Ferry Ride Fiasco

Picture this: Corinn and I pedaling our hearts out down the crowded streets of Can Tho, Vietnam--one of the largest cities in the Mekong Delta. Motorbikes, bicycles, venders, pedestrians all fighting for their small space of pavement. We constantly have to swerve left and right to avoid whatever impediment is in the road in front of us.

Sometimes I can't control my vocal chords and I get very embarrassed when I shout ‘eeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhh!’ upon a near collision. Vietnamese people are very tolerant of each other (as well as the two stupid American girls on bikes) and I rarely see a look of irritation or frustration come across their faces. And I NEVER hear a sound come out of their mouths. I'm working on this but Corinn has it down pat.

We need to take a ferry to the other side of the Can Tho river to make our way up to Vinh Long. We felt confident (sort of) as this was our second ferry ride across a Vietnam river so we thought we had a general idea of what to expect. What we didn't know was where the ferry was located, how to tell which direction it was going in or any other tidbit of valuable information necessary for people who don't speak or read the language. There was no way we could have predicted the enormity of the mayhem that was about to ensue, making our initial ferry ride look like a spin on It‘s a Small World at Disney World.


We see an enormous amount of motorbikes in an long line that appears to go into a sort of building. Somehow, we know instinctively that this is the ferry line even there are no boats in our line of sight.

We fall in place with 200 or so moto drivers around us. We look at each other on opposite sides of the ‘hallway’ or what appears to be a very long car port. It is suffocating. The noxious fumes from every scooter and motorcycle burning our eyes and lungs. Even though we are ‘inside’ everyone is riding forward. I ride my bike trying to balance at such a slow speed. There are people within millimeters of touching me in every direction. I think to myself that it’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic. I know that Corinn and I must fend for ourselves and will meet up again in a few moments.

There’s a sign with monetary increments but it’s in Vietnamese. The sound of the engines is deafening. There’s no way to ask how much. Corinn pushes her way up to a small window and throws 2000 Vietnamese Dong at the woman and points at me and our bikes and keeps riding. We need to keep pushing (and I mean pushing) forward amongst the hordes or else we will not make it on the ferry. In Asia you cant be shy, timid or passive or you will not get anywhere--not even to a squat toilet.

The hallway is dark. It is about 10 ft wide by 200 feet and up ahead I see light, a clearing…thank god. Just as soon as I feel relief my anxiety is back as suddenly there are motorbikes coming at us head on in the opposite direction. More balancing, swerving, and then we also need to make a choice because there are two ferries. The ferry to the left or the ferry to our right? We find each other through the crowd and decide with just eye movements that we will get on the ferry to our right and hope for the best. This is how we communicate now - with eye gestures.

The ferry is about the size of a basketball court…filled to maximum capacity. The man next to me is fascinated by my map on my handlebar bag. He is touching it. We have grown so accustomed to personal space violations. As we are used to by now, we are stared and pointed at and laughed at. I have no contempt towards the people laughing at us. If we’re providing comic relief for a population of people who rarely smile and survive a chaotic, polluted, difficult daily existence, at least we’ve done something positive.