Motorcycle Diaries
MOTORCYCLE DIARIES
Los Angeles has cars. Amsterdam has bicycles. Hanoi has motorbikes. Thousands of them, nay, millions of them. A mere thousand might be in view at a single major intersection during rush hour. They’re everywhere _ on the streets, on the sidewalks, inside buildings, behind the locked gates at home, everywhere.
The American Plains Indians fashioned their lives around the buffalo. The Vietnamese fashion their lives around the motorcycle.
They use motorbikes for transportation. They go everywhere on motorbikes. I don’t know exactly where they are going but at any given moment, it seems that at least half the population of Hanoi is riding a bike creating noise pollution that is impenetrable by the human voice. They fill the streets. Maybe a majority of the riders are a alone but, more than likely, there will be at least two people on a bike: two boys riding to school, a young man with his wife or girlfriend behind holding him around the waist, a woman with her small child standing on the small platform between her legs, two young women dressed in skirts, one sitting behind, sidesaddle, holding her purse in her lap, looking as if she were at home with her family watching TV. And occasionally, you’ll see a tourist who has accepted the constant offer of “motorbike?” sitting on the back of a motorcycle, brow furrowed and eyes open wide, a look of terror on their face, trying not to clutch too tightly the driver whom she has never seen before, silently praying that she will be delivered to her destination safely and promising the Almighty she will never again put her life in such jeopardy.
Three people on a bike is nothing, commonplace, a daily occurrence. But often, too often, there will be a group or an entire family occupying one motorbike. I once saw a man, his wife, and their THREE small children of various ages perched on a bike and blissfully moving along in a massive stream of traffic. A woman navigates through the hazards of traffic guiding the bike with one hand while holding her nursing baby to her breast with the other.
The motorbike is THE primary means of transportation. It’s less expensive than a car. It’s fast, or at least as fast as any of the cars caught up in the endless movement of humanity on the roads. Nothing is truly fast. In many cases the bicycles will catch up with the motorbikes at the next traffic light (if there is one) and a lot of the time, the fastest vehicle can only move as fast as the slowest vehicle in front of it. And it’s small. It can go anywhere. It can maneuver through traffic and down the narrow alleys and be kept in the gated entry way to the house beside all the shoes that are left there. It can be parked on the sidewalk when the owner stops for lunch in a sidewalk cafe.
They use motorbikes for food. No, they don’t shoot them and eat them. But it seems that most everything is delivered by motorbike. I’ve seen very few delivery trucks and none anywhere near the size of the massive eighteen wheelers that inhabit the roadways of America, more the size of a mini-van, not the size of a big, gas guzzling Suburban but maybe slightly larger than a VW station wagon. The trucks here make me think of a Tonka toy with a thyroid problem. And the trucks are used for things that can’t possibly be delivered on a motorbike. Don’t think a bed and a mattress. A bed can be broken down and tied on and the mattress can be balanced on top of the rider’s head. Don’t think twenty foot sections of plastic pipe. That can be tied on. The only problem is making turns and, in that case, the other drivers have to watch out for themselves. Don’t think twenty bars of thirty foot metal reinforcing rods bent double. They can be looped around the driver’s waist, supported by his co-pilot and allowed to drag along behind throwing sparks at everyone in their wake. No, don’t think any of these. They’re just simple delivery tasks for the dauntless motorcycle driver.
Think washing machines and refrigerators, something too large , heavy or bulky to possibly be tied on or hand held, though I venture to say it’s been done. I just haven’t seen it yet. Nothing would surprise me.
But anything which can be piled on or tied to a motorcycle without seriously impairing the driver’s ability balance the vehicle and maneuver through traffic is delivered in that fashion. You might think that two containers of twelve 1.5 liter bottles of water would be a heavy load. Not so. Three? Piece of cake. Try five. Five! Five containers with sixty 1.5 liter bottles of water balanced precariously and tied down on the back of a motorcycle, rising high above the driver’s head. Too heavy? Not so. Too bulky? Not so? Did the driver arrive at his destination safely with his still intact? I don’t know but he certainly began his journey with an air of confidence that was astounding.
