JUNE 15 — When you cross the road in KL, you avoid the cars. In Hanoi, this strategy will get you killed. No, Vietnamese drivers avoid you – all you gotta do is walk. 

Even if a thousand cars and bikes surge towards you, just keep walking. Even if a million horns blare and curse you, just keep walking. Even if a truck slams into you and your limbs are scattered all over the concrete, just keep walking.

There’s danger all around, but the world helps you make it through in one piece. This is Vietnam.

Crossing the road in Hanoi requires a lot of faith.

In Malaysia to be horned at is to invite a shouting match as to whether you drove recklessly or the other guy lacks manners. Fierce eye contact precedes sociological observations about traffic habits and the F-word may make an appearance. This is KL driving. 

In Hanoi? People get more excited about their own shadows than about the traffic. The Vietnamese use the car horn when driving as often as a fish may employ its tail when swimming. It is impossible to offend anyone here with your driving, in the same way that in KL it is impossible not to.

Still, believe it or not, you’re more likely to get knocked down in Hang Jebat than in Hang Ngang. Like bats (or damn good psychics), every Vietnamese driver or cyclist just... inexplicably… knows the split second to turn to avoid that idiot tourist with a roadkill wish.

Maybe this is why in places like Ho Chi Minh, traffic lights are a public nuisance. They practically don’t exist. Note: When you travel the 160 kilometres from Noi Bai Airport to Halong, you can count all the lights on the fingers of one nose. It’s like, c’mon, we’ve beaten back B-66 bombers, don’t piss us off with a red flashlight in the middle of the road?

This commie cat catches mice

Vietnam is “Communist.” Every government official dresses like they’re about to invade Laos, even the dude who stamps your passport. 

In London, KL and Athens, palace guards perform their day-shift routines for the cameras. In Hanoi, their faces say “Point that thing at my face another second and I’ll throw both it and you in a muddy hole.”

The first time I took a cab from the Hanoi airport to my hotel, I stole a glance at the cabbie’s eyes through the rear-view mirror. They were sharp as hell. 

My colleague in the cab reminded me that these were the people who beat back Johnson and Nixon’s men. Despite being bombed and napalmed, these were the folks who took the fight to a superior military force and emerged victorious. So, Alwyn, please stop staring at the guy?

On the other hand, if you visit a place like Ha Long Bay, the Vietnamese will show you money-making powers beyond even those of Lim Goh Tong’s household. Speaking of the Bay, if you haven’t been there, why not give it a go before our ringgit falls to 10 per USD?

Ha Long Bay should be next to every dictionary where the words “picturesque” or “scenic” appear. Really, it should also be next to any explanation of “take my breath away.”

Halong Bay is magnificent but also very crowded.

Look at those islets. Reminds me of the floating mountains in Avatar except they’re on water and they stretch to…forever.

It’s hypnotic. These waters could charm a mosasaurus.

And, oh boy, have the Vietnamese exploited this money-spinner. On any given night, there can be more than 30 mini-cruise ships parked at any one location on the bay. These ships charge anything from RM400 to RM2,000 per cabin and tourists come by the, uh, shiploads. 

As per Deng Xiaopeng’s cat, this one definitely catches mice. But mess with it and it’ll tear some private parts off.

3 lessons for Malaysia

In a PJ restaurant, to request a chair from a neighbouring table requires a fair bit of humility - and the other party has every right to say no. A chair is deemed unavailable unless a royal edict declares otherwise. In Ha Long, when you go and take more noodles, you can come back to your table and find your chair missing. A chair is deemed available if no butt occupies it. 

As with Wolverine, patience is hardly the Vietnamese’s strongest virtue. 

This is why buying a Big Mac can feel like you’re in the thick of a WWE Smackdown. You need to leg-sweep 10 children and choke-slam 20 grown-ups to arrive at “Having here or take away?” Alternatively, you could try to introduce orderly queuing to your Nguyen community except you’d have better luck banning pork in Beijing (or telling Mainland Chinese tourists to stop shouting in public?).

But get me right. The Vietnamese can be truly the most polite and service-oriented folks around. I’m surprised our Hotel students at KDU and Taylor’s don’t do more internships over there. I mean, EITHER a) every hotel employee in Hanoi is trained to near perfection OR b) it simply so happens that the friendliest people in Asia decided to work in the Vietnamese tourist industry (a sector so popular people hardly complain when the power goes off – at least three times a week).

And at the airport, how long did I have to wait for my bags? Five minutes. At KLIA on the return leg? 45. Should we send MAS staff to Vietnam for training as well?

This is the only place where I’ve seen immigration officers bring their children to work; it’s also the only place where grown men pee in public on the highways. (A little “unusual”, to be sure, but I’m guessing people here rarely blame bared breasts for an earthquake or reprimand their medal-winning athletes for their liberal leotards.)

And if you show some interest in buying a shirt, but a few minutes later change your mind? The pretty lady selling the clothes will grab your arm… and lower the price. This is a country which does what it has to do to stay in the fight. Ask the French – and anyone who’s been ripped off by Viet trishaw riders (known as cyclos).

A typical Hanoi street scene.

Essentially, Communist-phobic Malaysians can learn at least three things from Uncle Ho’s grand-kids: 

1. Ideology is subordinate to survival.
2. Fight the powerful, but don’t shut your borders.
3. Whatever your violent past, learn to chat with strangers — over some bad-ass coffee.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.