Lessons in Jaywalking: Hanoi
Updated: Feb 11
Exploring Hanoi for the first time can feel like you’ve been warped into a hazardous game of human "Frogger." But once you get the hang of Vietnamese jaywalking, this beautifully complicated will challenge you as a traveller and influence you as a person.
By Gabriel Huntting
For any right-minded traveler, the beeping, zooming legions of Hanoi's motorbikes can turn crossing the street into a harrowing dose of daily trauma. There are so many, in fact, the city is attempting to reduce the number of motorbikes, hoping to curb their climbing carbon footprint and tame their infamously crowded traffic.
The moto-madness can be extremely intimidating, but it’s one of the many ways the capital of Vietnam provokes subtle discomfort to confront visitors eager enough to book a flight and uncover its popular charm.
As to be expected from a city built in the jungle, the seemingly simple task of crossing the street is more than a logistical given; it's a right of passage.
While western drivers habitually text and talk their way into collisions, Vietnamese motorists are a different kind of daring: the kind that travels on two wheels. In Hanoi, J.D. Power safety ratings are about as scarce as the cars that may come with one.
Instead, the Vietnamese opt for the maneuverability and convenience of motorbikes, and at every corner or intersection, you'll encounter endless seas of locals, zipping and zooming within a hair of each another, obeying what feels less like traffic laws and more like a social contract in motion.
As a Westerner, many of us are conditioned to assume that bikes are as dangerous as the folks riding them. However, because motorbikes require a level of presence and awareness that might otherwise escape the attention of a casual driver, Vietnamese motorists are generally more aware of frightened, hesitant tourists that balk 4-5 times every time they approach a city curb.
To enjoy and explore Hanoi, jaywalking is a borderline requirement, so we'll provide some tips to keep you moving.
Keep these very simple rules in mind before you hit the streets of Hanoi, and keep them in your travel tool belt beyond when you leave:
Don’t be intimidated by the frenzy. Sure, you could get blindsided by a motorbike, but if you conduct yourself appropriately, you won’t be in danger.
Look ahead and find the right opportunity to step out from the sidewalk. Believe me, the biggest hurdle in this whole process is you.
Move with confidence. Don’t hesitate or balk. If you do your part, they’ll do the rest.
It certainly takes some getting used to and definitely feels a little more natural after some practice—and a Saigon beer—but you’ll eventually get the hang of it. Becoming comfortable with crossing the street in Hanoi is something that’s earned, which makes it that much better when you figure it out.
If you follow these steps, I assure you, you won’t get hit by a motorbike.
The country of Vietnam has an exhausting history of foreign abuse, so maybe these inherent obstacles are signs of a societal immune system finally adapting to a long medical history of colonial contagions.
The city's aesthetic embodies this theory; a weathered facade of centuries old French buildings have earned an architectural identity unique to modern-day Vietnam. At a point in time everything probably looked out of place, but as the city continues to develop into the 21st century, it’s hard not to marvel at how the jungle has swallowed the last physical vestiges of colonial rule. Hanoi finally belongs to the Vietnamese, and although its distinctive look is derived from a complicated past, it’s a complex beauty is worth getting lost in.
While many of the Vietnamese probably couldn’t rattle off many of their current politicians, Ho Chi Minh is still a ubiquitous presence throughout the capital city. Just like any other country that honors its revolutionary leaders, you’ll see his likeness immortalized on currency and street signs. Similar (strictly) in theory to Napoleon’s tomb in Paris, his mausoleum is a popular attraction for both tourists and nationals. But as Napoleon's tomb embodies French opulence and grandeur, Vietnam's honorarium to its own triumphant leader serves predominantly as a somber dedication to the legacy of communism than the individual at rest in it.
The way that the Vietnamese military manages the site will feel just as strange to Westerners as the monument itself. The officers on duty closely monitor visitors, but instead of barriers or fences to indicate where you can and cannot stand, strict lines painted on the ground indicate the public’s absolute limits.
If you place a bag on the ground to take a picture, you’ll quickly be notified or whistled. And stepping on the grass? Completely out of the question.
The military presence wasn’t the only uncomfortable part of our visit to the site. While we were there, I volunteered to take a picture for a young, sweet Vietnamese couple in front of the tomb. After handing me their phone, they moved into a firm pose—faces falling into a solemn, rehearsed expression, hands at their foreheads in solute—before I snapped the picture. As soon as I handed back their phone, they reverted right back to a jovial, bubbly couple, thanked us, and scurried away.
