the railway system in vietnam was first built in 1899

BURLINGTON, Mass., Sept. 28, 2021 (GLOBE NEWSWIRE) -- Cerence Inc. (NASDAQ: CRNC), AI for a world in motion, today announced that VinFast, Vietnam's first domestic car company and a leader in For two centuries all of Yale's presidents had been ministers, but in 1899 the Yale Corporation, its board of trustees, elected the first lay president: Arthur Twining Hadley, an economist specializing in railroad legislation. In the first quarter of the twentieth century, Yale made further advances in the education of women, admitting them The bridges, tunnels and train stations were all wondrous feats of architecture and engineering injected into the everyday lives of generations of commuters. *Orson Welles had complete creative control and a very limited understanding of film-making when he made Citizen Kane, his first film. He had a strong theater and radio background The following, taken from a rather long account by one of "Crocker's Pets" from the "Golden Spike Era", 1869-1899, recalls the way in which the Chinese coolies ate during the time they helped build the railroads in the western United States, most working for the Central Pacific Railroad Company. Digital-first, consumer-centred - everything we do is designed to meet learner's rapidly-changing needs Explore our approach Invest in helping people achieve their potential materi bahasa indonesia kelas 3 sd kurikulum 2013 pdf. When they first drew up plans for a citywide tramway network in 1894, it seemed as though the Hanoi authorities would follow Saigon’s example by opting for steam traction. Yet, by the time government approval was forthcoming in 1899, advances in technology made it possible to construct the entire system as a state-of-the-art, one-meter gauge electric tramway. In 1900, the Compagnie des Tramways Électriques d’Hanoï et Extensions CTEH was to set up to build the first two tramway lines, which were jointly inaugurated in November 1901. A CTEH Line 1 tram at the Place des Cocotiers terminus. Setting out from the Place des Cocotiers terminus next to the Petit Lac Hoàn Kiếm Lake, Line 1 led southward to Bạch Mai and Line 2 northeastward to Giấy village, near today’s Bưởi Market. A subsequent decision of July 20, 1905 authorized the extension of Line 1 to Chợ Mơ on the Route Circulaire now Đại La Street. A CTEH Line 1 tram passes the Petit Lac. In 1904, work began on Line 3, which led east from the Petit Lac to the Pagode des Corbeaux the Temple of Literature and then headed southwest to Thái Hà Ấp. This line was extended to Hà Đông in 1914 and to Cầu Đơ Market in 1938. A CTEH Line 3 tram at Hà Đông. Construction of Line 4 got under way in 1907. Following the path of Line 3 from Place des Cocotiers to the Pagode des Corbeaux, it then branched westward to the Pont du Papier Cầu Giấy. In its early years, despite its apparent popularity, the Hanoi tramway network suffered continuous financial problems. Until as late as 1913, CTEH remained a deficitary operation. Thereafter, profits remained relatively modest, precluding adequate maintenance on its rolling stock, track, catenary and buildings. In 1929, the increasingly run-down network was taken over by the Compagnie des Tramways du Tonkin CTT, which upgraded large stretches of track and catenary and ordered replacement second-generation tractor and trailer sets from France. It was under the CTT that the final stage of network expansion was implemented. A decision of November 14, 1930 authorized the creation of Line 5, which branched off Line 3 and headed south along the Route Mandarine to Kim Liên and northward from Place Neyret to Yên Phụ on the Red River Dyke. In 1943, Line 5 was extended further south as far as the Route Circulaire, in order to serve the René Robin Hospital, the radio station and Bạch Mai airfield. With the completion of Line 5, the tramway network in Hanoi had reached approximately 30 kilometers in length. 13 CTEH Line 3 tram at Place Neyret. In 1952, at the height of the First Indochina War, the CTT was renamed the Société des Transports en Commun de la Région d'Hanoï. However, on June 1, 1955, this company ceased operations and all track, equipment and rolling stock was transferred to the new Democratic Republic of Vietnam. A Hanoi Line 1 tram 1927 stock heads south along Hàng Bài towards Bạch Mai in 1960. Unlike its Saigon counterpart, the Hanoi tramway system continued to function for nearly 30 years after independence. In fact, in 1968 the Hanoi People’s Committee even built an additional spur from the Cửa Nam junction along Cột Cờ Street now Điện Biên Phủ and Hùng Vương Street, rejoining Line 2 south of Trúc Bạch Lake. However by the early 1980s, track, catenary and rolling stock had deteriorated to the extent that the tramway was no longer fit for its purpose. Line 1 Bạch Mai Phong was closed in 1982, followed in subsequent years by Line 4 Cầu Giấy, Line 3 Hà Đông, Line 5 Yên Phụ and finally, in 1989, Line 2 Đường Bưởi. A Hanoi Line 2 tram 1927 stock picture in the 1980s. Line 4 Cầu Giấy was offered a brief reprieve of sorts in 1986, when the route was taken over by a small donated fleet of old trolley buses from Eastern Europe. The Hanoi-Cầu Giấy trolley bus fleet outlasted the trams, soldiering