunar month. This evening, people all over Hanoi are in the streets and burning offerings of wealth like hell money and paper representations of luxuries like gold, cars, new clothes, and even smartphones. The eighth month welcomes the season of the harvest. In fifteen days, the full moon with be large and luminous, and all over Asia people will admire its beauty, feast on mooncakes, light lanterns, and contemplate the change of season.

Throughout tonight, however, the moon will stay hidden below the horizon. And today the sun was still summer strong, and beat down on Mike and I as we took a walk around Hanoi's west lake. The walk was meditative. We felt the change of day like the turn of season. The journey took several hours. The sun meandered from its zenith and disappeared in the smoggy evening haze by the time we finally finished the entire circuit.

A lotus pond shack and little boats taken when collecting flowers and seed cups.

The journey was a laundry list of sights that ranged from offensive to inspirational. We walked with the lake on our right. The faint hot breeze carried the sick mucky stench of rot. In the lake, we saw a floating restaurant called the Potomac, sprawling acres of lotus ponds, bloated and bobbing corpses of countless fish, acrobatic dragonflies and bats, rowboats, an aquatic golf driving range, bubbles of gas that rose from the lake bottom, and ripples from schools of small fish.

Around the lake, trees lined the shore. In their shade, men fished with line wrapped around half-cans of baby formula and hauled catches of carp, crappies, and catfish. Old aunties and young children chattered and swung in green net hammocks, and ravaged-looking roosters crowed and shook their featherless heads. On our left, we passed foreign embassies, dilapidated French-colonial estates, empty upscale cafes, graffiti-covered walls, and several austere temples. Off in the distance, an enormous ferris wheel and about a dozen construction cranes loomed on the smoggy horizon.

Looking at it from far away, the lake was quite attractive. It was enormous and the still surface reflected the blue sky. But close up, the lake was a disturbing sight. The opaque green water seemed nearly putrid. Trash and litter floated everywhere. Pipe outlets dumped runoff and sludge into the water. My first glance at the lake revealed about two dozen dead fish rotting at the surface, all within a few yards of the shore.

However, the locals don't share my sensibilities regarding water quality. We saw many people fishing, by hook or by net, and keeping their catches. On the northwestern side, we saw someone swimming in the mucky green water. And toward the end of our journey, we watched a man wash his clothes in it. The people who use the lake don't seem to be fretful regarding its health.

As we walked, I realized I had seen other details that complicated my opinion of the lake's quality. During the day, I saw dozens of brilliantly colored dragonflies that darted across the surface and fought with each other midflight; to the victors went perches on semi-submerged sticks and the advantage of good breeding territory. In the evening, the dusky sky was full of bats that flitted overhead and stripped the air of gnats by the swarm. Animals like dragonflies and bats give a sense of an ecosystem's health. It seems the bats and dragonflies are in great abundance at Hanoi's west lake. I think I've seen fewer of them in what would be considered more "natural" areas.

Boatmen scoop golf balls from the net spanning the aquatic driving range.
Photo by Mike Cadette

I've started to rethink the way I look at environmental spaces within urban landscapes. My initial impression, that the lake is filthy and ecologically at risk, might not be right. Maybe the reason for so many dead fish is not pollution. So many dead fish could result from overpopulation due to an overabundance of food, perhaps extensive algae growth caused by nutrient-rich affluence from sewage. An abundance of fish would fit with the abundance of dragonflies and bats, which seem to be thriving here on the west lake. The success of these airborne species is bewildering, and a little bit heartening.

As Mike and I finished our lap, the sun vanished in the smoggy haze on the horizon. The air cooled, and the rotten stench, which had risen from the sun-warmed water during the day, had faded. As darkness fell, more and more people filled the shore, to spend their evening outdoors with friends, while in their homes, their televisions sat blank and idle. Vendors peddled icecream and balloons. Incense and the sound of bells emanated from glowing temples dispersed around the lake. And bats, more than one could count, cartwheeled and somersaulted through the air over Hồ Tây.

Tastes of Hanoi

There's only one thing on the menu at this iconic restaurant: it's grilled fish piled high with dill and green onion.

 
 

Phở could be considered to be Vietnam's flagship dish. North Vietnam's style of this beef noodle dish is simple and straightforward, with a few cuts of beef, a couple pinches of green onion and cilantro, and a big clump of fresh flat noodles.

 
 

Although we wouldn't know it in the states, but phở happens to be a versatile noodle. Here they are fried, as phở xào.

 
 

Another variant is called phở cuốn. It's a cold roll of beef and herbs, wrapped up in a noodle sheet and dipped in nước chấm.

 
 

If there's any Vietnamese food I'll miss most of all when we leave Hanoi, it's cốm, a dish of roasted young rice. Tender and nutty, cốm's green hue comes from the natural color of the immature rice. Unfortunately, it's a regional specialty. We can't even find it in Saigon.

 
 

Another reason the cốm has become a favorite: it makes a great ice cream.

30 Years After the War

The other day, Mike and I were walking through Hanoi when he made an interesting observation.

It's been thirty years since the war. The American War is what they call it here, and the Americans incontestably lost. Here we were, two Americans strolling around Hanoi, and we had this surreal feeling, like we were Japanese tourists in 1965 on a stroll through Washington D.C.

But there's a major difference between the imagined experience of the Japanese tourist and our own. Here in Vietnam, there's a strange esteem of American branding. The Japanese tourist in 1965 would never find products labeled "Super Japanese," step over images of Japanese cash lying on the streets, or see the national flag waving from restored Japanese military jeeps. Yet the promotion of American goods seems widespread here.
 

A US Army Jeep. See the US flag posted on the driver's side?

Hell money for the dead bears images of American cash.

The mirror in our hotel bathroom is etched with a pro-American sounding phrase...

...and the toilet bears a similar mark.