Ready for a change of scenery, we strolled back through the old quarter, bumping and squeezing our way through its crowded, congested streets, inhaling the unbearably enticing fragrance of Vietnamese street food.
When it comes to iconic food experiences, I’m not sure if there’s anything better than sitting down for some pho and bánh cuốn in Vietnam. Nearly every corner restaurant puts out miniature plastic tables and chairs, better suited for a toddler’s tea party, so guests can sit, slurp and swallow brimming bowls of noodles, meat, and broth while the city swarms about them. There’s no space, no one cares, and you’ll never judge a “kids table” the same way again.
Emboldened with a buzz and a belly full of pho, we decided to double down and wrap up our tourist itinerary with a visit to the Vietnamese Military Museum to see its massive collection of military equipment, weaponry, and aircraft.
Our visit to the museum more difficult to digest than the meal preceding it, but not for feeling unwelcome. For Americans, most war museums follow a recycled narrative: the United States and its allies were good, the bad guys were bad, we won, and the world is better because of it. Even in the example of the Vietnam War, we see it more as a failed mission or folly than a violent insurgency.
But at the Vietnamese museum, we weren’t following the bullet points of American textbooks in middle-school history class. Instead, we were looking at exhibits and reading a familiar story from a different perspective. In this museum, we learned about the “American War,” a triumphant act of resistance to invasion, and a glorious victory for communism.
Seeing the memorial of a shared conflict from the other side was a sobering dose of reality and something I didn’t expect to challenge my perspectives…
But it did, and that was good. Anything that makes you think and feel foreign is worth engaging, and for any American in Vietnam, visiting the museum to learn more about the country’s grueling history of relentless foreign invasion, we felt, is something that’s worth your time.
After the tour, we left the museum and crossed the street to sit, talk, and decompress.
As if the presence of communism in Vietnam wasn’t already apparent from all the faded patriotic imagery throughout its capital city, a comically gigantic — he was 5’5” in real life — statue of Vladamir Lenin towering over the park from beside our bench provided a stout, Soviet reminder. However, as we’d discovered time and time again, today’s Hanoi finds a way to ease any emotional tension incited by its political history.
Whether his effigy liked it or not, no one in the park really gave a sh*t about Lenin, and if jumbo-Lenin could simply look down from his perch to the people below, he'd understand why.
The large embankment in front of the statue is one of the popular skate spots in Hanoi, and as we soon discovered, the dozens of skateboarders snapping, flipping, and grinding across the memorial were far more concerned with one-upping their buddies than the Bolshevik gazing up over them.
Our walk back to the hostel felt more normal. The motorbikes were still there, and so were the flags and other reoccurring displays of communist nationalism, but the discomfort had evaporated.
Hanoi got over us a long time ago. And we should probably get over us, too.
When you travel to new countries and new cities, it often feels like the beginning of a new, romantic relationship.
We love, hate, miss, and obsess over the places we’ve recently visited, refusing to and stop thinking or talking about them, as if they were an impactful person that entered our lives, rocked our world, and must to be introduced to everyone else we know for their own good.
Relationships can be intimidating, and so can the places we visit. Many of the most important people in our lives contain the power to comfort us when we need it, but cause us discomfort when we need it more. Similarly, we cherish the passive exhilaration of achieving a level of comfort and fluency in foreign environments, but that can only be achieved by welcoming the experiences within those environments that terrify and challenge us. It's an uncomfortable, complicated relationship, but in the end, it encourages the best version of ourselves.
In that respect, travel isn’t as scary as it seems if you keep a few simple things in mind:
Don’t be intimidated by the frenzy of travel. It’s easy to get blindsided by new experiences, but if you conduct yourself appropriately, you won’t be in danger.
Look ahead and find the right opportunity to step out from your comfort zone. Believe me, the biggest hurdle in this whole process is you.
Be confident in yourself. Don’t hesitate or balk. If you do your part, everything and everyone else will do the rest.
It certainly takes some getting used to and definitely feels a little more natural after some practice—and a beer—but you’ll eventually get the hang of it.
Just like crossing the street in Hanoi, becoming comfortable on the road is something that’s earned, which makes it that much better when you figure it out.
If you follow these steps, I assure you, you'll be a seasoned traveler in no time.
And you certainly won’t get hit by a motorbike.
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