March 12, 2024 • 1,486 words • 5 min read

Navigating the chaotic roads of South East Asia

After ordaining myself into the South East Asian motorcycle club, by riding on both Thai (Chiang Mai) and Cambodian (Siem Reap) roads; I figured Hoi An, the small ancient port city, neighbouring the South China Sea, would be trivial. Less traffic, a slower pace, and scenery that should not be missed. I assumed I’d mostly be accompanying tourists on bicycles or local farm traffic. The taxi ride from Da Nang airport showed better-kept roads than the ones I had encountered in both Cambodia and Thailand; less weaving in and out of indiscriminate potholes and avoiding careering tuk-tuks, expertly driven on two wheels. However, this doesn’t seem to encourage adherence to the loosely set and unconditionally ungoverned “road rules”.

Our hotel was situated on a small farm road off the main arterial into the ancient city of Hoi An. Expansive paddy fields and vegetable patches run adjacent, giving a local agricultural feel. On these off-roads you’ll only need to contend with mopeds, push bikes, and the occasional farmer riding a cow to work. I do recommend practising on smaller roads as much as possible before letting loose in the wild, as it really does feel like everyone’s out to get you. The more time getting comfortable on two wheels the better. I had ridden on small scooters before, but you’d be fine picking it up for the first time if all you’ve had in the past is bicycle experience. Our first ride out on one of these smaller farm roads gave us a false sense of security as we, not so gracefully, launched off on our bright red faux-Vespa. It sported a broken back-brake and the most robust of mirrors that refused to be manipulated into any position of utility. We settled into the ride peacefully, the sun on our backs, a cooling breeze on our skin, picturesque fields either side of us, and only the occasional emergency stop for crossing livestock. After the ride out, we were met with our first crossroads, aka the ‘pinball machine of death’, onto the main road into the city.

Crossroads

“Chaos crossroads”, a term I’ve just made up, are littered throughout South East Asia. They are the most challenging part of life as a motorist trained on the comparably quaint roads of Northern England. These roads are unfortunately unavoidable if you want to ride any further than 500 metres in an urban area. Each time you attempt to use one feels like genuine potluck survival. They’re essentially a high-speed meeting point of four contradicting flows of traffic, driven with dogged confidence by locals and timid precariousness by tourists alike. You can move either forward, right, left or brave a U-turn in the middle. Apparently, as demonstrated by numerous locals, you can also just hang out on them, minding your own business, or chatting to your mate as a thirty tonne lorry sends it up your right side. It’s a lethal ocean of floundering heavy metal. Like a firing, spinning pinball machine you have absolutely no control over, and the balls are life sized cars. You are expected to approach these crossroads without stopping, moving confidently forward into the mesh of eager drivers. You might suppose the locals make this look effortless, but I assure you they do not. While they exude confidence in their urban voyage, their eyes glued forward; they have absolutely no idea of their surroundings, in fact it appears they don’t care what’s around them, as if they are the sole road users. I’m not exaggerating. It does not look remotely safe. Every crossing, I will see at least three close calls, where a car is centimetres from a collision with a scooter, or a large goods vehicle blares its horn of death, careering unflinchingly across four streams of traffic. Every manoeuvre is conducted with unwarranted confidence. Apparently, in Vietnam you genuinely don’t have to think or look at anything, just sit pretty as the main character you know you are. Other people are simply passengers of your journey, don’t forget it. A note on noise in this part of the world (re horns). I might just be uncultured, and brought up in a sheltered environment, but the horns over here are terrifying. They’re extraordinarily loud… and musical?!? If you’re riding your little bike on the road and a truck or car beeps next to you, you’ll probably fall off, a nursery rhyme-like melody vibrating through your bones. In fact, everything is so loud here. There’s no such thing as quiet. Karaoke? Volume starts at “very” loud and rises to “fuck your ears” loud over the course of the evening. Car horns can be heard from continents away. Walking streets with bars (the strip)? Each bar is competing for the loudest possible shitty music, you can’t hear anything but the sound of 32 competing Ed Sheeran remixes and the person next to you screaming garbled sentences, the frequency of their voice lost instantly.

Road Signage

Road signs. Pretty pictures? A stop sign is actually a go faster sign, because I guess you’re more likely to get hit if you’re not sending it at all times. I suppose moving targets are harder to hit. I never said it was illogical! As with signage, the side of the road you drive on is seemingly up to your own interpretation. For every ten minutes on the road, you’re likely to encounter at least three motorbikes sending it on the wrong side, head on in front of you. You are given a matter of seconds to react and pull into the safety of oncoming traffic, before swiftly diving back to the correct side. The heat and, fresh off the press, anxiety melting any semblance of security from your quaking body. From time to time you will be almost mindful. Just when you are settling in, the sun warming your face, the wind cooling your skin, there’s an old bloke completely ragging his rusty 1996 Honda Click directly towards you, peace and tranquillity shattered by visions of cracking skulls and severed OAP limbs. Pray to the Honda gods that his brakes aren’t as loose as mine.

No stopping signs? What these actually mean are: try and fit as many cars and bikes as possible onto this road, and really clog up the junctions. Junctions are the best place to park. Give way signs are non-existent, genuinely. I don’t think there’s such a thing as giving way, just send it and hope for the best. One instance of the no stopping signage that really piqued my curiosity was in Siem Reap, Cambodia. There were “no stopping” signs dedicated to odd and even days of the week. As in, you could literally only stop on certain roads on an even day. I genuinely can’t think of any logic that would make this rule worth implementing. I’d understand if it were based on weekends or busy work days, but it seems to be one of the many random laws that the local police implement for fun, or for tormenting oblivious tourists. I am partly joking here as I’m sure there is a legitimate reason for this. Having researched a bit, I think it is probably inspired by road rules in Delhi, where they aim to reduce air pollution by only allowing certain roads to be driven down on odd or even days. But in Siem Reap, you can still drive down them, you just can’t park or stop on them, so who knows? Of course, there were tens of vehicles parked on these roads at all times, so I don’t suppose it really matters.

Road Conditions

Road conditions are generally terrible: potholes, random gravel sections (my WRC experience on PS2 finally put to use), and road markings that add infinite confusion are commonplace. Oddly, you will sometimes encounter a stretch of perfect road, seemingly developed at random for reasons no longer evident. For example, on the Ha Giang Loop, 99% of the roads are farm roads, in bad to reasonable condition. But in the north, close to the Chinese border, you get about 800m of a perfect 6 lane highway, tucked neatly in a valley. Both ends funnel back onto the narrow country roads and the large roads themselves are empty most of the time. It makes for a jarring transition and I can’t imagine the lanes are ever put to use. Odd, seemingly illogical, decisions like this highway are one of SE Asia’s most bemusing but interesting characteristics.

Don’t let this post prevent you from picking up a scooter in these parts. I promise you, there’s genuinely no better way to explore an area than on the back of two, precariously balanced, motorised wheels. Hop from cafe to cafe, drive to a hike in the countryside, explore scenic roads surrounded by mountains and hills. Learn a new level of stress management and become a master of hazard perception. I wouldn’t have it any other way!