The New Normal

The route from my office (A) to our new house in District 2 (B)

Many days we have an apocalyptic rain storm at about 16h30-17h00, and yesterday was no different. What is different is that we have moved from a five minute drive to work to a 25 minute drive to work in the morning*.  In order to save money and sanity, Reyna and I have been riding to work together. My office is on the way to her school, so I drive us to my building, and then she drives the last bit to hers. On days when Reyna has to work late, I sometimes call Khanh, my old faithful motorbike taxi driver (xe om from now on, it's just easier to write than "motorbike taxi"). Khanh drove me most days when we lived five minutes from work. It's just easier to snooze on the back of the bike while someone else drives than it is to struggle through the morning rush hour yourself. During that six months we developed a little friendship, or at least as friendly as a 35 year old guy who speaks literally six words of Vietnamese* and a 60 year old guy who speaks little to no English can get in the course of a series of 5 minute rides on a motorcycle. I also love that his name is Khanh, even though I never have the opportunity to yell, "KHAAAAAANH!" in my best Kirk voice.

*An interesting side bar --we actually live closer now to our work than we did in the US, but it takes longer to ride our gasoline powered motorbikes in the traffic here than it took for me to ride my me-powered bicycle to the office in Vegas.  This is why I'm fat...

**here is the entire extent of my Vietnamese vocabulary after eight months (there will be a quiz at the bottom of this post):
cam on - Thank You
wo jai - Turn Left
wo phai - Turn Right
da - Stop or Ice depending on pronunciation
mot, hai, ba, ZHO - One, Two, Three, IN (what you say before drinking in these parts)
xe om - Motorbike Taxi (I guess if I wrote it in the post, I know it, but I've never actually said it out loud to a native speaker.)
chay  - Vegetarian (I can't pronounce it.  It sounds like a cross between "guy" and clearing your throat.  I have to write it down if we're in a restaurant )

When we moved away from downtown, Khanh and I exchanged numbers. He told me (I think) he normally works mornings, but if I call him ten minutes before I'm ready to leave work, he'll come pick me up. The first week he called me everyday at exactly 5:30. Usually I wouldn't answer, and after a week or so he stopped calling. Now I call him. I called yesterday at around 5:30 and he answered sounding really excited to hear from me. I only need a ride maybe once a week these days, so I suppose the extra work is something of a treat for him. Sometimes I don't call because I don't want to drag him away from his evening right before dinner to drive my lazy ass home, but he really doesn't seem to mind.

Ten minutes later he came scooting up in the darkness and as he rolled to a stop exclaimed, "Heeeeeeey Jeff!" This is not normal. Usually it's a "good morning, Jeff" or "how are you, Jeff?" I said hello and climbed on the back. There is little to no drainage around Vietnamese roads, so after the daily rain there tends to be many puddles to dodge and the road stays slick for some time. The roads were definitely wet. As we made the turn onto the highway, I realized that today was not to be a normal ride home. Khanh was FLYING through the rush hour traffic. He barely stopped honking from the moment we left the office until the first roundabout (see map). All the while, I hung onto the back and prayed he wouldn't have to stop suddenly. I've looked at the tires on his bike. Bald would be an understatement. We hurtled through the traffic at speeds approaching 100km/hr*

*I know 62mph is not fast in many places (I'm looking at you Vegas), but here it feels like death is imminent at that speed.  I dont just attribute that perception to the traffic either.  Most things in Vietnam appear to be at least twenty years old.  Anytime I let one of my bikes out and get going, I feel like the wheel is going to pop off at any moment, and that's a bike I ride nearly every day. Bear in mind that when I "let it out" it's on an open road with no one around, not rush hour traffic.

As we reached the stoplight at the second roundabout, just before the Saigon Bridge, the light changed. Khanh wasn't going to stop (traffic signals tend to be more suggestion than anything unless it's a very busy intersection), but the people in front of him decided to stop. He noticed a little too late and slammed on the brakes. The bike fish-tailed on the wet road, and we had what I can only describe as a "Matrix Moment" while the bike was at an angle and temporarily out of control, sliding along the pavement.  I thought "brace for impact." I didn't wonder if my $6 helmet would protect my head, or what would happen to Khanh's flip flopped feet.  I didn't jump, my heart didn't skip, I didn't grab onto Khanh, I just thought "brace for impact."  Khanh didn't go "whoooah, like he normally does when we see multi-bike pile ups.  He righted the bike and that was it.  It was the most nonchalant close encounter with pavement I've ever had.  We pressed on through the roundabout and headed for the Saigon Bridge (cau Sai Gon on the map if you're following along at home).