on until 1993 when it, too, fell victim to modernization. Tim Doling is the author of the guidebooks Exploring Huế Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2018, Exploring Saigon-Chợ Lớn Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2019 and Exploring Quảng Nam Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, Hà Nội, 2020 and The Railways and Tramways of Việt Nam White Lotus Press, 2012 For more information about Saigon history, visit his website, Vietnam Railways is the owner of Vietnam’s railway system, which was built during the 1880s – in the time of the French colonial rule – and runs a total of 1,600 miles. Vietnam Railways primarily uses a metre gauge. However, in the North areas of the country, there are also mixed gauge and standard gauge lines. The key route of this line is a 1,072-mile single track the North-South Railway line. It runs between Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi. There are also lines that run to the People’s Republic of China from Hanoi, which also go to Beijing and areas in and around Hanoi. The History Of Vietnam Railways Soon after the first railways were set up, including a tram that ran from the ports of Saigon and Cholon and a regional railway that linked MỹTho with Saigon, construction of the railway took off between 1897 and 1902 during Paul Doumer’s administration as Governor-General of French Indochina. During this time period, the North-South and Yunnan-Vietnam railways were started. It took more than 30 years for the construction of North-South line, with operations kicking off in 1936. The other branch lines were wrapped up during this time. At the start of the Second World War, various groups targeted the Vietnam railways. During the Vietnam War, these groups included the South Vietnamese and South Vietnamese troops. While the main lines of the North-South line were restored in a rapid pace and back in service, many branch lines were abandoned and dismantled after the conflict had ended. The infrastructure of these lines was used to fix the main lines’ damaged areas or became scrap material. During the late 1980s, the DoiMoi reforms led to an increase in economic growth, which pushed the Vietnam railways system into a new development phase. The official development assistance proposed or had put into motion several big projects. This includes an array of projects to better railway and bridge safety on the North-South Railway line, networks to Laos and Cambodia and the restoration of several obsolete lines like the Da La-Thap Cham railway, which was set up during the 1930s. Another proposal for a high-speed rail link between Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi was also proposed. This link would decrease the travel time from 30 hours to about six hours. Ground has also been broke on a Vietnam Railway line from Savannakhet to Lao Bao, adjacent to the Thai Railhead to Bangkok. The North-South Railway is the longest railway line in Vietnam. It runs from north to south, connecting Hanoi, the capital of the country, with Ho Chi Minh City Saigon, Vietnam’s largest city. TIt is a meter gauge line with an average speed of 50 km per hour. The journey from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City Saigon takes more than 30 hours. The North-South Railway is the most important line in Vietnam, in terms of both passenger and freight transport. It carries more than 80% of the total passenger volume in the country. History of the North-South Railway The North-South Railway was built by the French during the colonial period. The first section was built in 1899 and the whole railway was completed in 1936, construction lasting 37 years in total. In nine years after 1945，there was no maintenance or upgrading of the line due to wars, and it was divided into two parts. During the Vietnam War 1955-1975, some parts of the railway were damaged. Not until after the war were they restored. The whole line was reopened at the end of 1976. Current Situation The North-South Railway uses meter gauge. The speed of trains running on meter gauge is slower than that on standard tracks. The average speed on the North-South Railway is 50 km/h 31 miles per hour. Due to lack of capital investment, Vietnam’s railways are lagging behind in terms of facilities, transportation capacity, and speed. They have not been able to keep up with the speed of other development in the country. Compared to domestic flights, trains in Vietnam are not particularly attractive, in terms of speed or price. But taking a train is a good way of experiencing local lifestyle and mingling with local people. And because the North-South Railway was built along the coast, several sections of the line offer beautiful scenery. The Future of the North-South Railway Vietnam plans to improve the North-South Railway, by building a high-speed railway line between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. It will be a new electrified railway with a total length of 1570 kilometers, and 1435 mm track gauge. The maximum speed is expected to reach 300 km/h 186 miles per hour. The Hanoi–Ho Chi Minh City High-Speed Railway is expected to begin operations in 2020. After the line opens, the train travel time from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City