A motorbike just passed with a table on the back that would easily accommodate four people, the driver blithely holding it in place and keeping it balanced with his free hand. One cycle just zoomed by with eight of those large water bottles that you see in the reception room of the doctors office strapped to the back.
But food is delivered by motorbike. All the women street vendors who peddle their wares on the street from the two baskets balanced on their shoulder get their supplies by motorbike. The vegetables and fruit and grain are all brought into town from the farms on motorbikes. The women who set up their curbside markets to supply food to the passersby on their way home as the sun goes down get their offerings by motorbike. The chickens and geese and pork and fish and eels and mussels are all brought into the city by motorbike.
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They use motorbikes for shelter. Well, not really shelter. They don’t crawl under them at night to sleep or try to escape the rain by getting under them but they do use them as a convenient bed for the afternoon siesta. Somehow the Vietnamese are able to find a comfortable position stretched out on a motorbike so they can catch an hour’s rest in the early afternoon. Now, we’re not talking one of those Harley Hogs that look big enough to be able to invite your friends over to visit. The motorbikes in Vietnam are smaller, Hondas or XXXXXXX, slightly larger than a motorscooter or a bicycle that has had a motor attached. Nevertheless, many is the time I’ve seen a Vietnamese stretched out on his bike, lying on his back, his rear on the seat and and his shoulders and head at an oblique angle resting on the handlebars, oblivious to the undying noise surrounding him, sleeping peacefully. Remember, the Vietnamese are not as large as we Westerners. I normally stand a full head above the men and tower over the women. But still, it seems a feat to be able to sleep on something that was not designed for that purpose and offers neither proper support nor adequate comfort.
More than once I’ve seen a young couple wrapped around each other in romantic bliss on a motorbike. He sitting on the seat and leaning back against the handlebars. She resting comfortably on the back portion of the long seat resting her head on his chest, enfolded in his arms. Don’t now if he was comfortable or not. Can’t imagine that he could be without any padding for his back but he seemed content to continue in that position as long as she would remain in his arms.
In Hanoi, one is immediately struck by the number of motorbikes filling their streets and sidewalks and the many uses to which they put this versatile vehicle. Not only is it a right of passage to own your own bike but it is a way of life without which, I don’t believe, the current lifestyle could not be maintained. Nothing could replace them. No means of transportation would adequately fill the niche in Vietnamese life currently occupied by the motorcycle. The horse would be too slow and would lack the stamina to make the long trip from the countryside into the city day after day. It would never get used to the never-ending jarring of taxi horns announcing their presence and urging you to get out of their way. It couldn’t navigate the narrow streets without treading not gently on the toes of an innocent street vendor. And who would follow along cleaning the streets in it wake. I’m not sure the Vietnamese are aware of the “diapers” worn by the somnambulatory horses encircling the streets of New York.
Delivery trucks wouldn’t work, not even the miniature models described above. Too bulky. If every motorbike delivering goods were replaced by a truck, it would create a traffic jam that would eventually be referred to as “the traffic jam” of Hanoi. Many of the streets, maybe most away from the few major thoroughfares, would not be able to accommodate two of these vehicles passing in opposite directions. The streets are too narrow. The city would have to develop an intricate system of one way streets. And even then the cost of the minivans would be prohibitive for many of the small but growing businesses in the city. Individuals certainly could not afford to invest in a larger vehicle.
No, the motorbike is a fixture in Vietnam, for economic as well as physical reasons. It’s a way of life, nothing can change it. There will always be cars in Los Angeles. There will always be bicycles in Amsterdam. And there will always be motorbikes in Hanoi.
So, if you’re coming for a visit, prepare yourself. If you’re planning to hop on one for a ride across town, bring a helmet. If you’re planning to cross the street, step fearlessly off the curb and walk slowly at a constant pace. And don’t make eye contact. If you’re planning to walk everywhere and avoid getting out into the street except where there is a traffic light, forget it. The motorbikes, when not in use inhabit the sidewalks. They control the sidewalks. They dominate them. So, if you want to go anywhere, you’ll spend a lot of time walking in the road. Be brave. Don’t worry. They’ll really try not to hit you.
You’ve been warned! Welcome to Hanoi!!!!
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