It’s no exaggeration to say they live on the other side of the tracks. On a street in the Old Quarter of Hanoi, Vietnam, a railway line runs just a few feet away from the front doors of local homes and shops. It’s a shockingly tight squeeze! Twice a day, a train comes barreling through between the tall narrow buildings that stretch for about half a mile, forcing residents and shopkeepers to retreat.
Some jokingly say that at least locals have door-to-door service. One elderly man I met had another word for the close proximity of the rail line: “noisy.”
“Very noisy,” he emphasized, shaking his head when I asked what it was like to live here. I sensed he wanted to tell me more but was prevented from doing so by his limited English. Perhaps he might’ve told me that his whole house rattles whenever the train passes, or relayed details about some close calls, or worse.
In the minutes before the train’s scheduled arrival, all signs of life disappear, as residents go indoors, bringing their children and pets with them. Scooters, bicycles, plastic chairs and household items are all moved closer to the home, a safe distance away from the tracks and the passing locomotive.
You go first. Residents who live along a railway track in Hanoi learn to accommodate each other. (Photo by Diane Slawych)
I’d first seen the railway street from the elevated position of a bus and was immediately intrigued by the site. Hanoi was the last stop on a 15-day Mekong tour and when our bus drove past the street, I vowed to return on my free time and experience it from the ground.
Arriving around 5 pm the next day, I discovered I was not the only curious tourist. There was a woman from Saudi Arabia with a film crew and an Indian woman doing a difficult yoga pose on the tracks.
When there’s no train, the residents, obviously hard pressed for space, use the tracks to conduct business, meet with friends, or get from A to B – in the absence of a sidewalk, the rail ties act as a substitute.
I followed suit and walked along the track, passing a salon where someone was having their hair shampooed. I saw tall plants growing in pots in front of several homes and laundry hanging on lines from upper balconies. A woman with curlers in her hair and wearing leopard print slippers sat on her haunches in a doorway chopping cabbage, while another resident pushed her bicycle over rough gravel as a child on the back seat looked on.
In the hot and humid temperatures, many residents left their doors open, which didn’t allow for much privacy, especially with curious tourists walking by. Locals seemed used to the attention though. Some were understandably guarded, while others engaged passersby including one man who had a pet chicken. He cooed lovingly over the well-groomed animal, which he kept on a leash and placed on a wooden perch as if to show off his pride and joy. It was a beautiful specimen, though I felt sorry it was tethered to a leash.
Then I remembered the other chickens I’d seen on the street, running free, often on the railway tracks (where else could they go?) Sometimes you have to take precautions.
Diane Slawych is a contributing writer for REM.
