Hanoi: Leafy Chaos

A long time ago, I was slapped across the face with a cat fish. In Hanoi, crossing the road for the first time felt like the mental equivalent. I was so focused on dodging traffic, I didn’t take much in. It wasn’t until I sat down for a bowl of phở bò (beef noodle soup), that I noticed the leafy surroundings. 

I knew Hanoi would be chaotic, but I didn’t expect it to be that green. In the city's Old Quarter, trees enveloped the streets in a labyrinth of leafy chaos. Tangles of roots and branches hung across the road, precariously interwoven with power lines and neon ‘full body massage’ signs. 

Be it a decaying French chateau or Vinh Minh’s electronic store, the trees did not discriminate in choking the surrounding buildings. It felt like the jungle was reclaiming the urban sprawl, with no resistance from the locals. 

The most noticeable were the banyan trees, a fig species native to South Asia. Banyan trees are well suited to urban areas, germinating in cracks between buildings, footpaths and all kinds of public infrastructure. 

Across South Asia, banyan trees hold deep religious significance. Two thousand years ago, a young man with high anxiety sat under a banyan tree performing the ancient version of a digital detox, becoming Buddha.

For locals, banyan trees represent flexibility, resilience and strength; attributes very applicable to the residents of Hanoi who, in only the last century, have endured: French occupation, communist revolution, famine, the American invasion and Western cappuccino culture. As such, Hanoians remain fiercely protective of the banyan trees, even to the detriment of their houses' structural integrity and access to public utilities. 

Unlike other fig species with roots that run outwards along the ground, banyan trees have aerial root systems that dangle downward before entering the ground at maturity. The Vietnamese are experts in lighting and would hang lights and lanterns in these aerial root systems. At night, the trees would illuminate the streetscape, evoking feelings reminiscent of my early twenties – romance and confusion. 

According to Vietnamese government sources, there are currently 1.7 million trees in Hanoi. By the end of 2025, an additional 500,000 trees will be planted to increase green spaces and improve air quality (Chau, 2023). For foreign investors, Vietnam is the cheaper alternative to China, especially in manufacturing. Consequently, Hanoi has some of the worst air pollution in the world. 

In 2007, Dad and I were hiking in the mountains of Northern Vietnam, close to the border with China. I developed a bad chest infection, to the point where I was struggling to breathe. A compromised respiratory system is the price to pay for multinationals to continue exploiting cheap human capital and the environment. After all, how else can I keep buying the shit I want, at an agreeable price point? 

After a week in Hanoi, I believe the best thing to do is sit on an undersized plastic stool, order a beer or ten, and watch this fascinating corner of the world go by: a well-dressed, elderly gentlemen spitting into the gutter; an attractive young woman outside a massage shop, simultaneously soliciting business and helping her daughter with her homework. A city strangled by trees, Hanoi compels its hardworking residents to acknowledge their roots.