Danh Tranh is going to rip me off for a motorcycle.
I don’t know that yet, and am pleased to meet a local who speaks decent English, clueless to the deception behind those inscrutable smiling eyes.
When he grabs me on the street to hawk me a motorcycle I am overtaken by some sort of madness and actually consider the idea despite never having ridden one. The first one he shows me won’t start, and the second one doesn’t have a working speedometer. This should be raising alarm bells but I’m drunk on the adventure already.
I figure out how to make it go forward and stop. I am hopelessly unable to find neutral, so Danh shows me to start with the clutch in and forget it. This mad idea I’d entertained as a fantasy back home is now tangible; I stall the bike and decide I’m actually going to do this.
He refuses to negotiate the $350 price. I will later discover they cost as much new, and mine is well past retirement age. I’ll learn this from his exasperated ‘partner’ in Hanoi, the guy who Danh assures me will buy the bike for $300. He complains that Danh is always sending him these hopeful tourists on shitty bikes and offers me eighty bucks.
Back to the present – Danh hands me back two 100,000.00 bills, saying chuc mung nam moi – happy New Year. I’m so euphoric I smile and return one bill, saying it back to him. It must have been hard for him to keep a straight face.
He leaves me sitting on my bike at the edge of the sidewalk of a roundabout. I’m watching the meat grinder traffic apprehensively, unable to unravel the intricate tapestry of weaving motorbikes clearing collisions by margins thinner than a prayer. It occurs to me to write a will if I make it back to my cramped accommodations.
There’s no turning back now - I spot a rare lull in the flow and dive in.
I’m moving slowly, too slowly, everything is speeding past me. After two laps of the roundabout I remember to breathe, match the speed of traffic, and realize I’m probably going to survive this. I’m slipping around slow bicycle carts and cars stuck in the tangle of nimble bikes. I’m following this one rider – he’s going into the wrong lane. Nobody even honks at us. I’m grinning, reveling in the exhilaration of negotiating the shifting Tetris of lanes and brief windows in the pattern of oncoming motorbikes.
Saigon traffic flows around me like water. My grin widens as I turn and join the current. I don’t know where it’s taking me; I just relax and let it carry me away.
