Motorbike you!

What would HCMC be without motorbikes? And what would motorbikes in HCMC be without Xe Om drivers? You see them on every corner, artfully reclining on their vehicles, always in a waiting game. And as a foreigner, they see you from a mile off, ‘Madame!’ or ‘Motorbike you!’ they will cry.

The name for these motorbike taxi drivers means vehicle (Xe), and hug (Om), ie. the action of holding on to someone when they’re giving you a ride, though I tend not to get that friendly with these fellows.

I’ve had all types of Xe Om drivers, happy ones, surly ones, hunchbacked ones. I’ve ridden with them in the rain, when I’ve had to hide under their ponchos so as not to get wet, and in the hot sun, when the chivalrous ones will find a shady spot to wait if you have to stop at the lights. I’ve ridden with them Vietnamese family style, 3 of us on the bike, when my driver also had to drop his grandson at kindergarten. I’ve laughed with Xe Om drivers and argued with them, and endured many a near miss with them. I even sat under a tree in some temple grounds discussing the meaning of life with one once.

I wrote this last year, about one of my favourite drivers from our old house. 

In the mornings I take a Xe Om to work

-18 March 2009

Yesterday I left for work at about 9, a bit later than usual. I walked down my alley and took the first right turn. I looked to the end but couldn’t see Harvey (the xe om driver who looks like Harvey Keitel) waiting there at the end. Often he sits sideways on his motorbike, reading the newspaper waiting for a customer at the T intersection.  He always folds the paper and tucks it away neatly in the motorbike as I approach.

I walked along the lane, the usual people were out and about today. I nodded to the 3 white haired old ladies who like to watch the passing traffic. Then there was the little boy on his tricycle, not far from the lady who does pedicures outside her house. Another xe om driver who recently had an accident was sitting out the front of his place in his boxer shorts, still with the steel contraption on his injured leg. I got to the end and turned left, still no sign of Harvey. But then as often happens, he cried out “hello” as I walked past his house. He trotted up the stairs on his little stocky legs to put a shirt on. I got growled at by a dog in the opposite house while I waited, it seemed as if the dog recognised me as a foreigner too. I stood near the leathery skinned old fellow who always sits on a plastic stool baking himself in the sun. He is shirtless with his eyes closed and legs crossed, blissfully showing his face to the sun.

Harvey finally came out, screwed up his rubbery face and said “Di tre.” I laughed and said “Da tre.” Obviously not convinced that I understood, he took out his watch and showed me.  It crossed my mind to try and tell him my work hours have changed, but Harvey’s a bit deaf, and especially hard of hearing when it comes to my mangled Vietnamese.

I hopped on the bike and we headed out the back way.  I often wonder if he goes that way to avoid encountering the other xe om drivers who are sitting waiting for customers where the alley finally meets the street. It’s a little unfair that he usually gets my custom because he waits closer to my house. But he’s always friendly and likes a laugh, so it’s more enjoyable than going with the drivers who can be a little shy.

We wound out, avoiding puddles and wayward cyclists, onto the street. This street has no footpath, and every kind of shop. They all spill right out onto the road. Only the occasional car ventures along this street. It’s too narrow. Motorbikes rule it, push bikes hold their own and as a pedestrian its lots of near misses as drivers skim past you.

Then we turned right into Xo Viet Nghe Tinh. This street is my address, though it’s a five minute turn right, left, then right and finally left again, walk to get to my house. This street commemorates the northern province where communism first began in Vietnam. Xo Viet (Soviet – borrowing word) Nghe Tinh (name of province). We cross the bridge and it becomes Ngguyen Thi Minh Khai, a female revolutionary, but I don’t know much about her.

Close to the start of Nguyen Thi Minh Khai there’s a soccer field and we pulled up next to it waiting for the lights to change. The Ho Chi Minh City team were out in their bright yellow uniforms, doing some conditioning work. It’s quite a spectacle. They work in a circuit, doing a different exercise at each station, jumping over bars, crunches, jumping over and rolling under each other.  A dozen or so people had parked their motorbikes on the pavement to watch.

The lights turn green and we’re away.