Vietnam street alive: Street snacks abolind in Vietnam and the cries of the hawkers who sell them evoke powerful emotions in people who associate them with childhood treats and thoughts of home.

The young woman selling roasted meat and noodles uses a thin wisp of smoke from the grill tied to the hack of her bicycle to attract customers while the merchant offering sweet sesame delights and dried heef snacks clink scissors together to make their presence known. The little hoy who trawls the streets on damp winter nights promising warm wonton soup beats a pair of bamboo clappers against each other but in the summer, when selling ice cream, he sounds a bicycle horn. And then there are the human cries that fill each city street with the promise of ever-present food.

In the cold of midwinter, as Hanoians snuggle deep under their blankets, a cry will occasionally pierce the protective shells of their homes: "Popcorn! Chestnuts! Who will buy them now?" It comes from a barefooted woman who carries on her head a basket filled with warm and tasty delights. She has covered it with sacking to keep her produce fresh. When will she empty her basket, filling instead her money pouch? And where will she go once she has ? Her life beyond that simple cry, "Popcorn! Chestnuts!" is a mystery.

In the summer, different snacks are on offer. Each stifling afternoon a woman will travel her daily route
carrying over her shoulder a pole from which two baskets hang. Her wares are homely, straight from a countryside kitchen: rice porridge with green beans perhaps, or black bean compote. The porridge is thick and yellow, the colour of lemons and a wild fruit known as cardania grandiflora which grows near ponds and is added to certain dishes to enhance their appeal. It is served with cane sugar for customers with a particularly sweet tooth. For others, crispy, snow-white salted eggs complement the porridge. As her customers settle down to eat, the vendor moves on in search of new sales and her voice fades into the distance. She will return later to collect payment and the bowl in which she has served her home-made delight.

Each morning, whether summer or winter, breakfast can be enjoyed on the hoof. Rice cakes, square or round, are offered with slices of sausage, known here as pate after the French chacuterie that was introduced to Vietnam during its colonial era. But 'p' is an alien sound for most Vietnamese and the French word pate has morphed over time: hawkers now shout out “ba te” to draw in clients. Noodle soup, or pho, is another breakfast favourite. Rice noodles are cooked in a broth and served with beef, buffalo or chicken meat. Lemon juice and chilli sauce give pho its zing. “Pho..o..o” shouts a vendor, his voice rising at the end of each cry as he wanders the streets and alleyways inviting clients to eat.

Another melodious cail comes from the sea worm vendor, who has learned her trade from her mother and her grandmother before that. To draw customers she cries: "Ai mua ruoi ra mua," meaning "Who will buy my sea worms? Buy them now!" Often, she will sit on a street corner or near a busy market, hoping to cash in on passing trade rather than bear her crushing load on her shoulders.

Some hawkers need never raise their vo