Crossing the road

Welcome to Vietnam.

Straight off the bus.

I’ve never seen so many scooters.

Coming from every direction.

Flying past, a swarm, a torrent.

Horns beep, engines rev, peace is driven away.

Separate bikes, but moving together.

The flow guided by an unseen power.

The mass of bikes swirls all around.

There are too many, no gaps or spaces of safety.

The fear overwhelms me, I freeze.

My inner child knows what to do - I take my friend’s hand.

He laughs and recoils.

I take his hand again.

“No,” he pulls away.

“But it’s dangerous!” I insist.

He sets off, into the fray.

I’m lost and alone as my friend disappears between the blurs.

I look left.

I look right.

Left.

Right.

Still no gaps.

Still no space.

I take a deep breath and edge forward.

A bike is heading straight towards me.

With all my will and conviction I hold my ground.

The bike gently leans to one side.

It blends into its neighbours and passes me without a care.

Another step.

People shout, more honking horns.

But nothing hits me.

Another step, but suddenly this time the step is in rhythm.

I broadcast my intent.

They respond to me.

I respond to them.

Looking up and down the road, I see them all.

I understand them all.

I am part of it, we move together.

As one, in a lateral dance on the hot road.

Communicating across language and culture.

I’m almost there, the dance is working.

I see my friend waiting at the other side, he smiles.

Something snaps, I panic.

I’m lost.

The dance is gone.

There is no order, only chaos.

A bike flies right past my face.

A bike flies right behind me.

They’re getting closer.

Is that a gap?

I flinch and leap the last few steps with my eyes closed.

My hands find hands.

I look up into my friends beaming eyes.

I’ve made it.

He laughs.

I laugh.

“Beer?” he says.

“Beer.”