The Motorbike Diaries: Adapting to Vietnam’s Unique Traffic Culture

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Mirror, mirror on the motorbike…what are you for? I used to think they were obvious: check behind you, check your blind spot, stay aware. Simple. After three months of riding in HCMC, I’ve realized that I might be the only person here who actually uses their mirrors.

Most motorbikes either have no mirrors, one mirror aimed at the sky, or mirrors pointed at each other like they’re decorations rather than tools. Yet vendors sell them on every corner, which makes me wonder who’s buying them?

Me, apparently.

The poor motorbike mirror is seldom used. Why, you ask? I don’t know. It goes on my list of “Unexplained Oddities in Vietnam” with things like:

Why is there always a shower curtain rod but no shower curtain in bathrooms in Vietnam?
Why do parents put mosquito nets on children’s heads in place of a helmet?
Why does everyone use short little chairs and tables that look like they are for kids?
Why are there tons of brothels, but I never see anyone going in them?

Driving in Vietnam: A School of Fish

Here, mirrors aren’t necessary because traffic isn’t about rules; it’s about flow. Local riders operate as if responsible only for the space directly in front of them, about a 45-degree cone on either side. Beyond that, it’s not your responsibility. Want to switch lanes with a truck barreling down behind you? No problem. Keep a steady 45-degree line, and the ‘motorbike sea’ will part like Moses splitting the Red Sea. The other motorbikes will part and merge in harmony.

Traffic here is often described as a school of fish, and after months of riding, I understand why.

Imagine a school of fish. Each fish doesn’t check over its shoulder or calculate the exact trajectory of the others—it simply flows. Each fish adjusts in real time to the movement of those around it, trusting that the collective will adapt. That’s how traffic works here: millions of motorbikes weaving in and out of trucks, SUVs, buses, bicycles, and pedestrians, all moving as one fluid organism. It’s beautiful, terrifying, and slightly insane.

To survive, I’ve had to let go of everything I learned about driving in the U.S. Forget about checking over my shoulder constantly, overcompensating, and controlling my space. Here, you either adapt or risk being flattened. I often talk out loud to myself when I’m driving, saying, “I’m a fish, Sherry. Swim with the school.” And, somehow, it works.

The Power of the Hand Signal

Not only are mirrors optional, but blinkers are also rarely used. Instead, you wave your hand. Not formally like a goodbye – just low, angled, often shaking as if shooing a fly. At first, I had no idea what this meant. The first time I saw someone merge with a low hand wave, I froze. Slowly, I realized that this is the universal Vietnamese signal for “I’m moving over; please adjust accordingly.” I yield, I merge, I wave. Eventually, I adopted it myself, flailing my arm while weaving through traffic circles.

Sometimes, there are two people on a bike. In that case, the passenger takes over signaling duties, the ultimate backseat driver. I’ve spent hours on motorbike taxis performing hand signals for the driver, a practice that feels absurd until you realize it’s essential. Everyone here is signaling in real time, adjusting without mirrors or lights. It’s chaotic, yes, but it’s efficient in a uniquely Vietnamese way.

Letting Go of What You Know

Adapting to this traffic culture is hard. Letting go of habits ingrained for decades, of training that taught you to control your environment, isn’t easy. And yet, it’s essential. If you cling to mirrors, to blinkers, to rigid ideas of right and wrong, you will never integrate into this flowing, living school. But if you release control, embrace the hand signals, trust the angles, and move with the rhythm of the city, you survive. You even start to enjoy it.

And the strangest part? Despite the chaos, the honking, the weaving, and the occasional strobe-light headlight, there’s very little road rage. Drivers here aren’t trying to assert dominance; they’re swimming with you, adapting, flowing, keeping everyone alive. There’s a strange, almost zen-like respect in the chaos, an acknowledgment that we are all fish, moving together in the great river of HCMC.

So every day, I mount my little bike, adjust my mirrors for the last time, wave my hands when necessary, and dive in. I’m part of the school now. And while my hair may never recover from the helmet, and my hands may cramp from waving, I’ve learned the most important rule of traffic here: let go, trust the flow, and swim with the fishes.

Despite the chaos, I keep my mirrors. Despite the hand waving, I keep my sense of caution. These small habits are my anchor in the river of HCMC traffic. But I’ve learned to let go where it counts, to trust the angles, the flow, and the school of fish around me.

Driving in Vietnam is hard. It’s frustrating. It’s sometimes scary. But when you finally let go, when you stop fighting the current and start swimming with the school, it’s exhilarating. You realize that the rules you’ve known your whole life are only one way to survive—and sometimes, the Vietnamese way works just fine.

HCMC Motorbike Tips: Surviving the School of Fish

Trust the Flow – Stop trying to control every inch of the road. Let the school carry you.

Use Your Mirrors – Even if no one else does, they’re your secret weapon for anticipating danger.

Learn the Hand Signals – Blinkers are optional; hand waves are essential. Watch, imitate, and merge safely.

Keep a Safe Buffer – Don’t get crushed by SUVs or buses, but don’t isolate yourself from the school either.

Stay Calm – Honking is a soundtrack, not an attack. Deep breaths, patience, and humor are your best tools.

Protect Your Head – Helmets are non-negotiable, even if your hair suffers.

Adapt to Survive – Sometimes, letting go of everything you know is the only way to fit in and stay safe.