will be reduced from 34 hours to 6 hours. You Might Like How to Buy Vietnamese Train Tickets There are four ways of buying Vietnamese train tickets. Read More Trains Between China and Russia There are two trains running between China and Russia including Trans-Mongolian Railway. Read More How to Buy Trans-Siberian Train Tickets International train tickets for the Trans-Siberian can be bought in China, Mongolia and Russia. Read More We’re no longer a country of war — we’ve moved on,” says my guide, Mr Tien, and I believe him. Hanoi is a city on the move; all around us, hundreds of commuters are hunched over their scooter handlebars, raring to go. Following the throng into the heart of the capital, we pass elderly couples waltzing in the park, a lady and her poodle with matching multicoloured hairdos, and high-school girls sporting slogan T-shirts and flashes of red lipstick. The bus halts and I step into a fog of frying chillies and fuel. Passengers tug suitcases behind them like unruly dogs, as they approach Hanoi railway station, Vietnam’s oldest, dating back to 1902. This canary-yellow pile of bricks and mortar has witnessed several conflicts, but a B-52 carpet-bombing during the Vietnam War hit it hardest, obliterating the central hall. It was rebuilt in 1976 — the same year the formerly communist north and democratic south were reunified following the North’s victory and 20 years of civil war. A historic moment consolidated by parallel metal lines. Some structures come to define a nation. For Vietnam, that is the North-South railway, also known as the Reunification Express a 1,072-mile steel spinal cord that curves the length of the country from Hanoi in the far north to the southern metropolis of Ho Chi Minh City still called Saigon by locals. Its formation and history mirror the fluctuating fortunes of the country, and to ride these rails is to traverse not only timelines of major events but also religious and cultural divides between the Catholic north, with its French history, and the Buddhist south, which bears American influences. The first tracks were laid in 1899 under French colonial rule, with the unsuccessful aim of stealing the lucrative Indochina rice market away from shipping companies. It took another 30 years to piece together the separately constructed sections, during which time steady jobs with good salaries were flowing and the proverb on everyone’s lips was If you want a good life, marry a railway man’. In 1936, a locomotive travelled the entire length of the Transindochinois line — as it was then known — for the first time. The journey took 60 hours, but passengers had a cinema car and a hairdressing salon on board to help pass the time. Two decades later, the railway was to play a key role in the conflict that raged between north and south for almost 20 years. “The railway tracks became the rope in the tug of war for power during the Vietnam War,” says Tim Doling, a railway historian and author who lives near Saigon. In the centre of Hanoi sits another squat yellow building. As I walk towards Hoa Lo Prison, the humidity and high sun slow-cook me until I’m a gravy of sweat and sunscreen. Prisoners incarcerated here during the Vietnam War nicknamed it the Hanoi Hilton — an ironic reference to the appalling living conditions inside. At its peak, 3,600 captives were squeezed into a space made for 300. I wander the shadowy corridors, noticing the iron bars in the envelope-sized windows that had been strained apart by desperate fingers. And in the solitary confinement cells — where the floor was set at an angle so shackled prisoners couldn’t lie back without the blood rushing to their head — oedema and scabies were rampant. When the war ended, in April 1975, the north-south line was a fragmented mass of twisted steel. An estimated 1,334 bridges, 158 stations and 27 tunnels had to be repaired, and yet, just 20 months later, a train left Hanoi bound for Saigon, where it arrived to great fanfare — lauded as a symbol of Vietnamese unity. That night, I board the train, the bagpipe-style horn signalling our departure. I sit on the slim couchette as we crawl at snail’s pace through the city, catching glimpses of residents going about their evening routines a young man admiring his new cut in the hairdresser’s mirror; an old lady watching TV in bed; and a barrage of bikes — their headlights bright as moons — waiting to cross the tracks. I seek out Mr Tien and find him lying on a bottom bunk. He offers me a seat on the bed opposite and, with the train rocking rhythmically beneath us, tells me his story. “I was 17 when I joined the war. Eight of my friends and I cut our fingers and made a blood pact to sign up early. It made the local radio — our families were so proud.” He looks out the window and starts to smile at a memory. “You had to weigh 45 kilos to pass the medical, but I was only 43 kilos, so I put stones in my pockets. “We were part of the anti-aircraft unit, defending crossroads and T-junctions of the Ho Chi Minh Trail from American planes,” Mr Tien continues. “We had no huts, only hammocks, and the food was terrible. We could only hunt with traps because gunfire might reveal our location. We foraged for mushrooms, but it was dangerous — they’d often