Pictures of Hanoi

 Hoan Kiem Lake in the main part of the city. If you can see the red bridge in the background, that leads to a small pagoda where many have recently gathered to pray for luck in the Lunar New Year. The tower, called Tortoise Tower after the famous giant turtles that legend says live in the lake, was built by the Le Dynasty in the 17th century.

This is an example of the make-shift stove that people use to make soup and tea on the street. It's essentially a tin can filled with burning charcoal.

Another post about smell...

“The first thing I noticed in Bombay, on the first day, was the smell of the different air. I could smell it before I saw or heard anything of India, even as I walked along the umbilical corridor that connected the plane to the airport. I was excited and delighted by it, in that first Bombay minute…but I didn’t, and couldn’t, recognize it. I know now that it’s the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate; and it’s the sour, stifled smell of gree, which is the opposite of love. It’s the smell of gods, demons, empires and civilizations in resurrection and decay. It’s the blue skin-smell of the sea, no matter where you are in the Island City, and the blood-metal smell of machines. It smells of the stir and sleep and waste of sixty million animals, more than half of them humans and rats. It smells of heartbreak, and the struggle to live, and of the crucial failures and loves that produce our courage. It smells of ten thousand restaurants, five thousand temples, shrines, churches and mosques, and of a hundred bazaars devoted exclusively to perfumes, spices, incense, and freshly cut flowers. Karla once called it the worst good smell in the world, and she was right, of course, in that way she had of being right about things. But whenever I return to Bombay, now, it’s my first sense of the city – that smell, above all things – that welcomes me and tells me I’ve come home.”

This beautiful quote, from the very first page of Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts speaks to one of my favorite things about travel: the smell of a new country. Every city has its own unique feeling but the smell can change everything. Accra, Ghana smelled of sweat, dust, heat, fresh pineapple, banana and cocoa beans, not to mention fufu with peanut soup. Hanoi and Haiphong, at least in the winter, smell of mist, green tea, basil, lime, hundreds of motorbikes and the hard work of street-food sellers. I could go on and on describing different cities. And more than that, the smell of these places changes throughout the day, almost to the point where you can tell what time of day it is even if you close your eyes and just breathe. But even with the changes, each city is distinct and whenever I get a whiff of spicy peanut soup at home, my mind goes back to Ghana. I can only imagine what will spark homesickness for Vietnam when I’m back in North America. 

I love the smell of Phở in the morning!

          I wrote this awhile back and just putting it up now, so it's about HaiPhong even though, it could easily be applied to HaNoi. This is me putting a different (much happier) twist on a famous movie quote (+10 points to those who know it! - I'm pretty sure my dad at least does). You can pretty much tell what time of day it is by the smells hanging in the air. I wake up to the smell of incense burning in the house next door, the days offering for good luck. The morning smells crisp and clean with hints of basil, stewed chicken and burning charcoal. When you walk outside, you see women and children at small plastic tables on the sidewalks, their chopsticks clanging against lacquer bowls. Most likely, they are eating Phở before heading of to school or starting housework for the day. Unless you get up before 6 am, you are unlikely to see men or young women at the breakfast table as the work day begins at 7 am for most people.
         In the afternoon, you can practically smell the heat rising from the pavement, which also leads to a powerful smell from any surrounding plant life, which is lovely and sweet. However, if you walk through a local market, the pungent smell of fish, meat, even blood, practically smacks you in the face. You can hear the sound of knives slicing through the air and a hard chop on the cutting board.
         As night falls, you can smell the air cooling down but my favorite smell at this time is spices. From Everywhere. Most people cook outdoors on small make-shift stoves and the smell is remarkable. When you walk past the street stalls, you can see, hear and smell men sitting down to a glass of Bia Hoi, a truly terrible but popular draft beer. People will sit at these stalls for hours, puffing away on cigarettes, drinking beer and chatting with friends until 10 or 11 at night. Children run around everywhere, completely unsupervised, and their laughter, plus their tiny pattering feet is a charming sound. Things quiet down and the spices leave the air at around 11 o'clock as people clean up and go to bed. From then on, the only smell is the heat, or the cold (depending on the season), clean and comforting, until 5 am the next day when it all starts again.