There were bumps and scratches and scrapes during my teaching stint in Ho Chi Minh City. Molasses of traffic. Wipeouts. Jaywalkers. Floods. Machete fights. Purse snatchers. And even a heart-pounding stare-off with a random psycho that almost resulted in a Road Rash-like duel (but minus the safety gear and add in the fake Abercombie shirts).
Real hard shit like that.
This was a country that had random stories of people getting into disputes like saying the price of a sugarcane drink was too expensive by 5000 VND (~25 cents CAD) to killing each other over the gender of the bull on a can of Redbull.
I’m not saying it’s all twisted. Riding around on a motorbike has its own benefits and pleasures. You’re fully immersed and constantly aware of your surroundings without a wall of glass to hide behind. It’s only when you are driving stupid or like an asshole, while living in a city full of assholes that you could easily fuck up and die.
This incident is always a first that comes to mind. A solo stopping act that made my heart leap through my throat and into my mouth.