Reading passage
In the heart of the old town of Pho Co, narrow streets run between rows of wooden shophouses that have stood for more than two hundred years. The town was founded in the early nineteenth century as a river port, and traders from China, Japan and Europe once moored their boats along its busy waterfront. Although the river trade ended long ago, the buildings remain, and today the old town is one of the most visited heritage sites in the country.
The architecture of the old town tells the story of this international past. Many houses combine local designs with features brought by foreign merchants. A typical shophouse has a narrow front, because taxes were once calculated according to the width of the building, and a deep interior with one or two open courtyards that bring light and air into the living spaces. Carved wooden beams, tiled roofs and yellow-painted walls give the streets their famous appearance. Inside, the houses often contain dark wooden furniture, porcelain jars and scrolls with Chinese characters, all of which reflect the tastes of the merchant families who built them. Several of the finest examples now open their doors to visitors as small museums.
For much of the twentieth century, however, the old town was neglected. Families that could afford to moved to modern districts, and many historic houses were left empty or used as warehouses. Some owners covered wooden fronts with sheets of metal, and a number of buildings collapsed after heavy storms. By the 1980s, planners were discussing whether large parts of the quarter should be demolished to make way for wider roads and new shops.
The turning point came in 1990, when a group of local historians and architects published a detailed survey of the quarter. Their report showed that more than eight hundred buildings had historical value, and it warned that the town would lose an irreplaceable part of its identity if demolition continued. The national government responded by declaring the old town a protected zone, and strict rules now control any repair or construction work within its boundaries.
Tourism grew quickly after protection was introduced. Visitor numbers rose from around fifty thousand a year in the early 1990s to more than two million today. The economy of the town has been transformed. Former warehouses are now cafes and galleries, and many families earn a living by selling lanterns, silk clothing and street food. Surveys suggest that tourism now provides about sixty percent of local jobs.
Yet success has created difficult questions. Some streets are crowded from morning until late at night, and residents complain about noise and rising rents. A recent study found that the number of people actually living in the old town has fallen by a third in twenty years, as families sell their houses to businesses. Critics warn that the quarter could become an open-air stage for tourists rather than a real neighbourhood.
Local authorities have tried several solutions. Motorbikes are banned from the main streets in the evening, and entrance tickets to historic houses help pay for conservation work. A residency programme offers low rents to craftspeople who agree to live and work in the quarter, in the hope of keeping traditional skills, such as lantern making and wood carving, alive. The results so far have been encouraging, although the programme remains small.
Conservation experts say the old town faces a choice shared by heritage towns everywhere. Tourism brings the money that pays for restoration, but too much of it can destroy the very atmosphere that visitors come to enjoy. The experience of the town suggests that protecting buildings is only the first step; protecting everyday life inside them may be the harder task.
For now, the old town continues to balance these pressures. In the early morning, before the tour groups arrive, residents still buy breakfast from market stalls and light incense at family altars. Many people believe that keeping these ordinary moments alive is the true measure of whether the old town will survive as a place of memory, and not merely as a picture from the past.