Who needs Paris when we have Hanoi?

HANOI — "Hello, pineapple!" That's our next-door neighbor, the woman in the straw hat with baskets of pineapples and bananas balanced on either end of a bamboo pole, calling out to me over the din of the motorbikes whizzing by the front door of the Golden Lotus Hotel.

"Pineapple? Bananas? How much you want to pay?"Hmm ... maybe some pho instead. Set up by 5:30 a.m. for the breakfast rush, our neighborhood vendor lines up blue plastic stools along the curb. It won't be long before customers arrive for her beef noodle soup steaming in a pot on the sidewalk.

The Vissan Sai Gon bakery has fresh baguettes. A few blocks away, at Cafe Pho Co near Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi's version of Seattle's Green Lake, glasses of ca phe sua da — iced espresso with sweetened condensed milk — await.

Who needs Paris when we have Hanoi?

All we have to do is get across the street.

Think about what it would be like to walk across Highway 99 at rush hour, and you start to get an idea of what it means to be a pedestrian in Hanoi. Take out the median and most of the traffic lights. Replace most of the cars with motorbikes, all honking their horns at the same time.

Then start walking. Don't hesitate. Don't stop in the middle of the street. Keep going.

Somehow, it all works.

Are cars on the way?

"Five or six years ago, all you could see in the streets were bicycles," says Cuong Nguyen, 29, a guide for a local travel agency.

If the trend continues, Hanoi's streets will be clogged with cars in another five or six years, just like Bangkok and Beijing.

For now, however, the back of an xe om — motorcycle taxi, or moto for short — is an efficient way of getting from one place to another quickly.

For my first ride, I chose a driver whose glasses, graying hair and mustache reminded me of my father. His Honda was old and beat-up, but his look of experience trumped a fancy bike.

We agreed on a price for the short ride back to my hotel. I hopped on, hugged his waist and off we went, honking our way around a few cars and buses, but mostly other bikes.

It was midafternoon, and traffic was light. I wouldn't do this at rush hour, or in the rain when the streets are a sea of colored plastic ponchos, but for a short ride with a good driver, it actually felt safer than crossing a busy intersection on foot. It certainly was easier.

It was also cheap thrills. My ride cost 60 cents.

Bicycle businesses

In Bangkok, we awakened to the chanting of Buddhist monks. In Kuala Lumpur, it was the Muslim call to prayer. Here in Hanoi, the sounds of business start early and go late.

Communism and capitalism blend easily. A post-Vietnam War baby boom and a fast-paced, free-market economy have combined to make Hanoi one of Asia's best values.

An example is the Golden Lotus, where my husband, Tom, and I stayed in the Hoan Kiem Lake district on the edge of the old quarter, a maze of 36 streets laid out during medieval times, each named after the merchandise made or sold there.

At $50 a night, including breakfast, the 12-room Golden Lotus (www.goldenlotushotel.com.vn) was the best lodging value we found in three weeks of traveling through Southeast Asia. The rooms were long and narrow, with balconies fronting the street. Ours had floors of lacquered wood, a desk, wardrobe, king-size bed, modern bathroom and an Internet connection. Hanging on one wall was a knock-off Picasso, the work of one of the many Hanoi street artists who copy famous paintings and sell them for about $45 each.

Our street, Hang Trong, was lined with shops selling silks and lacquerware, but it's also a neighborhood where locals live on the upper floors of tall, skinny houses built by the French in the 19th century.

Almost anyone can and does start a business. I stood on our balcony one morning and counted the kinds of roving shops people run from the backs of bicycles. I spotted bikes laden with teapots and kitchen utensils, plastic buckets, rattan baskets, flowers, baguettes, brooms and potted plants.

Women are adept at balancing baskets on their shoulders with bamboo poles. Some carry nothing heavier than paper funeral supplies; others haul pineapples or melons or portable kitchens for making egg sandwiches on the spot. The best eating is done squatting curbside on a plastic stool while a woman dishes out bowls of pho (noodle soup) spiked with lime, slices of chili pepper and handfuls of fresh herbs.

Sidewalks aside, there are tons of atmospheric restaurants hidden in converted 19th-century shop houses along the back streets. Two can eat well for $10-$12 with beer or fruit shakes.

At Green Tangerine, in a restored French villa at 48 Hang Be Street in the old quarter, we sampled well-prepared traditional Vietnamese dishes several notches above what was available on the street or in small cafes.

Tangerine time

The pho with spring onions was more delicate than anything we had tasted so far. With the fans spinning overhead, the shutters open and French jazz almost drowning out the traffic noise, the Tangerine was a splurge by Hanoi standards, but like most everything here, a bargain by ours. The bill was $21 each with drinks.

For people-watching, we headed each morning and most evenings to Hoan Kiem Lake, the symbolic center of modern Hanoi, where a stroll usually calls for a snack, and vendors are at the ready with slices of chocolate bread, water, ice cream or oranges.

Cigarette sellers claim prime sidewalk real estate after dark, competing with each other by using the cartons to create towering displays. Mornings before dawn, friends get together to do tai chi, aerobic dance to boom-box music, play badminton or lift barbells at portable sidewalk gyms.

Hoan Kiem (Lake of the Restored Sword) gets its name from a legend. In the 15th century, Emperor Le Thai To supposedly handed down a magic sword to a mythical tortoise living in the lake, helping him fight off Chinese invaders.

A prime spot for picture-taking is the fifth-floor rooftop of the City View Cafe on Dinh Tien Hoang Street, a few doors from the Thang Long Puppet Theatre where puppeteers stand waste-deep in water while manipulating fire-breathing dragons with bamboo sticks.

Here 80 cents buys an iced coffee and a window table on the terrace, with a view of the lake or rush-hour traffic. Your choice.

Carol Pucci: 206-464-3701 or cpucci@seattletimes.com