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Noodling around the Red River Delta

A visit to northern Vietnam would not be complete without taking in one of its unique craft villages. Specialising in one particular trade, such as silk weaving, basketry or embroidery, these communities often use the same skills and techniques handed down for generations. While some evolved naturally around the major cities, others were established by royal decree to supply the imperial court. Today a handful can still be found near Hue and Hoi An, but the greatest concentration is around Hanoi, buried in the rice-lands of the Red River Delta.

The vast, fertile plains of Vietnam's northern delta are often referred to as the "cradle of Vietnam." Though close to the capital, the delta is a relatively unexplored region,and not an easy one to travel in. Like much of rural Vietnam, it has seen few benefits from the greater economic freedoms of the last decade. In fact, walking into one of the delta's bamboo-screened villages is like entering a different world. Dynasties and ideologies come and go, but here the local saying still holds true: the power of the King (or nowadays, the Party) stops at the village gate.

I'm reminded of this quite forcefully when I visit a noodle-making village near Hanoi. Only with the help of an interpreter/guide do I eventually find it - but what a place! The village is a lovely, old, red-roofed storybook town tucked into the lee of an embankment. Racks of plump, white noodles dry in the sun. Nearby, villagers stir great, boiling vats of a murky liquid. No sooner do I start asking questions - and jotting down the answers - when a man on a motorbike arrives and "invites" me to go to the village office. So off we go!

On the surface it's all very pleasant. Dinky little cups of green tea are poured while a curious crowd gathers outside. We chat about this and that and slowly the conversation comes round to what I'm doing. It soon becomes clear that despite what they are saying in Hanoi about promoting tourism, it hasn't filtered down this far. Not so long before, a guidebook writer had been thrown out of Vietnam, apparently for taking notes. So when the officer behind the desk, wearing a green, army tunic and a self-important air, demands my passport, I begin to worry.

My attempts at explaining why foreigners are interested in what he obviously regards as a very ordinary village in the middle of nowhere fall on deaf ears. Apparently he finds my story about tourism nothing more than a clever ruse. I am obviously a spy intent on stealing his world-beating noodle recipe. Perhaps I will set-up a rival operation and put his village out of business. It's such an amusing idea that I forget to be angry! We part on amicable terms, though I never do discover more about noodles.

Fortunately, not all craft villages are quite so inaccessible. On another occasion I visit a village specialising in wood carving and another whose sole product is nylon fishing nets. Then there's Le Mat, the popular snake-restaurant village north of Hanoi. But perhaps the best-known is Bat Trang, a pottery village immediately across the Red River from central Hanoi. You can even cycle to it, crossing Long Bien Bridge and then heading generally south along the embankment for about ten kilometres.

Bat Trang has been producing bricks and earthenware pots since the fifteenth century, but business really took off in the early 1990s on the back of Hanoi's property boom. This is where they churn out those glazed ornamental balustrades and banisters in fetching shades of yellow, green and pink that you see all over town. They also produce the more traditional, cobalt-blue ceramics, which provide the capital's plant pots.

Today around two thousand families live in Bat Trang, operating some eight hundred kilns. The main street is a hive of activity as workers steer their fragile cargo, laden on bikes and carts, through the throng. On each side dusty showrooms wait for the next tour group, but prices are no cheaper than in Hanoi, and pottery isn't the most obvious souvenir.

Instead, I dive off into the back alleys, working my way towards the river where the narrow, brick-walled lanes have an almost medieval feel. This is the oldest part of Bat Trang. The walls are spattered with coal-pats - each decorated with the maker's handprint - which will be used later to fire the squat, square kilns rising above the rooftops. You can peek in courtyards stacked full of pots, or watch artists painting the decorations by hand.

Wandering through these lanes, a couple invites me in for a cup of tea. They don't want to sell me anything; rather, they have stopped work for the day and are intrigued by a foreigner this far off the main drag. After exhausting my smattering of Vietnamese and swapping the names of soccer stars (football being all the rage in Vietnam), I finally say my good-byes and head home. The sun setting over the Red River provides a blazing finale to a memorable outing, only a stone's throw from the centre of Hanoi.