crossing the road in hanoi

One of the feelings I will always associate with Hanoi is the adrenaline rush of crossing the street, which requires weaving through whizzing motorbikes that barely slow down.

I learned to get across the road the same way I’ve been getting through my early 20’s: keep going and hope shit doesn’t hit you, until you make it to the other side.

Snapshots of my favorite memories: Blowing bubbles off Long Bien bridge and watching how far they can make it into the skyline. Vietnamese grandmas laughing at my terrible meat-mincing during a cooking course. Venturing down tiny alleys to discover hidden cafes (where I took a totally “candid” photo of my friends).

Turning a corner onto a street twinkling with hundreds of lights, so the old street looks like it‘s dressed up for a glitzy party (the real reason is less magical: the Old Quarter streets are organized by the goods they sell, e.g., the “light” street). Eating amazing street food, hoping the tiny plastic stools don’t collapse under us and that the mystery food doesn’t make us suffer the next day. The food stall owner checking every few minutes to make sure we’re eating his dish right (while I sneak the questionable-looking meat to my friends).

And finally, finding the confidence to cross the street on my own, with my head high, and (thankfully) never getting hit.