a step of faith

Crossing the street in downtown Hanoi is an act of faith. Motorcycles stream by non-stop with an occasional car in between, like a shark in a school of fish. The sound of honking pierces the air as drivers warn each other that they’re about to change lanes, turn, or pass. Cyclos, one-person carriages attached to bicycles, weave in and out of traffic as drivers look for customers to tote around. On the outer edges of this vehicular torrent are the bicycles, the riders bent forward, pumping their legs vigorously. Many carry passengers riding side-saddle or standing upright on little stands protruding from the spokes of the back wheel. Sweating from the oppressive heat and wearied by sightseeing, all I want to do is to go back to my hotel and get a cool drink. I watch the traffic flow by and wait for a gap in the narrow, two-lane street, but none appears. The closest crosswalk is at least 200 yards away, so I take a deep breath and step forward into the street. Long-term residents of Hanoi have told me, “When you cross the streets, follow a Vietnamese person; they know what they’re doing” and that’s what I do, shadowing the two schoolgirls to my right. They are chatting and laughing, not paying attention to the cacophony of horns and the roaring of motorcycles all around them. I keep one eye on them and the other focused on my destination and walk at a steady pace. Miraculously, the cars part as I step in their paths, flowing around me. I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea, or a stone in a river that the water moves around. When I get to the other side, I realize I’d been holding my breath. With a sigh of relief, I exhale and continue on my way.