My shoulders tighten and my face twists as the Grab driver gooses his horn again. HONK! To me, it sounds like aggression, like a battle of noise nobody can win.
Later, I'm sitting in a public bus. It came on time, and since it's National Day, the fare is free. What's more, they even have WiFi on board! This day is going to be easy.
Wait, the driver is honking. Again and again. Looking through the large front windshield, I don't see anybody flinching nearly as much as I am. HONK! Actually, nobody is there; he's just making a turn. Here, the horn isn't anger. It's custom.
Oh great, the last stop came 7 stops early because of road closures. I reluctantly get out and check my map - still a 52 minute walk to my destination.
Ah well, I'm frugal - I'll just do the walk.
HONK! Oops, I must be in the way...
And I take such care not to be in the way.
Sidewalks are crowded with parked motorbikes, restaurant spillover, and throngs of holiday crowds moving like a river that can't decide which direction to flow.
Forty minutes into the walk, I've seen everything: kids smacking each other with mats, everyone hauling those little plastic stools, pushing, shoving, sudden stopping, near collisions. I step on two people's heels and apologize. Surprisingly, nobody steps on mine.
HONK! Another reminder that I'm more in the way than I think.
Even in alleyways, motorbikes push through. Like the conscientious pedestrian I am, I step aside to let five or more pass. The thought hits me: I should go with the rhythm, not fight against it.
Eventually, the parade blocks the main road completely, and I know I'm not completing my mission today. Time to reorient, to abandon the battle.
The next day, I finally reach my goal: bún chả on a tiny plastic stool at the cheapest Michelin star restaurant in the world, with horns echoing all around me. And this time, the sound feels right. Not a battle, just the language of the road and the music of Hanoi.
