Riding the streets of Hanoi

Koen shot this a few weeks back. I'm the one in the orange up front. Jon's behind me. For those of you who know the hood, we turn right from Dai Co Viet onto Ta Quang Buu, heading into Bach Khoa.

I know it's not the best footage, but it's all I got!

And for those of you interested in the psychology of this kind of traffic, here's a fantastic post on the topic by Antidote.

The Bike from Hung Yen

I am now 100% moto enabled. I have joined the great sea of churning engines and much to my surprise, I love it! I've only had it about a month. It sat in my front room practically unmoved for the first week because all my time was spent in cabs with my parents during their visit. Also I was scared. Finally I broke through the inertia while they were away in Angkor. I got up my nerve, rolled it out in the alleyway, turned the key - but went nowhere. The engine wouldn't start. So I called up the rental agency and a guy with a toolbox appeared in my alleyway in about 15 minutes. I expected him to roll up his sleeves and get all dirty. Instead he listened to my problem, pulled out this lever thing called "the choke", hit ignition and the engine roared. Thankfully on his way over I had discovered that the front tire was also nearly flat, and this succeeded in redeeming my call and saving face. (This was my second humiliation that morning. Earlier I had my landlord send a plumber to check my water pressure which had not been the same since they installed a new water tank on my roof. I showed him the pathetic sprinkle of my shower and he just adjusted the shower head. It sort of half did the trick, and succeeded make me look like a totally helpless tay.)

I think my parents had mixed feelings seeing me roll up on my moto to greet them when they returned. As it was they were generally traumatized by the traffic in Hanoi. The surprising thing is that the traffic isn't nearly as scary when you are an active part in it. Maybe it's just an illusion of control. In any case, I got used to it very quickly, and now I can't imagine why it took me so long to dive in. I wish I had taken the leap earlier because it has changed my whole relationship to the city. Suddenly Hanoi has expanded. I am rapidly constructing a new mental map of the city including the directions of the one-way streets (never noticed them before). Also I now have a more effective way of exploring the mind-boggling network of alleyways surrounding my neighbourhood. It feels like there are dozens of hidden villages tucked away down long quirky tunnel-like alleys filled with little teashops, barbershops, internet cafes and produce spread out on mats. These hidden worlds are harder to explore on foot.

It's also made me feel much less dependent on people and has given me a new sense of freedom. I don't have to wait for some kind soul to volunteer to help me with mundane errands. In fact on a few occasions I have been the one ferrying around my Viet friends; this always seems to result in bemused sideways glances at traffic lights. The most fun is driving in a late night convoy on the long haul from Apo to Sheraton on Saturday. After Apo closes we often make the 30-40 ride up the side of West Lake to the Sheraton for the (only) after-hours scene. Hanoi's sidewalks fold up well before midnight, even on the weekends, so the streets are generally vacant by the time we start our procession. Although we could make it there in much less time, we drive very slowly in a group. I used to wonder why we drove so slowly on empty streets - until I realized that maybe it is the highlight of the evening, not because of the route, but because it is a social time. With virtually no traffic we can ride as a group alongside each other. The conversation drifts back and forth between bikes. I understand little of it unless they accommodate me with a little English, but the humour is infectious. Our pod of bikes reconfigures and regroups as the conversations float back and forth. There is a such freedom and beauty in the empty tree-lined boulevards at night, the rushing air, and the fellowship of good friends. I'm always sorry when we reach our destination.

That first week riding I knew I had to face my xe om driver. Actually I think he must have heard the news before he saw me roll up the alley, such is the neighbourhood gossip. The first day I took it for a practice run around the block, some man pulled up alongside me on my street, said something to me with a quizzical look on his face and pulled away again. I'm sure he was one of the local xe om drivers and this strange sighting would be reported up and down the street by the end of the day. When I finally screwed up enough courage to attempt my commute to work, I had to drive it out the alley past poor Binh waiting for me and my daily 20,000 VND. All I had to say was "Binh oi" and point to the bike beneath me. I'm sure his heart sank. What else to say? I waved goodbye and intended to zip off gracefully into the traffic. Instead I hit the gas, and the bike sputtered and died. Binh had to help me get it started again. In addition, it seems every morning I always forget to put my kickstand up and manage to scrape it on the speed bump next to where he sits. He may have seen his daily 20 nghin dry up but at least he's got some entertainment. One morning he tried to hop on the back of my moto.

