tempting traffic (4/4)

by cthurst6

when crossing streets in the cities of the East you almost close your eyes before stepping out in front of the vehicles, stepping, placing one foot after the other staring straight ahead or looking to your side but never stopping, and, if stopping, you must hold still and tight in that one, singular place long enough to become as a rock to a stampede that will diverge about you as an accepted immovable object. you tempt the traffic, as a fighter tempts the bull, only in this case the fighter must prove his valor by standing still to face the horns as opposed to dancing aside of their thrashing.
in reality, human beings are the most adaptable of all creatures, and it is very rare–though not altogether unheard of–to be struck by a native driver, even while he or she is trying to merge into a busy intersection. nonverbal cues are used more often than verbal communication, regardless from which culture pedestrians originate, and the way roads have developed in these countries has forced the drivers to become very good with improvisation.
still, this knowledge is sometime hard to conjure up as you face a fresh wave of trucks, buses, vans, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, taxis.

Hoi An did not have a traffic problem, thank god. it seemed the perfect beach town, boasting miles of sand as well as a tourist hotspot in the center of the community where a little river ran out to sea. a thriving collection of businesses, shops, cafes and restaurants huddled around this area, and at night thousands of paper lanterns lined the Mediterranean-colored corridors that were prohibited to vehicles after a certain time every day. we enjoyed going here, the bars, the people-watching, the cafés playing reggae music in the morning.
one night we found ourselves talking to a nice waitress named Hang, after which we frequented that restaurant nightly, joking with the staff and eating our fill of spring rolls and fried rice and watching the various foreigners wandering up and down the avenue.
walking home alone one night close to two in the morning, i took a different way and saw piles of debris and garbage in the gutters and skeletal dogs and cats running away. the small houses, the tarp houses, i was overwhelmed suddenly by it all. it was clearer in the day, the bleached countenance of the concrete, but in the night one can stand and look on uninterrupted.
they were trying. god, they were trying. they were building, working harder than any American i’ve seen. and i wished them the best.
but the world.
oh, i wish there was enough in the world. and there is, really. but rarely does power transfer hands bloodlessly. there will be war. and the world will eat itself.
the things we do to each other. to animals! to babes! burning and beating and hanging in trees, dragging through the streets laughing merrily and smiling big, toothy grins. it makes me shudder just thinking about it. and its a beautiful culture we cling to, all of us. a beautiful language and hope and heartiness. and one should love mercilessly. not calmly, but furiously. with passion, and rage, and courage. one should never stop to think otherwise, just do, even when your knuckles are broken on the way down.
but too often one does not.

i do not hate man. i hate the universe he creates and is in turn consumed by.