[비즈한국] It had been about 30 seconds since I called the motorbike. A Grab rider wearing a green helmet and jacket arrived in front of me and asked.
“Are You Kim?”
I nodded, and he handed me a green helmet. As always, the Grab helmet insulted my ego.
‘It doesn’t fit again,’ I thought.
Forcing the helmet onto my head, I climbed onto the bike.
As soon as we started, rain began to fall from the sky. The rainfall cooled the city’s sweltering air slightly. Feeling the refreshing breeze, I thought:
‘Riding a bike in the rain isn’t so bad, is it?’
The time spent speeding through downtown Ho Chi Minh while being lightly showered by rain was the second most pleasant moment I’ve experienced since arriving here (I’ll introduce the first one later if I get the chance). I felt so good that I wanted to close my eyes, spread my arms wide, and soak in the freedom just like Jung Woo-sung in the movie 'Beat,' but I didn't dare to do it for fear of falling off the bike.
Riding a motorbike makes me feel good. 80 percent of the reason is the wind. The moment Ho Chi Minh’s characteristic subtropical breeze cools the sweat on my forehead, all my worries and anxieties vanish.
Haruki Murakami once shared a similar thought about the wind. In his essay, "Let's Think About the Wind," he quotes the final passage of Truman Capote’s short story, "Shut a Final Door":
‘Think of nothing. Think of the wind.’
Murakami confesses that "whenever I was in pain or sad, I would automatically recall that phrase."
A more proactive way to forget sorrow than just thinking about the wind is to feel it directly. It’s easy to do that in this city. You just open the Grab app and call a bike.
At first, I was terrified of riding a motorbike. If you see the processions of motorbikes weaving through the streets here like they're performing stunts, you’ll understand how I felt.
There was also my wife’s "motorbike ban." Before coming here, my wife had handled an industrial accident case for a staff member dispatched to Ho Chi Minh who was severely injured in a motorcycle accident. Perhaps that left her traumatized; even now, three months into our life in Vietnam, she still doesn't ride motorbikes.
I also stuck to car taxis for about a month, but at some point, I started using motorbikes for short distances. There was no reason to refuse, as motorbikes are twice as cheap as car taxis and can get me to my destination much faster.
I still vividly remember the first time I rode a motorbike in Ho Chi Minh. During the five-minute ride to my son’s kindergarten, I experienced several heart-stopping moments. When passing through intersections without traffic lights, I would firmly grasp the driver’s waist and close my eyes tightly, entrusting my fate to him for fear of colliding with motorbikes rushing in from both sides. The veteran driver in Ho Chi Minh navigated that hellish intersection skillfully without an accident, but for the next week, I would mount the saddle with the same feeling as riding a roller coaster.
I, who used to blindly grab the driver’s waist and tense every muscle in my body, have now reached a level of comfort where I can enjoy not only the surrounding scenery but also the fashion of other riders.
I even changed the way I hold onto the driver. I used to just grab his side, but now I place my thumbs on the erector spinae muscles of the rider's lower back. I figured this would not only eliminate the awkwardness of grabbing his side but also provide a natural acupressure effect during sudden stops, which a man tired from driving all day might appreciate. I'm not entirely sure if that's true, though.
Observing motorbikes is just as fun as riding them.
During the two-week quarantine after my arrival, I looked out the window whenever I had a chance. The view from the 12th floor revealed a tsunami of motorbikes on the street. It was a sight I saw every day, yet it was surprising every time. Like a swarm of zombies in the Netflix drama 'Kingdom,' waves of motorbikes endlessly poured out from somewhere.
‘Is there a motorbike burrow somewhere, like an ant hill?’
I even wondered about that.
After finishing quarantine, I was able to see them from closer range. At first, I would shout, “Wow! Look at that!” whenever I saw a family of five riding a scooter together, but now I just take it in stride. I no longer blink at motorbikes carrying massive amounts of luggage or young women elegantly cruising through the city with their legs crossed on the back seat.
Then, a few days ago, I encountered a scene that seemed straight out of a TV show featuring bizarre real-life events. A dog was standing on its two hind legs in front of the driver, gripping the handlebars with its front paws as they sped down the street.
‘If they stop suddenly, the dog will fall off…’
Only the observer felt anxious; the people involved just went about their way, looking indifferent and chic.
Lately, I’ve been enjoying looking at the helmets. Seeing young people racing down the streets wearing primary-colored helmets—orange, sky blue, pink—makes me think, ‘This city is truly young.’
If the image symbolizing this city in the last century was a woman in an Ao Dai riding a bicycle, perhaps the symbol of 21st-century Ho Chi Minh is a woman riding a motorbike while wearing a bright, primary-colored helmet. In the bedroom of the hotel where I stayed during quarantine, there was a large painting of a woman in an Ao Dai riding a motorbike. Thinking about it now, I realize it was a perfect depiction of Ho Chi Minh’s past and present.
At first, the motorcycle processions in Ho Chi Minh were an object of fear and awe. Now, I feel the vitality and dynamism in the people of Ho Chi Minh as they zip by on their bikes.
A few days ago, there was a downpour. Watching the people of Ho Chi Minh racing through the heavy rain in their raincoats, I could vaguely sense why this city is growing faster than any other in the world.
Kim Myeon-jung started his career as a newspaper reporter, worked as a magazine writer for men's fashion and travel magazines, and recently served as the editor-in-chief of the Asiana Airlines in-flight magazine. Since the beginning of this year, he has been staying in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, the fastest-growing city in the world.