My commute to work was the ultimate test for me. It is long, dusty, and chaotic. Now I feel confident and even enjoy it in a sick kind of way. It is exhilarating to be motoring along the boulevards, the only tay for miles it seems, having mastered the art of the Vietnamese rush hour.

On the other hand, sometimes my confidence crumbles when I am confronted by the violence of the road. I have seen death a number of times: twisted motobikes and bicycles, immobile riders lying on the street surrounded by crowds. Late one night I found myself driving through a pool of blood. Apparently, Vietnam is second in the world in incidence of traffic fatalities (China being the first). There are many reasons why this is so and I'll leave it to this blog to explain. Before you all click on the comments button below and plead with me to wear a helmet, I should mention I'm already wearing one. It is a cool black helmet cut above the ears with two white stripes running down the middle, and a subtle little visor. Very CHiPs. I am hoping to start a fashion craze.

There are also other little annoyances I'm discovering. For instance, this city is not made for contact lenses. My eyes burn after a ride of any length. Then there is the recurring Hanoi cold. In fact, it's not a cold at all but an exhaust induced nasal allergy that flares up after one too many rush hours on Chua Boc (must be seen - or inhaled - to be believed). Finally there is my battle with drowsiness. It takes me a couple ca phe den das to truly awaken to the world each morning. In the summer I used to blame this on the stifling heat and humidity. Now I've decided that I'm just half asphyxiated and it takes me a couple hours each morning to awaken from my carbon monoxide stupour.

Most license plates in Hanoi start with 29 or 31. This is the mark of a native Hanoian, and there is a kind of snobbery about other numbers, especially those from the country. My plate reads 89. I had no idea where this was until recently when I was parking my bike at a cafe, and the attendant got all excited pointing at the number and then himself. Hung Yen province it turns out. I guess he figures I'm another village boy just downstream. It seems my license plate has thoroughly cemented my image as Tay Nha Que.

Xe om

The other morning I waited at the end of my alley at my regular time for ten minutes thinking maybe my xe om driver doesn't "do" rain. I have developed a loyalty to him so I stayed put, trying not to be too conspicuous. I didn't want to attract the attention of the other local xe om drivers who hang out up and down the street. I almost caused a feeding frenzy earlier this week when my driver didn't show up and I was obviously in need of a lift.

Xe om literally means "hug vehicle" because you hop on the back of the moto and hang on. The name is not meant to be taken literally; such behaviour would definitely raise a few eyebrows. If necessary I reach behind and hold on to the bar behind the seat. Negotiation is the name of the game. It's always wise to get clear on the price before you climb aboard. The price is initially seriously inflated, especially if I am in the Old Quarter because they assume I am merely another tourist. This begins to change when I give them my address (what tourist would ever request to go there?) and start my negotations in Vietnamese. I generally know what it should cost and I can be stubborn!

The drivers are earthy characters. I won't say they are always sympathetic, but always human. However hard the bargaining is, the deal is sealed with an amused chuckle and a smile that acknowledges the game it ultimately is.

On Sunday night I had to use a new driver to get to my dinner destination. To avoid misunderstanding I showed him the address on Nguyen Thai Hoc. His chosen route seemed unorthodox to me, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt given that he's the local not me. Eventually though I realized we were indeed heading somewhere I did not intend to go. I pulled out the address again, waved it in his face and pointed in the other direction. Yeah, yeah he says, the University, on Nguyen Trai.

Okay, so my Vietnamese pronunciation isn't great and the street names sound similar, but it also appears that all the local xe om drivers know where the resident cash cow Tay (Westerner) lives and works. If I am not absolutely clear on my destination (and its pronunciation), chances are they will go on automatic pilot and take me to work - even if I have never met the driver before.

We went through a whole charade of asking for directions, me getting off the bike and threatening to jump ship, etc. Oi troi oi! Eventually I messaged my colleagues to tell them I was trapped on a stray xe om somewhere in Hanoi. I was saved when my Vietnamese colleague called and I stuck my phone to his ear for exact directions. As I hopped off the bike he tried to suggest (with a smile) that our agreed upon price was unfair given how long it took. Right!

The next morning I appeared at the end of my alleyway and my usual trustworthy driver was nowhere to be seen. Instead who showed up but the clueless one from the previous evening? I shook my head and my finger at him and he just grinned back at me. When it was clear I wasn't going to climb aboard again, two or three more xe om drivers pulled up. I had never seen them before but they were all saying the address of my university and my regular rate. It seems all of Vo Thi Sau knows my business. I would not give up my regular guy and tried to tell them as much. The scene got more complex when a woman emerged from a tea shop, crossed the street and started to scold the xe om drivers. It seems she was some kind of local merchant. I had never laid eyes on, but she knew the whole story. I guess she has been watching me every morning. The streets have eyes.

