Hanoi

Hanoi does not appear all at once. It opens slowly, like a lotus flower at dawn, letting you discover, step by step, its silent and living beauty.
Its old streets, like threads of dusty silk, intertwine between houses with green shutters and walls worn by time. Here, time does not flow in a hurry, but sways among laughter and the smells of hot soup with cinnamon and anise.
Hoan Kiem Lake stands still and in its middle, a red temple dreams of old legends about enchanted swords and royal turtles.
In Hanoi, mornings have the scent of thick coffee and beaten egg, and evenings pulsate in the light of lanterns. Voices mingle with the songs of the wind among pagodas and horns, like a chaotic and yet harmonious symphony.
It is a city that does not shout, but whispers. It does not boast, but lets itself be lived. Hanoi calls you not to see it, but to feel it in rare footsteps, in curious glances, in the gentle trembling of bamboo leaves.