Today there is no morning walk. For me the morning walk in central Ha Noi is mandatory. It starts between 6.30 and 7.00, takes me to the main post office where I can buy the English Language paper, and then settles me by the Lake to read and contemplate, before allowing me to return for breakfast.
This earliness of this constitutional starts from two facts; that if it is not undertaken first thing, the sultry sticky enervating heat prevents all voluntary activity; and that, especially in the morning, the Lake is a most delightful place. The air is noticeably less polluted and fresher at half past five in the morning than it is later in the day. But this is a target time which I consistently miss. Despite decades of daily practice, it still takes me an hour or so to come to terms with the burden of life sufficiently to rise from my bed and get myself out of the house.

The Turtle Tower catching the early morning light by Hoan Kiem Lake in Central Ha Noi.

Then the five minute direct walk to the Lake is usually supplemented with a meander or two in the fascinating lanes of the rambling Old Town. However, normally before seven I am walking, with hundreds of others, by the tree lined periphery of Hoan Kiem Lake.

The lake is how lakes in towns should be. It is half a mile long and less across, bordered by paths, seats, cafes, flower-beds and trees. An island of beauty at the centre of this sprawling metropolis of six million or more people. Its weakness is that it is an island, an island formed by the sea of traffic which surrounds the calm. The many, many other lakes in this city are less presentable; at best no money is available for seats and flowers and constant tending, and at worst they are rubbish dumps, far from recreational facilities. Hoan Kiem is tended diligently by scores of workers, and it is recreational: the locals use it to re-create their souls and lives each day. In this respect the mornings largely belong to us older people; as the day dims to evening the young come in their couples to stare in conjoint silence at the water, or argue and frisk in groups.

Reading the morning paper by Hoan Kiem Lake in central Ha Noi. Other forms of exercise continue in the background

For the morning people the space and cool offer a range of activities. There are those, like myself, whose ‘activity’ is just perceptible. The choice for me is between strolling round the lake, or strolling round the lake and sitting down. Both these forms of exercise appeal, although I should say that strolling is far too brisk a word, here everybody ambles. To that motion is counterpoised rest. The paper bought – now the woman says good morning and smiles, an exchange granted by my hard work, for in Ha Noi giving and receiving money is fast and peremptory in the extreme – and I carry it (more exercise, and if you think that is only a joke, you have not lived in 95% humidity!) back across the 5 lane road to the island of calm. Actually at 6.30am the road is tolerable and easy to cross, most of the riders appearing mesmerised and slowed by the time of day. The already fierce sun forces the selection of a bench in the shade, and there I sit to read the wonderfully reassuring headlines about achieved targets, new trade agreements, peace breaking out, and visits by dignitaries; a diet which stems from the political system and which at least calms me, unlike the fare of Capitalism (war, failures, murders, unsolvable problems) which harms me.

All around, on other seats, and the raised flower-bed edges, sit locals reading their versions of this well ordered world, as sceptically, of course, as we view the so called ‘liberal’ press in the west. But, as always here, more of them sit mainly to chatter, to smoke and to drink green tea. Some are very old, their bodies decrepit, but eyes alive and well, just as they were 80 years or more ago. These tableau of older lined faces, talking in the rising light, implacable expressions yet, as ever, showing so much, create a world to which we all belong and have a right. The quiet natural world which humans inherited; not noble, not savage, but well able to counter the exigencies of life with collective and ancient riposte.

Chat and badminton as the sun rises by Hoan Kiem Lake

The rest of the day may be as frustrating and unproductive as only days in the East can be, and here, in the morning, can be seen part of the reason for that later endurance test. For in the morning by Hoan Kiem Lake it is the heart that is on display, and ultimately for life it is the heart that matters and must be protected; protected against demands which threaten it, demands which would undermine the conviviality that lets it thrive. The frustrations of the day in the East are the frustrations of the conflict of heart and rational intent: logic reduced to tatters by emotional demands disguised in Byzantine habits of good manners.

Today I have no morning walk. The exigencies of my head have won against the need of my heart. Today I am reduced, by my head, to a mere westerner in an Oriental Land.