An unexpected life lesson while trying to cross the road in Hanoi

Andy Hill

While trying to figure out how to cross the maelstrom of traffic that is a Hanoi street, I learned an important life lesson.

It was a remarkable sight. Thousands of motorbikes, rushing past with the unlikely grace and cohesion of a school of fish, in a seemingly effortless display of ambulatory prowess. When one stopped, they all stopped; when one lurched forward, they all lurched forward. I could have stood and admired it all day if I wasn’t desperately fantasizing about several cups of Vietnamese coffee to re-energize my frayed nervous system after a late night at the Bia Hoi stands.

I was on one side of the street, and the café was on the other. Initially, I actually considered how it would be great if I could just build a bridge over the street, or find a wormhole through which to quantum propel my atoms, or meditate hard enough and go to the coffee shop in the astral realm while my body stayed safely on the other side of the road. 

As none of these options turned out to be even remotely possible, I decided to give it a go.

Shaking and sweating, I tried to read the patterns of traffic and discern any recognizable gaps big enough for me to squeeze through. One approached, as a truck was lumbering along slower than the others, and I stepped out into the road, as tightened and braced as a person about to vomit. I could smell serious injury, and I thought about how, in the event of a mangling, I definitely couldn’t afford any kind of serious medical attention.

After several more intrepid steps, careful not to make any sudden moves, I realized that something incredible, almost poetic, was happening. All of the motorists were effortlessly gliding around me, much like the water around a stone sticking out of a river. 

The relentless torrent of motorbikes seemed to gently part ways around me at 35 kilometers per hour, and I felt...safe. I eventually glided onto the other side, surprised that I hadn’t soiled myself.

Padding my own face and torso down, full and festive with newfound life, I noticed an old, pickled Western man sitting on a milk crate at the corner. In between pulls from his cigarette, he cackled and said, “Well, you’ve got it, son! You’ve gotta cross the road in Hanoi the same way you’ve gotta live your whole life: just keep lookin’ straight ahead and make your way to where you need to be. If you worry too much about what’s going on around you, you’ll end up either shittin’ yourself, or completely destroyed.”

I smiled and nodded, and staggered down the street to the coffee shop, pondering the layers of esoteric wisdom in that statement.