The slight bicycle frame surrenders to my mass as my every pedal is met with a whimper. I adjust the unorthodox handlebars, aiming at 2-o-clock to maintain an honest course – the wonky steering a consequence of a sidewalk collision too many.
It occurs to me that I am not the quintessential advertisement for cycling.
Hoi An’s narrow pavements offer little space to the throngs of celebrators who spill into the street and my immediate path. It necessitates a second flinch of my thumb before a rusty bell prompts a dry ring. Crowds part momentarily as I duck between the posing lovers being romanced by their surrounds.
The Old Town’s splendor is most honestly exposed by dusk sunlight. Village walls blaze against the backdrop offered by the horizon, revealing hues of honey and gold that illuminate the faces of those captivated by the audacity of their glow.
Tonight, a tangible energy reverberates between onlookers and the historic buildings, pulsating along the zigzagging twines of bright lanterns whose lively colours collide overhead with the night’s sky.
I stop and inhale the aromatic air, endeavoring to etch this scene into my memory as my senses are accosted.
Flowerpots of marigold have replaced yesterday’s exhibits of tailored suits and exotic silks outside shops that have closed for the week’s celebrations. Here, age-old traditions eclipse external influences – a practice that inspires a sense of belonging, and invigorates an appreciation for one’s own heritage.
I exit down a narrow alley and notice an aged Vietnamese man hunkered over. His delicate sweeps at the already immaculate entrance to his modest home will soon cease - he will be loath to wipe away the luck believed to arrive with the onset of midnight.
This man’s trim, white moustache curves with his warm smile, and his eyes welcome my presence. “Chuc Mung Nam Moi!” is carried to me in a tired, gentle voice. I am enchanted by his peaceful demeanor, and respond by bowing softly while returning his wishes of good fortune for the coming year.
Awaiting festivities near the river’s edge urge me to press on.
Explosions in the sky welcome the gods and signal the beginning of a new year. Hypnotic ripples stirred by a bamboo paddle scatter the reflections of the heavens’ display as time passes me by.
A sudden, serene calm signals the end of celebrations and pulls me from my thoughts. I turn home, loosening my grip on the veering bicycle in a mark of acceptance of my new course.
