The scene looks like something out of a movie: On a narrow street in old Hanoi, houses line both sides an active railway. There are no barriers, no platforms, no formal separation. Only a few centimeters of concrete separate the entrance doors from the passage of a train that runs several times a day. What would be a railway exclusion zone in every city, In Hanoi has become an urban phenomenon where daily life adapts, almost choreographed, to the movement of the convoy.
“Train Street,” as it is popularly known, runs through the Hoàn Kiếm district in the heart of the Vietnamese capital. Built in the French colonial period, the street was eventually absorbed by urban expansion. As the residential structure gained space, the houses grew up on the edge of the rail, without anyone stopping the train from moving or the residents putting down roots.
This extreme phenomenon of coexistence between heavy infrastructure and housing raises important questions about the limits of urban development: How close is too close? What does it mean to literally live on the train’s path?
In recent years the place has gained popularity thanks to social networks. The images of the train passing inches from tourists with coffee in hand went viraland the street became a must-see for anyone visiting Hanoi.
This led to the emergence of cafes, terraces and improvised stands that offer a privileged view of the passing train. But there were also conflicts: the government tried several times to restrict access for security reasons by closing unauthorized shops or blocking parts of the alley. However, the attraction remains and many residents rely on tourism for their livelihood.
In March 2025, Hanoi’s tourism department ordered travel agencies to stop organizing tours to Train Street. The measure was based on safety reasons given the increase in visitors, the proximity to the train passage and several incidents recorded in the area. In addition, physical barriers and warning signs have been installed to restrict tourist access to certain sections of the alley.
In practice, however, the street continues to receive visitors. Many shops remain open, especially at the ends of the route, where control is less strict and tourists crowd behind the barriers to watch the train go by. The regulation will be applied temporarily for the time being, and the urban postcard that combines danger, charm and uncertainty will remain in place as one of the most photographed corners of the city.
Living on a busy street is neither comfortable nor safe. But in dense urban contexts with few resources, space is redefined: cooking, playing and talking while waiting for the train, as part of the landscape. Train Street is not only a photogenic symbol, but also a metaphor for how cities can adapt, sometimes dangerously, to their pre-existing infrastructure.
Although few places in the world replicate this extreme closeness between houses and trains, Train Street is conceptually not unique. In many cities in Southeast Asia, Africa or Latin America, the railway infrastructure exists with urban informality and a lack of planning.
The extraordinary thing about Hanoi is that this coexistence has become a postcard, but the question it leaves behind is universal: What kind of city do we build when the boundaries between the public, the private and the dangerous become blurred?
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