leave us vomiting. We’d have to eat fish floating dead in the river — we had no choice.” “What killed the fish?” I ask. “Agent Orange,” he replies. “I don’t know why they called it that — it was white a herbicide used to decimate the forests. Every time we saw helicopters, we ran away, against the wind, as fast as possible with handkerchiefs over our mouths. It would make us cough and scratch. A few days later, all the leaves would fall off and the fish in the stream died. It was really hard, really difficult.” Mr Tien pauses. “More died of malaria than bombs,” he adds. “We’d call from hammock to hammock in the morning, waiting with dread if there was no answer.” I ask if all his friends made it. “Three of us came back,” he replies, staring at the floor and stroking his nose as if comforting himself. “At night, I still dream of burying my friends in the forest. We hoped their families could find the place after the war, but the bombs obliterated everything.” We sit in silence for a long while. “How do you feel about Americans now?” I venture. “When American journalists came to conduct interviews at the end of the war, I saw we’d both been victims,” he says. “I realise now it was a stupid war — completely avoidable.” I return to my cabin and lie, eyes open, in the dark, comforted by the swaying. Polyester and pagodas I awake as we’re nearing Hue to see pops of pink lotus flowers floating in ponds, and farmers manoeuvring water buffalo through rice paddies. Winding through town, the coffee-coloured Perfume River is so-called because scented flowers from the forest fall into it as it runs westwards to Laos. Off the train and on the river, I find boats with snarling dragon heads, stacked with tourist souvenirs fridge magnets, kimonos, chopsticks. But away from the shimmer of polyester and plastic are glimpses of a more traditional way of life a boatman dredging the alluvial build-up has hung his laundry out to dry on deck, and I can see his wife washing up in the cabin. On the roof of our own boat I find a small altar of yellow flowers with incense smoke curling into the sticky air. On the northern bank is Thien Mu Pagoda, a seven-tier, 17th-century Buddhist tower flanked by frangipani trees and purple-flowering jacaranda. The scene is serene, but in 1963 it was the site of Buddhist hunger strikes and other protests at alleged discrimination by the government of Catholic President Ngo Dinh Diem. Parked at the back is the Austin Westminster sedan that drove Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc to the scene of his self-immolation in Saigon on 11 June 1963. It’s a moving sight, even if the flashy aqua-blue paint seems at odds with the man of quiet resolve it carried. “The lunch cart trundles through, laden with skewers of meat and deep-fried songbirds, their heads and wings still intact ”We return to the train station bound for the beach city of Nha Trang, 400 miles to the south. The 10-hour stretch is considered the most scenic section of the rail route, tunnelling through the Annamite Range, hugging the sandy half-moon bays of the Pacific Ocean coastline. I cautiously poke my head out of a half-open window between two carriages, and see thickets of white trumpet flowers trailing down to the sapphire shallows, where the wooden rings of prawn farms stand sentinel. Before long, the lunch cart trundles through, laden with skewers of meat and deep-fried songbirds, their heads and scrawny wings still intact. A fellow traveller dips into his wallet and hands over a few dong. “Dip them in the salt,” the seller advises, handing over one of the crispy birds. Locals lean into the aisles to see what the verdict is as the traveller bites into the head and winces when the eyeballs pop. As the hours pass, the carriage quietens down and we’re rocked briskly back and forth. Occasionally, a cockroach scuttles across the windowsill and a rumbling snore escapes the lips of the man behind me. At each stop, ladies board the train hawking clear plastic bags of boiled eggs, rice cakes and jackfruit; leaping off when the departure alarm sounds. En route to the canteen, I meet Thièu Pham Manh captain of carriage number five lazing on his side in the porters’ cabin, sipping green tea. He waves me into the little nook and we sit cross-legged on the low bed. As he pours me a thimble-size cup, I notice the calluses on Manh’s feet and his tobacco-stained teeth. He’s travelled the north-south route — four days on, four days off — for 24 years, he tells me, pointing to his homemade sign stuck on the corridor wall. Here to help’, it reads, with his mobile number penned below. Manh and then I show each other the family photos on our phones, but hit a language barrier, so he dials his 18-year-old daughter, Ky Dieu, to translate over the phone, and our three-way chat continues until Nha Trang’s towering high-rises loom into view across the water. On arrival, I shun the crowds heading to the city’s world-class beach and make a beeline instead for the local market. Beneath the high roof, the air hums with high-pitched bartering and the heady pong of fish. Smashed palm leaves litter the wet floor where eels, octopuses and frogs writhe in buckets and bags. Women sitting on their haunches use cleavers to hack the legs