Lonely Planet

Just before noon each day, the southboundtrain from Hai Phong to Hanoi rumblespast Mrs Bay’s front room, missing herporch by no more than inches. To me, thescene looks like something from a disastermovie. With its horn blaring like the lasttrumpet, the huge locomotive barelysqueezes through the tiny space where therailway track runs between two rows ofdwellings. It’s close enough to block all thelight from the windows, flap the dryinglaundry and silence our conversation. MrsBay, a well-preserved 64-year-old, whomI’ve bumped into on a stroll, bats away myconcerns. ‘I hardly notice it,’ she says asthe last carriage finally disappears,continuing to massage black hair dye intoher scalp with plastic-gloved hands. MrsBay is a retired railway worker. Space inthis teeming city is at such a premium thatshe counts herself lucky to have a centrallylocated home, despite its obvious hazards.‘It’s fine for the kids, too,’ she says. ‘We justcall them inside when the bell rings.’A few hundred metres from Mrs Bay’shouse stands Hanoi’s central station, GaHanoi. Ga, the word for station, is like thetracks themselves: a legacy of French rule.From here, the railway line runs 1,000miles down the long stalk of this narrowcountry to Ho Chi Minh City – formerlySaigon. Four express trains a day make the34-hour southbound journey. Aeroplanesand a rapidly modernising highwaysystem now rival the railway for speed andconvenience, but travelling slowly by trainis an incomparable way of plunging intothe heart of the country, and the beautyand history that make it unique.The first southbound express leaves at6am. Through the drizzle, the neon signspelling out Ga Hanoi flames red abovethe central entrance. Propaganda postersremind you that, in spite of its astonishing``````commercial energy, this is still acommunist country. The station has aSoviet flavour, as do the red, white andblue livery of the rolling stock, and thesmart blue uniforms of the guards whocheck the tickets.Walking unsteadily from the front tothe rear of the train as it rattles along theuneven rails, you pass through the variousstrata of society: the air-conditioned,four-berth cabins in which tourists andwell-off Vietnamese sleep on soft beds;the carriages of upholstered seats with bigtelevision screens showing homegrownmusic videos and soap operas; and thehard wooden seats of the steerage section,where families stretch out on the floor onpieces of cardboard. At the very end ofthe train is a restaurant car and kitchen.A menu in Vietnamese and English offersa range of dishes, though only noodleswith meatballs are available.I eat the noodles and drink a syrupycoffee sweetened with condensed milk.Out the window, the concrete and stainedmasonry of the suburbs gradually givesway to banana trees and emerald paddyfields worked by solitary farmers inconical bamboo hats.The North-South Railway is sometimesreferred to as the Reunification Express,to commemorate the moment in 1975when North Vietnamese forces finallyoverran the south. The victory of the NorthVietnamese concluded a 30-year conflictin which first the French and then the USarmies had been humiliated.Three hours beyond Hanoi, I get out atGa Ninh Binh. I’m headed to Van LongNature Reserve, one of the country’sfamous beauty spots, but I’ve decided tomake a detour to visit tiny Mai Do village,a place that’s off the usual tourist itinerary,to meet the father of a friend.60 Lonely Planet Traveller October 2017VIETNAM BY TRAINHave lunch at Moto-sanUber Noodle stall,seating just eight diners``````Lotte ObservationDeck: sky-high cityviews from 65floors up``````Stop for acoffee andthe motherof alllakesideviews atCafe Pho Co``````ILLUSTRATIONS: ANISA MAKOUL