Soviet expert zone - A memory etched into the mountainside

On the quiet Hill 79 in Hoa Binh Ward, nestled in the heart of the city along the Da River, lies a memory zone that quietly preserves the echoes of a glorious past. It was once solemnly known as the Soviet Expert Zone.

A corner of the Soviet expert zone.

More than half a century ago, when the Hoa Binh Hydropower Plant was alive with the sounds of steel, concrete, and tireless hands, the expert zone began to take shape, a model “miniature city,” the most modern in the North at the time. Carefully planned on one of the most beautiful feng shui hills along the right bank of the Da River, the area served not only as a residence for Soviet engineers and workers but also as a living symbol of the enduring Vietnam–Soviet friendship, an architectural imprint that time has not erased in the hearts of those who once walked its paths.

A row of ancient trees lines the roadside beside tiered staircases.

Locals fondly call it “a miniature Russia in the heart of the mountain town.” The residential layout was enclosed, yet bright and airy, warm in winter and cool in summer, making full use of the natural terrain. Curving roads wound gracefully around rows of sturdy Russian-style homes: thick walls, large windows, sloped roofs, and a technical infrastructure so modern that even today’s urban areas could still learn from it. Multi-tiered stairways, football fields, cultural houses, clinics, and schools blended into a harmonious whole, forming what felt like a vibrant and lively park.

The rooster castle is in the expert zone.

Mr. Nguyen Tien Hai, a former construction worker whose hair has now turned white, still smiles with youthful pride when he speaks of the area. “I laid bricks here under the supervision of Russian engineers,” he recalls. “Back then, every project was more than just cement and steel, it was passion and pride. We knew we were building a part of cultural history.”

That history was not only cemented in the physical structures but also lived on in the melodies of Russian folk music, the sound of accordions playing in the cultural house courtyard, and the dances shared by blond-haired, blue-eyed experts and their Vietnamese friends. It lingered in the fragrance of blooming magnolia and white sưa flowers each spring and in the laughter of children playing beneath the fairy-tale-like castle.

A relief symbolizing Russian culture.

The cultural house still retains its original design.

Time passed. When the Soviet experts completed their mission and returned home, the area entered a new phase, becoming temporary housing for officials and workers during the early days following provincial separation. Later, it welcomed young families, low-income workers, and newlyweds. People came and went, but memories stayed.

Years of neglect and poor maintenance took their toll. Russian-imported tiles, elegant light fixtures, and white porcelain bathtubs, once considered the height of comfort, have long vanished. Glass doors were replaced with makeshift wooden ones. Streetlights went dark. Stairs cracked, sewers clogged, and foul odors filled the air. Front yards became parking spaces or storage areas. The once-lively children’s playgrounds now stand broken and abandoned, as if forgotten by time.

The Russian-style sculptures have been preserved.

Yet even so, the expert zone remains a place of cherished memories. Russian-style reliefs still adorn the cultural house walls, now renovated by a private enterprise into a tourist attraction, serving as silent reminders of a glorious past. Winding roads continue to welcome the footsteps of visitors. Children still play around the fairy-tale castle. In March, sưa trees bloom once again, stirring a quiet ache in the hearts of longtime residents.

These memories live on, quietly, deeply, in the heart of the city and in every resident of Hoa Binh Ward. Like a chapter in an old book, though its ink has faded and its pages have yellowed, the story still glimmers, still stirs the heart whenever it’s revisited. Today, the expert area is home to thousands of households. The children of the past have grown old; many have passed on. New generations have been born and raised in this same place, still calling the Soviet Expert Zone their home.

Residents tending to flowers in front of their homes.

Now, amid modern urban life and the unrelenting pace of development, the Soviet Expert Zone feels like a gentle pause, a quiet reminder of a youthful era when architecture, community, and international friendship were woven together into something timeless.

Can the expert zone be restored, not just in infrastructure, but in spirit? The foundation remains strong. More importantly, the memory remains intact. And if memory shapes the identity of a land, then this place is a wellspring of remembrance, where the past has never truly slept.

Le Chung