off blue crabs with a clean thwack-thwack. I can’t stay long, though; the final leg to Saigon awaits. On board the train, everyone settles quickly and sits chuckling at the Tom and Jerry cartoons being screened in the aisle. A father and son sitting opposite me tuck into their packed lunch of rice and boiled eggs. Rain lashes the windows and sodden passengers clamber aboard at each stop looking relieved. The father and son fall asleep, mouths agape. I make my way to second class, passing men squatting between carriages smoking, and snoozing kids coiled up on raffia mats. Here, the seats are wooden and a bucket is propped beneath the air conditioning to catch the drips. A girl smiles shyly and motions for me to sit next to her. Her name is Thao Nguyên and she’s returning to university. “I go home every weekend to help my father at our durian farm,” she says. “My friends take the bus, but the train is cheaper. Plus, it’s much better than five years ago when there was no air-con or TV and the windows were jammed open so you’d be covered in dirt,” she adds, turning to take in the scenery. Flooded rice paddies shine like shattered mirrors and skinny cows graze the fields. I ask about the differences between the north and south. “People from the south always tease that people from Hanoi are so stingy they’d even steal the railway lines to sell,” she says, holding her hands over her mouth to hide her giggle. On the streets of Saigon, shopkeepers huddle under awnings, ladling steaming pho into bowls and handing over cups of rocket-fuel coffee. We don’t linger, though; instead driving an hour north to the Cù Chi Tunnels, a 150-mile network created by the Viet Cong as a hiding place during the war. The soldiers were often forced to spend weeks here during attacks, shuffling through spaces 60cm high and 50cm wide, infested with poisonous spiders, snakes, millipedes and — worst of all — malarial mosquitos. The Viet Cong’s combat methods ranged from the ingenious — wearing car-tyre shoes with the tread reversed so the enemy were led to believe they were travelling in the opposite direction, using water buffalo to pull the railway tracks off course, and training wasps to attack Americans — to the brutal — creating fiendishly ingenious, bamboo-spiked pits with names like the Clipping Armpit Trap’ and the Folding Chair’. Lined up behind glass in the gift shop is a display of grenades and AK47s. “During the war, I used this one,” says Mr Tien, matter-of-factly, pointing to a handheld grenade launcher. We head out the back of the shop and enter a newly planted forest of acacia and eucalyptus, where the screech of cicadas is matched only by the unnerving crack of gunfire from tourists who’ve paid 500,000 dong £20 to practice firing an AK47 in the nearby range. Here at Ben Dinh, sections of the tunnel have been reconstructed, and our khaki-dressed guide, Thuân, leads us below ground. They’re almost double the height and width of the original structures, but my knees are tucked into my chest. After 10 minutes, my calves are burning; my lungs tight from the thin air. “My parents fought in these tunnels,” says Thuân. “They don’t talk about it much.” They, like the rest of Vietnam, are putting the past behind them. Change is also afoot for the railway route. By 2021, the wooden benches will have been replaced by upholstered seats, and there are plans to bring in high-speed trains. “Cockroaches will probably still be a feature, though,” jokes railway historian Tim. But speeding up isn’t always the answer. Time is said to heal all wounds, and the Reunification Express provides just that hour upon hour, when life is put on hold and the landscape spools by. Creating time for a dad to talk to his son, for a student to daydream without interruption, for a writer to drink tea with a carriage manager with no talk of the war. Essentials Getting there Vietnam Airlines offers nonstop flights from Heathrow to Hanoi four times a week, and indirect options daily. Numerous other airlines offer one-stop services from the UK. Average flight time 11h20m. Vietnam is synonymous with the cyclo bicycle rickshaw. Fares are cheap, with bartering expected. Alternatively, taxis are equally plentiful, if slightly more expensive, and a better option on very hot days. The two most trusted operators are Mai Linh and Vinasun. In the largest cities, Uber is also available. Buses, plane and train travel can be planned online via Baolau. When to go Vietnam’s climate varies significantly. The north is dry and cool around 20C from November-April, but summer sees humid highs over 30C with heavy rainfall. Central Vietnam is dry and warm low 30Cs from January-August, with rainfall increasing in the winter months. Seasons in the south are clearer-cut the wet season is from May-November, and the dry season from November-May. Temperatures across the region average between 25C and 35C throughout the year. How to do it GRJ Independent offers an eight-day trip to Vietnam, including return flights with Vietnam Airlines, four-star hotel accommodation in Hanoi, Hue, Nha Trang and Saigon, rail travel, excursions and selected meals, from £2,195 per person. 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the railway system in vietnam was first built in 1899