Mares: As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one way to get to work in Hanoi. No need for fancy gears or a mountain bike, just the basic equipment. And of course, the helmet — well here that’s an optional extra.
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Mares: Flat tyre? No problem. You can get it pumped up again on any street corner.
Of course riding a bike is a luxury I can afford, because if it’s raining, I can always wimp out and catch a taxi. Most workers don’t have that option.
And bicycles aren’t just for getting from A to B. In Vietnam, they’re workhorses.
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Mares: You don’t have to go very far outside the capital to see how central the bicycle is to Vietnam’s rural economy.
Here it’s a mobile shop...
a wheel barrow...
a delivery truck. And it’s been so in both times of peace and war.
Forty years ago, the bicycle helped throw the French our of Vietnam, resupplying nationalist forces as they laid siege to a remote French military base. Later, bicycles took rice and equipment down the Ho Chi Minh trail to soldiers fighting the United States and their allies in South Vietnam.
Mares: Bicycles used during the war were probably made here — at the state owned VIHA bicycle factory in the centre of Hanoi. Built by the French in 1930, it uses machinery that dates back as far as 1890.
Acting Director, Nguyen Con Tri has been working at VIHA for more than 20 years. In the old days that was almost enough to qualify for a long service award — a free bicycle.
Tri: Bicycles used to be very valuable. In a whole village there’s be just one person with a bike and that meant the family was rich. Workers who wanted a bike had to take part in a lottery first to win the right to buy one. But even to qualify for the lottery you would have to work for years or make some special contribution to the factory.
Mares: Before Vietnam opened its markets to the world, VIHA used to push out 200,000 bicycles every year — now the company can’t even sell a quarter of that number. The bicycle is no longer a prized commodity. Today, there’s a new status symbol.
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Mares: Just five years ago, motorbikes were a rarity in Hanoi. Today, more than half a million of them clog the city’s streets.
And the extraordinary thing is the absolute dominance of one brand. Honda has captured a staggering 90% of the market, with its popular Dream 2 and Dream 3 brands the top sellers.
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Mares: Tuan and Anh make a living growing and selling flowers on the edge of Hanoi. They’ve just bought their first motorbike.
Anh: Now we have the motorbike we enjoy visiting friends because we feel proud in front of them.
Tuan: Many of our friends now have Honda Dreams too. Lots of people like the model — so our Dream makes us feel part of the group.
Mares: But the bicycle makers are fighting back — coming up with new marketing ideas of their own. Like Mr Thuoc and his rattan bicycle.
Thuoc: Our product is a piece of sporting equipment — an example of fine handcraft, and a souvenir. A good-looking man like you should buy one as a gift for your wife.
Mares: Mr Thuoc says the rattan bike symbolises environmental concern — and he says he’s had lots of interest from Europe. Perhaps he thought that letting me take a spin around the block might prompt a few orders from Australia as well. But he wouldn’t allow me to see the factory, saying the production technique was secret. I’m not so sure he needs to worry about industrial espionage.
The shift from motorbikes has transformed Hanoi — a once quiet city it’s now full of smog and pollution.
But the motorbike has made life a lot easier for hundreds of thousands of people. And while it’s easy to romanticise the old days of tinkling bicycle bells, there’s no going back.
So far, I’ve resisted the temptation of swapping pedal power for a kick start. But I know that another energy sapping Hanoi summer is on the way. And as traffic in the city gets worse, the Honda Dream 2 starts to look that little bit more attractive.