Sofitel Legend Metropole Hanoi

The more I return to Hanoi, the more I seek assurances that — despite the dizzying changes of the intervening decades — the place I fell in love with still endures.

Upon arrival, my first priority is a walk around Hoàn Kiếm lake, the prettiest spot in the capital, framed by willow trees dipping branches into leaf-green water. A bride and groom will be posing for portraits on the shore, or on the red wooden footbridge that leads to the island temple, forever shrouded in mist. In the mornings the tai chi ladies and ballroom dancing ladies and laughing-yoga ladies fill the parks, wearing đồ bộ pajama suits, while the men gather over intense games of cờ tướng (Chinese chess).

If I’m hungry — I’m always hungry in Hanoi — I might stop for soup at Phở Thìn 1955, then make another circuit round the lake. Then I’ll take the shady lane just past the park and make my way back, as I’ve done for 26 years, to the Metropole.  

Open since 1901, the Sofitel Legend Metropole is Hanoi’s absolute best hotel, though I can’t speak firsthand on this since in all my visits I’ve never stayed anywhere else. Why would I? Why would anyone? 

While flashier openings come and go, the Metropole delivers not just exceptional comfort but the promise of constancy in a city increasingly short on it. Much of contemporary Hanoi may be unrecognizable, with its Japanese coffee bars and Singapore-style lifestyle hubs. But stroll into the Metropole lobby and everything’s as it always was, and seemingly always will be.

A two-year refurb of the original Heritage Wing, completed last winter, hasn’t lessened the charm: It remains an elegant time capsule, though not in a theme-park kind of way. Newly renovated, the enormous, high-ceilinged guest rooms finally live up to the gorgeousness of the public rooms and the magnificent building itself. (You should definitely book a room in the historic wing, not the newer extension next door.) 

The outside is dreamy enough, with its talcum-white façade, pine-green shutters, and handsome sidewalk café. But wait until you see the inner courtyard — a jungly garden of fan palms and frangipani and banana trees and bougainvillea surrounding a pool that no one ever seems to swim in. They’re too busy soaking up the scene.

After an early morning walk around the lake, I’m ready for coffee — not in the garden but out front, at La Terrasse café, where I can watch the city wake up over a carafe of French press. A recent visit was no different. On the sidewalk across Ngô Quyền Street, someone had strung a badminton net between a gatepost and a banyan tree. Around 8 each morning, two businessmen and two businesswomen — in dress shoes, suits, and skirts — would convene for a vigorous game before work. This happened every day I was there, same time, same four people. They’d play for 20 minutes, chatting and laughing and thwap-thwap-thwapping, then they’d mop their brows, hop on their motorbikes, and buzz off down the street, office-bound. Then another group would rotate in, and the show would start again. 

Seriously, why would you stay anywhere else? 

Peter Jon Lindberg is Further’s Editor-in-Chief. He lived in Ho Chi Minh City in 1998 and has returned to Vietnam regularly ever since.