| Muller | Hitchhiking Vietnam
Page 119
Rule #1 Bribe early.
The longer you wait, the more trouble you're in... |
When I returned to the cafe I found Jay standing next to the bike, surrounded by a hundred jostling spectators. Several stony-faced policemen were examining his papers and shaking their heads. I waded in and summoned up my meager Vietnamese, handing over a blizzard of smudged photocopies; our passports, international driver's licenses, motorbike registration, and visas. The head policeman shook the sheath of papers in frustration. What he needed, he insisted, was a local driver's license. We had tried to secure one in Saigon but the list of prerequisites was daunting; a year's residency, work permit, Embassy approval, vehicle ownership papers and fluency in Vietnamese. Since Americans weren't allowed to own motorbikes, we had given up the quest.
I whipped out Jay's International license and turned to the page of participating countries. By some miracle of oversight, Vietnam was among those listed. The policeman nodded uncertainly. We took advantage of his confusion, thanked him profusely and hopped on the bike. Another small miracle: it started at once.
But we hadn't reckoned with the crowd. The spectators hemmed us in, eagerly eavesdropping on our predicament, shouting advice at us and the cops in equal measure. Impatient for a confrontation, they would not let us pass, pulling at our elbows and forming a solid wall of curiosity, bolstered from behind by those who were pressing forward to see. In the few minutes we lost trying to force our way clear, the military arrived. I heard a shrill whistle blast and the befuddled policemen sprang into action. We were under arrest.
