Road Chaos in Hanoi

A Typical Hanoi Street Scene

The essentially two-wheeled traffic in Hanoi can be disconcerting. While it rarely travels at any great speed, the roads are constantly full of heavily laden bicycles and motorbikes and everyone rides on whatever side of the road they choose.

Accidents are inevitable and I had seen several minor traffic collisions during my time in the city and it had seemed very much to be par for the course.

Battered machines, bruised and bloodied bodies and contents of panniers strewn all over the road were very much commonplace. The latest incident happened right in front of me when two young lads going much too quickly at a busy junction knocked a middle-aged gentleman carrying baskets of vegetables and a young girl passenger off his bicycle. Pausing only to pick up their screaming motorbike, the youngsters raced off down the road, turning and gesticulating and leaving the poor victims nursing their wounds. They then had to dust themselves down and gather up stray shoes, glasses, hats and various battered vegetables. One of the many street corner bicycle repairmen who seem to hang around for such eventualities attended the old chap’s front wheel, twisted seemingly beyond repair.

It was not long before I witnessed my next traffic accident. I had a good view of this one as I was centre stage. Manoeuvring through the traffic in the approved calm and steadfast manner, I found myself confronted by a couple of young chaps on a motorbike who had taken a rapid right turn and were now driving straight at me at a hefty lick. They were definitely going to hit me, so in the nanoseconds available I braced myself, swayed away and dipped my left hip a little. The driver hit my shoulder; the bike went down, and they both slithered off into the gutter in a pile of limbs and shiny metal, all emitting high-pitched whines.

Constant Traffic

As this took place at a busy junction, the incident brought immediate traffic chaos (more than normal, that is) and a large crowd appeared as if from nowhere. They congregated at the scene, pressing in on me and watching as the driver surveyed the wreckage, picked up his damaged bike and came over for a high decibel confrontation. I tried to say “well you hit me mate!” in franglais, but it had no effect, so I tried to walk away.

The crowd obviously wanted the entertainment to continue though and hemmed me in as the driver, a foot shorter than me and half my weight, started poking me in the chest theatrically. I found this somewhat objectionable, but felt that any aggressive response on my part would provoke a riot. It was disconcerting and scary. Anyone could pull a knife.

I tried to point out calmly, but with a meaningful glare, that if he wanted his head to remain on his shoulders, he should desist from prodding. Meanwhile, the pillion rider had returned with a traffic police officer, who appeared somewhat confused as he tried to establish some order. It was all getting worrying; the crowd had grown to over a hundred, baying ever louder and ever more aggressively.

Luckily, a Canadian restaurant owner who ran an establishment over the road and had seen what had happened rescued me. He had a good handle on the Vietnamese language and customs and was extremely helpful. 

The policeman readily deferred to James (the bar owner). Apparently, they normally resolved these regular disputes with a row, sometimes a punch up and often with cash changing hands.

Here, the police officer asked whether I wanted any cash from the motorcyclist. I declined and the latter just slunk off to make a closer examination of his battered vehicle. The crowd, in obvious disappointment, dispersed, and we retired to James’ “Alfresco” for a beer. “Thanks very much, James. That was getting too close for comfort. They looked ready for a punch up. I very much appreciate your intervention,” I told him. “No worries, mate. It happens all the time. The crowd sees it as entertainment and like to see a bit of a scrap.”