There is a moment, just before 6am, when Hoan Kiem Lake belongs only to the morning. The turtle tower emerges from the mist like a memory, its reflection perfect on the glass-still water.
Elderly residents practice tai chi on the shore, their movements slow and deliberate. A vendor sets up her pho cart, steam rising to join the mist. This is Hanoi at its most intimate—before the motorbikes, before the tourists, before the day claims its noise.