The Motorbike Diaries: My First Wobbly Ride in Ho Chi Minh City

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Sunday. No rain. No excuses. Just me, the motorbike, and the relentless Saigon sun glaring down like a spotlight on my pride. I’d been staring at this thing in my living room for days, psyching myself out, waiting for the “perfect moment.” Well, today was it.

The bike was practically laughing at me. And honestly, I was tired of being the chicken who only thought about riding. Time to put sunscreen on, slap my insurance card in the wallet (top priority, obviously), and actually face the buzzing chaos outside my front door.

This wasn’t going to be a toe-dip kind of day. This was the cold-lake jump kind of day. Helmet on. Deep breath. Pride over fear. Let’s go.

Baby Steps Around the Block

I started small. Three laps around my block, each one a cautious shuffle of right turns, awkward braking, and fumbling with the turn signal like it was some secret code I hadn’t cracked yet. (I hadn’t yet learned that no one uses turn signals – I was still in my American driving mode)

I tested the horn—because, let’s face it, in Vietnam, the horn is the language of survival. And I started to feel the tiniest sliver of confidence. Not exhilaration yet, but hey, progress.

Then I reminded myself: at some point, you have to turn left.

How to Turn Left in Vietnam

Left turns are terrifying – there are typically no left turn signals that everyone follows. No – that would be way too logical for Vietnam’s roads. Instead, you have to get to the left side of the road and stop (hoping everyone behind you sees this and goes around you). Here you wait for the sea of motorbikes coming the other way. You aren’t waiting for a break in traffic to turn left (there was rarely a break in traffic…so you could sit there forever), instead, you are waiting for ‘friends’ to join you who also wanted to turn left.

Once you have your left-turn-posse, now the group of you starts to inch out, little by little – and yes, this feels slightly suicidal. The group basically splits the oncoming traffic like water going around a rock, and suddenly, you and your posse have made a left turn.

Nothing is easy in this city…except finding delicious Pho.

Into the Wild (a.k.a. District 2)

I pointed the bike toward District 2, where I had friends waiting and, more importantly, an emptier stretch of road where I could practice. That meant I had to ride 15 minutes on a major road—bridges, buses, trucks, and a swarm of motorbikes. I had done this a million times on the back of an Xe-Om, but never by myself. Basically, it was like being dropped into a video game on level ten when you’ve only ever played the tutorial.

So I crept along at granny speed. I hugged the right side of the road like it was my security blanket while every flower-delivery guy and grandma with groceries whizzed past me. I felt like I was sixteen again, behind the wheel for the first time—except now with wrinkles and a little more self-preservation instinct.

Puddles, Panic, and the Police

After lunch, the skies opened up and dumped buckets of rain. By the time I rode home, puddles splashed up my legs, and the streets turned slick. But I managed.

Feeling brave, I tried a new shortcut. Big mistake. Not only did I meet a steady stream of motorbikes barreling the wrong way down the road (normal here, apparently), but when I turned the corner, there were the police.

Cue the internal panic. Foreigner. No license. Barely competent on two wheels. My tactic? Look confused, keep rolling, and hope my “I don’t understand” face worked like magic. Miraculously, it did. They waved at others but let me slip by. I half expected to see my photo taped to a “Wanted” sign later.

After that, I made a beeline for home! I tucked the bike safely away in my living room with the help of my roommate. Damn, that bike is heavy! I even sprained my wrist trying to get it inside! I’m sure you are wondering, why didn’t she drive it up the ramp and into her living room like all of the locals do? Good question. I basically wasn’t confident of my ability to finesse the motorbike up the ramp slowly and stop it before I crashed into the coffee table. Remember – I was a 16-year-old learning to drive again.

Baby Steps, Beer, and Bravery

I didn’t conquer Saigon traffic that day, but I didn’t chicken out either. I rode. I survived. And I learned that riding here isn’t about mirrors, signals, or even logic—it’s about finding your place in the moving wave and hanging on.

And yes, I rewarded myself with a cold beer. Because when you nearly get arrested and sprain your wrist in one afternoon, you’ve earned it.