The Motorbike Diaries: Right of Way and Traffic Jams

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Traffic in Saigon has a way of making you question every life choice you’ve ever made. One minute you’re cruising along, feeling like a seasoned motorbike rider, and the next you’re wedged between a cement truck and a bus, inches from certain doom. Today, my route from District 2 to District 1 reminded me exactly why navigating HCMC’s streets requires equal parts patience, skill, and sheer terror.

The Traffic Nightmare: District 2 to District 1

While driving from District 2 to District 1, I was caught in a horrendous traffic mess today. This is kind of the norm here, but it seemed particularly bad today. Maybe I was just in a shit mood because I was short on sleep, hadn’t had any coffee, and had missed my yoga class due to a schedule change. Not a good start, but when I encountered the traffic mess near the construction zone, I immediately knew that my day was going to get worse.

This particular stretch of road (if you can call it that) is always a problem as it’s all torn up from construction, and there are only two ‘lanes’ that wind around the construction. The potholes are large and feel like they will swallow my little motorbike tire. It probably only lasts for a quarter of a mile; however, when you are on a little motorbike surrounded by huge semi trucks and beeping buses with no regard for you, it feels like a 5-mile stretch.

The ‘lanes’ are supposed to provide a place for cars and motorbikes. However, during rush hour, it appears that whoever has the most mass wins, which usually means that the bikes get squeezed into the small, narrow space between lanes and vehicles. This effectively makes the bikes single file, while the large, heavy cars and trucks occupy all the lanes.

Lanes? What Lanes? The Saigon Survival Guide

As a side note, I have found that the more I drive here, the more upset I become when a car or bus is in the bike lane; it drives me crazy. I think most of the private cars and taxis are being driven by drivers who are transporting business people. The passengers sit back and read their papers while their drivers encroach on my space. I wonder what they would think if they were in my position – on a bike getting squeezed out of their rightful space by an oversized SUV or taxi. Then again, the concept of ‘rights’ doesn’t exist here.

As I sat in the massive traffic jam of semis, buses, private cars, SUVs, motorbikes, bicycles, cement trucks, and the occasional pedestrian, I had plenty of time to think. In addition, I had a lot of time to inhale way too many exhaust fumes. I thought about how in most countries, there is a traffic pecking order regarding rights. The rules generally go that if you come across a vehicle that is smaller or has less power than you, you give them the right of way.

This is how it works in sailing: the sailboat has the right of way over boats with motors. Pedestrians and bicycles tend to have the right of way over other vehicles, as they are weaker and slower, and can’t maneuver as quickly. This makes sense. Give the little guy a break.

Pedestrians, Trucks, and the Unspoken Traffic Pecking Order

However, the pecking order of right-of-way is generally lost in most of Asia. In the land where there are no queues, there are also no rights for the ‘little guy’. It’s the opposite here. The trucks with the loudest horns and presence move right on through a traffic situation without slowing down, and the sea parts for them, mainly due to fear on my part. The same for pedestrians – they are the lowest in the pecking order here. They are like ants, just scurrying for cover when the big ‘foot’ comes through.

So I sit, sucking in exhaust fumes, pissed that a car is in my lane, backing everything up; I want to scream at them. But I know that will get me nowhere, so I try to stay calm. The rest of the motorbike drivers have taken to driving up on the sidewalk. It’s the only real place left to go as we are squeezed out by the cars. The pedestrians on the sidewalk scurry, and the motorbikes eventually get all jammed up on the sidewalk.

The picture looks like this: 2 ‘lanes’ of beat-up pot-holed road filled with big trucks and SUVs, a few scattered motorbikes between the rows of vehicles (that’s where I am), a sea of motorbikes driving on the sidewalk, and the pedestrians pushed up against the storefronts with nowhere to go. Pedestrians are the low man on the pecking order, and they ultimately lose out.

Road Rage – There is None

What’s fascinating is that despite all this madness, I rarely witness what I’d call “road rage.” People push, squeeze, and beep incessantly, yet no one seems to actually lose their temper. It’s like there’s an unspoken understanding that everyone is just trying to survive the chaos together. Horns are blared, elbows are nudged, tires scrape close, but no shouting matches, no flips of the bird—just a constant, tense dance of negotiation that somehow keeps the city moving. It’s infuriating, terrifying, and strangely mesmerizing all at once.

Patience, Adrenaline, and the Art of Sidewalk Riding

Deep breath…calm…patience; this is the mantra that I’m trying to force through my mind. Yet I feel like screaming at everyone – because I do have road rage! Yet I try to find my ‘inner-Asian’ and be calm. I believe my patience level is better than average after living here for eight months; however, it is lost when I feel like my own personal safety is at risk. After 20 minutes of trying to get through the quarter-mile without getting flattened like a pancake and with the incessant honking of horns, the construction area ends, the road opens up, and we are all freed to take off.

As I throttle up to speed, I try to suck some fresh air into my lungs. I think it’s only 9:30 in the morning, but I could really use a martini right now.