A guide to Hanoi, Vietnam's beguiling capital

​With atmospheric night markets, historic temples, sleek cocktail bars and an evolving culinary scene, Vietnam’s beguiling capital offers the perfect marriage of tradition and modernity. 

It’s 8am and I’m wandering the streets of Hanoi’s Old Quarter. A dawn deluge has rinsed the roads clean, and already they’re a hive of activity. Roadside stalls are setting up with the sun, while commuters crisscross the city, weaving around each other in an intricate waltz of wheels. The air is warm and soupy, thick with the smell of sizzling meat and flowers fresh from the market.

Above me, houses rise haphazardly. The history of the country is etched in their walls, the faded shutters and neoclassical balconies remnants of colonial rule. Between the mid-1800s and 1954, Vietnam was subjected to French control, though Hanoi’s newer buildings tell a more harrowing tale, constructed in the wake of the Vietnam War which, from 1955-75, saw thousands of bombs devastate the city.

Surprisingly absent in this architectural timeline are modern shopping centres or Western restaurants. Instead, street vendors and pop-up kitchens feed the population. I pass schoolgirls wearing conical non-la hats, buying sweet, sticky rice from rickety wooden carts. And at a hole-in-the-wall eatery, I opt for a cha lua (boiled pork not too dissimilar to a Peperami, wrapped in a banana leaf) and munch in companionable silence among a gaggle of elderly gentlemen who are clearly regular patrons.

But as my time in Vietnam’s capital goes on, subtle flashes of modernity make appearances. I wander into Gom Chi, a father-and-son ceramic shop, and spend an hour admiring funky, asymmetrical vases, before wistfully fingering the rows of pricey linen dresses from local designer Vi Thi Thu Trang at Indiehand. That evening, surrounded by smart professionals and minimalist artwork, I sit down to a tasting menu of astonishing variety at T.U.N.G Dining, which opened in 2018.

The chef’s take on pho marries lightly seared beef from Kagoshima with a silky jelly in the place of broth; it melts on my tongue and carries a subtle hint of thyme. In the panna cotta, I can taste the nation’s penchant for condensed milk (you’ll find it in everything, from coffee to cake), though the flavour is understated, combined beautifully with sesame and vanilla. “We love tradition here,” my waiter explains, noticing my rapture, “and food is part of our soul, but there’s always room to mix things up a bit.”