You step off Line 2A at the far southwestern end of the route and walk toward Vạn Phúc, where looms click behind open doors. Bolts of Hà Đông silk hang in the shopfronts, and one lane runs beneath a ceiling of open umbrellas, bright overhead even on a gray morning.
Beyond the silk, the smiths of Đa Sỹ still shape knives and scissors one household at a time, and evenings fill plastic stools with trays of bún đậu mắm tôm. Summers here are hot and rainy, while winters turn cool and drier. When your own list runs out, a Local Friend picks the next stop and knows which lane is worth the turn.