Just when I feeling the drama was getting a bit much, I saw my regular driver crossing the street to my rescue.

It's a weird relationship I have with him. I don't know his name and have never really talked to him. I just call him "anh", older brother. The price has long ago been negotiated so I don't have to go through this whole game every morning. I think I may be slightly overpaying him, but only slightly, and by a margin that is trivial by our standards. What I gain is relative safety (a very cool and cautious driver), and a wordless sympatico. Is it a mutual respect, or just opportunity and convenience? I don't really know and I suppose it doesn't matter, but I like to think my show of loyalty is worth something.

It turns out he does "do" rain and he pulls up after a couple minutes in his usual worn white cap and faint smile. I hop on and without a word we begins the long weave through the traffic to the university.

P.S. This week I learned his name is Binh. He and his family live down the alleyway directly behind my house.

My First Commute

Today was my first real day at the university. I went in for a visit last week on the back of a moto taxi (xe om), but this time Viet said he'd pick me up early in the morning, take me for breakfast at a street stand, and then taxi me on his bike for 8:30. I woke up worried to the sound of heavy rain because i don't have the kind of full length poncho style raincoat that is appropriate for moto transportation. Thankfully the rain let up by the time he rang the bell. Breakfast was at a little open-air corner cafe where we ate banh my sandwiches with pate and pork fat (yeah, I know), cold soy milk, coffee (nau nong), and some kind of beef stew. Then we headed out...

Well, I thought commuting to York was bad! This was possibly the most memorable commute of my life (with the exception of the blackout in TO). We headed down the most direct route from downtown but hit a traffic jam - thousands upon thousands of motos buzzing and snarling and buses in between spewing out exhaust. We weren't going anywhere so we doubled back and headed west to try another route. Same story. It seems the rain caused the roads to flood and this snarled up the whole city. Viet tried to negotiate smaller routes and alleys, but this didn't work so we went back to the main boulevard. Many of the frustrated moto drivers decided to ignore the divider and use the opposite side of the street going into ongoing traffic. Of course this was dangerous, so instead a whole stream of motos (us included) hopped onto the unusually wide sidewalk. God forbid there actually be pedestrians using the sidewalks! This approach got us to the next roundabout which was snarled with a very pissed looking cop in the middle shouting at people.

In the middle of this sea of motorbikes, I hear my name. This is extremely unlikely in this city of how many million where I know maybe a dozen people. It was Stephen, my Australian colleague from the library at the university. After idling alongside for a few minutes, it occured to me that I should just switch bikes and and let Viet turn back and avoid this mess. Eventually Stephen and I made it to the campus which had been completely flooded by the rain. The students were wading barefoot into the campus in a foot of water. The library was an island, the water lapping right up to the building. Luckily Stephen's bike could cut through it and I somehow I arrived relatively dry. The water had drained away half way through the day. I'm told this is not a usual commuting experience, just an unfortunate first impression.

The rest of the day was very pleasant. I spent the time preparing one of my presentations to the English For Librarians course I'll be participating in. There was our communal lunch on the rooftop, and then naptime! All the staff find a little corner to curl up and doze off. There are no cots so I just pulled up six chairs and made myself a little makeshift bed. Then I went to the first class just to meet the students. Later the whole class was invited to a nearby house for a little goodbye celebration of a library staff member who will be leaving to study computer science in Korea on scholarship. We all sat around on the tiled floor eating tropical fruit and spicey beef jerky.

Meanwhile during my doze I had received a text message from my friend Tuan Anh. Jon and I met Tuan Anh three years ago while watching the Ha Noi circus perform outside at Hoan Kiem Lake in the celebrations leading up to New Year's Eve.) Tuan Anh was texting me to ask if I'd join him at a bia hoi patio on Thursday for draught and dog meat. I thought about it a minute and responded in the affirmative. There are so many signs for thit cho throughout the city that it seems quite normal. I don't intend to eat a lot, just a taste maybe. I actually met Tuan Anh at a bia hoi patio yesterday after I called him from Lenin Park. It's like a Vietnamese beer garden with lots of snacks. But I draw the line at con meo (cat).