I'm sure I'd read somewhere that construction was about to commence on the bridge, but hadn't realized that it was scheduled to start that day.  While I sat slowly dying at my desk, little Vietnamese workers had been systematically blocking three of the four lanes of traffic.  When I saw the gridlock I figured we'd be stuck for thirty minutes, but Khanh weaved, honked and cursed his way through in about five. My arms were bumping handlebars next to us no matter how hard I tried to keep them close to my body. There were multiple times where I could have licked a bus wall or the grill of a Chysler 300, we were so close. We rode on the sidewalk part of the way up the bridge. While we were on the sidewalk I watched a kid on a bicycle try to ride between two signs mounted in the sidewalk. His handlebars crashed into the sign posts as we squeaked around between the sign and the curb. I wasn't afraid or nervous we would crash, no, I was impressed that Khanh was even attempting these maneuvers.  I thought to myelf, "this guy has balls the size of  most people's heads."

Khanh swerved off the sidewalk and crossed through the designated motorbike lane, which is separated from cars and trucks by a concrete barrier we missed by millimeters, and into the single lane of traffic containing the cars, trucks and buses. He did this despite police standing at the spot where the lanes separate and darted into the less congested street. On our way over the bridge, he rode on the wrong side of the road. This isn't overly strange, I ride on the wrong side of the road regularly, except we were on a one lane road with a bus to our right and one coming at us. We swerved between the two vehicles with about ten feet to spare, while both Khanh and the buses beeped on their horns.  By this point I was an inanimate object. I was locked up from the neck down. Pretty much the only thing I could move were my eyes and my head, but I was too focused on what was happening in front of us  that it never occured to me to check the sides.  I was in the "passenger zone." The road was wet, and I was certain that if I made any movement , I would send us sliding underneath the approaching bus, which would have clearly been my fault.

Finally, thankfully, we pulled up to the house. I jumped off the bike, turned to Khanh and said, "you want to come in for a beer?" There is a little history here. The first time he drove me to the new house, he dropped me off and said "I come in and we drink bia?"  (It is worth noting that the word "beer" trancends cultures.  Vietnamese for beer is "bia.") I told him I didn't have any, but resolved to keep a few in the refrigerator from then on for these occasions. Looking back on it now, I realize that I asked him because we'd just had an experience together that was extra-normal.  At the time, I didn't realize it.  It was just another ride home, and I was looking forward to having a beer with this strange little man.  I understand now that I wanted to celebrate the fact that we had both lived through the previous 30 minutes.


 He said, "Me come in to drink bia?" I said yes, and he drove his bike into our little parking area. I unlocked the door, went inside and turned on the lights. It was then that I saw Khanh's face in the light for the first time. He was out of breath from walking up the three steps to our house, eyes totally blood-shot. I'd just gotten a ride from a guy who was totally blotto. I then realized that I'd already asked him in to have a beer.  It would be incredibly rude for me to not let him have one, especially the first time I'd ever invited him inside. I took two out of the refrigerator, got some glasses and poured the beers.  He walked inside amd saw our cat.  "Me-yo, Me-yo, Me-yo!" he said, and picked up our helpless cat hand held him in his arms.  I could see the look of terror in Q's face being held by a drunken stranger, but he behaved himself and jumped down at the first moment he could. Khanh and I said "cheers" and clinked glasses.

After he took his first noisy swig of Heineken and said, "You like kar-a-kee?"
"What?"  I have to be careful that I don't do my usual indignant "what?!" I am known for in certain circles.
"Kar-a-kee!"
"I have no idea what you're saying."
"KAR-A-KEE!" and  he held his hand up to his mouth.
"Karaoke?"
"Yeah! Yeah! Kar-a-kee!"
"I don't think Reyna would like me to go to karaoke with you guys."*
He gave me a knowing smile. 
I declined as politely as possible. He slugged down his beer in about five minutes, looked at me and said, "I have one more?"
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"I have one more, yes." he replied. As we drank the second beer, he kept clinking glasses with me and saying, "I like you Jeff, I like you." I told him I like him too and I'm glad he still drives me even though we moved away. He finished his beer (more slowly this time) and got up to leave. I walked him to the door. When we got outside, he turned to me and made the universal "I-am-going-to-give-you-a-hug" sign, with arms outstretched coming towards me. I didn't know we'd reached this point in our friendship, but he grabbed me and kissed me on both cheeks. "I like you Jeff."
"I like you too. And thank you for driving me home."
"I see you tomorrow?"
"Maybe. I'll call you."
And with that, he cranked up his bike and sped away, honking.

*Karaoke in Vietnam is not the same as it is in the US.  Not only do you get a private room for singing with your friends, but each karaoke place (store? purveyor?) has a little harem of girls.  You pick a girl and she is your karaoke partner for the night.  She will sing with you, laugh at your jokes and if you play your cards right might do a whole lot more.  Women are not even allowed to enter a karaoke hall alone or without a man.  Why do I suddenly feel like I'm ruining this for  ten thousand expat guys?

I relate this story to you because up until this morning, I hadn't given a second thought to the events that transpired over those two hours.  It was just another day, just another ride home, just another beer.  As time passes we forget how different our lives have become.  Things that would have defined days as strange or significant in the US now pass regularly as ho-hum.  It is one of the goals of this blog to document those "everyday" days that really are anything but.  I am doing my best not to lose sight of where I came from, which helps me appreciate where I am and how far we've come.