They So Horny

Mekong Delta, Vietnam. There is no doubt about it, the Vietnamese are an incredibly horny bunch. I never thought I would say this, but enough is enough. I can certainly understand being horny from time to time. I'm human. We all get worked up every now and again. But when a man is simply standing on the side of the road, minding his own business, and suddenly--Blaaaaaaaaaatttttttt!!!!

Generally speaking I keep to the shoulder when riding if it's a major road. It's the safest place to be, but--honnnnnnkkkkkkkkk!!!! Seriously? There has to be twenty feet between us and no one is coming the other way. So, like I was saying, there comes a time when--blahalbhalhattt!!!! Dear Christ, Buddha, Vishnu and Zeus! Some of the vehicles out here have special horns, like getting a custom ring for your cell phone.

In Vietnam the horn is not a warning device so much as an announcement that you are the owner of vehicle. As such, it is of the utmost importance that you let everyone in the world know when you are driving one. It does not matter if everyone can clearly see and hear your vehicle coming. It does not matter if there are three lanes and two of them are empty. You must get horny on everyone's ass. Honk when you see children, honk at curves in the road, honk going over bridges, honk at people having coffee at cafes near the side of the side of the road, and definitely, if you at all value your license--what do you mean they don't have licenses in Vietnam?--honk at every last strand of rice you see growing in the fields. It helps them grow, like playing Vivaldi to your rose bushes.

Admittedly, traffic in these small towns is almost perverse in its intensity, so warning people of certain approach trajectories has some validity. It's still safer than walking around here. It is oddly preferable to be cycling down the street in this morass than crossing it on foot. In fact the only way to cross the streets out here is to summon enough courage to literally step into oncoming traffic, then quickly judge the momentary gaps in the onslaught of mopeds. The slightest crack between them can mean another step forward. I often find myself standing right in the middle of the lane, mopeds zipping past me on both sides, waiting until another gap opens up. It's kind of fun, actually. A bit like a real-life game of Frogger, only as far as I understand it, you only have one life. Here's to all you children of the 80s:

Froggy takes one step at a time, the way that he moves has no reason or rhyme. There's snakes and insects, otters and things, sometimes I wish froggy had wings. Go.........Go Froggy Go. 

Pluck that Magic Twanger, Froggy