Train Street I Love It!

“Sit here sir, two beer, best seats.” He click‑clicks the bottle tops off and places them on the railway track just two feet in front. “Souvenir for you later,” he smiles.

This was our welcome to Train Street, Hanoi—a now famous stretch of bars and shops on both sides of a main line. Not just next to the line, but spilling over onto it. I smile as I sip my beer because this is as surreal as it gets. To my left, just a few feet away on a seat in the next bar, is a rooster. Well, why wouldn’t there be! There are tiny dogs on the table, as well as a paddling pool on the line with a little yellow baby duck. Bar owners rush back and forth fetching drinks as it gets busy, seizing every opportunity to earn cash in what is clearly a competitive market, with fifty or more bars all in a row.

  20251108_124119

As always, we end up in random situations. A loud bell rings, clearly indicating a train must be arriving—time to get everyone back from the rails and coax a few more people in for drinks under the premise of safety! The whole family pitches in, serving, directing, and hawking. But then: “You hold baby. You nice. He like you.”

20251108_124148

Wendy is babysitting—and boy, he is cute! “Look at his little face,” she smiles. “He is gorgeous,” she adds, as he happily plays in her arms. “Oh my god, you are too old to be broody. You’re loving this, aren’t you?” “Oh my goodness, he’s after my pookers now,” she laughs. The guy next to me laughs as I reply, “I’ve been after them for years.”

Just before the train arrives, the baby is handed back to the owner—no doubt because waving to the passengers will be good for business.

The train does indeed come within inches of you—closer than you might expect—and yes, it is dangerous. It’s a tourist attraction, but boy, it’s a good one. You just can’t help but smile at the craziness of it all. At night, all the bars try to outdo each other with colourful lights and gimmicks. Drinks are about twice the price on Train Street, and you can be sold expensive souvenirs like T‑shirts and bags. In fact, you can even buy a chicken or a duck. But the point is: it’s fun, and I don’t think you can replicate it anywhere. I love Train Street.

20251108_220650

And the bottle tops? The train crushes them wafer‑thin, making a super souvenir for your wallet, stamped with “Hanoi”—the local beer.

IMG_0257

We visited about five times, day and night, and each time it had a different atmosphere—but we loved it every time. I was delighted when, on our last evening, we visited the same bar. Thousands of people were there, and he welcomed me with a hug like a long‑lost friend—our barefoot, vested pal. A quick tickle of the baby and two beers. This time we sat on the opposite side of the track facing his bar. He brought the beers over because, you know how posh I am—I need glasses for beer. To save him coming over, I chose two from the shelf. He smiled again and shook my hand. Clearly, he liked me.

As I sip my beer and smile, something catches my eye. Wendy smiles and asks, puzzled, “What are you thinking? You look miles away.” “Oh, I was just watching the guy who picked my glasses off the shelf, shook my hand, and opened my beer.” “Why?” “Well, he’s just sat opposite having a bloody go at his athlete’s foot!”

“He’s still a nice guy, I’m sure,” I added.

20251110_211805 IMG_0254 20251108_122916 20251108_123949 20251108_124119   20251108_211102 20251108_220727 20251108_220858 20251110_211614 20251110_211647   20251108_124433 20251108_211207 20251108_133747 20251108_124407