encapsulation

For me one of the most insidious aspects of "Development" is what I'll call encapsulation, or the creation of barriers to human contact. Of course, this process is most advanced in that most advanced of all nations, the US. Gated "communities" of people who spend their days "telecommuting" to work, leaving their home briefly to drive their SUV to get money at a drive-through bank, then food at a drive-through restaurant, before finally returning to their cosy cocoon to watch the latest film to arrive from Netflix. I exaggerate, of course, but not by much.

One of the things I've always loved about Vietnam is the way my day is filled with human contact. Granted, it's not always a positive experience, but it is real and it is human, and that for me far outweighs the occasional frustration at the market or an overpriced xe ôm ride. But I can feel it changing. And perhaps one of the reasons I dislike cars so much is the way they promote this process of encapsulation. Motorbikes (and even more, cycling or walking) have always struck me as a particularly human form of transportation. You make eye contact with the people around you, and a left turn involves a complex but almost instantaneous process of negotiation with the oncoming riders. Above all, though, you're a part of your environment, open to the possibilities inherent in the crowd of people eating tiết canh on Hai Bà Trưng street, the smell of nước phở simmering on Lò Đúc, or of the hoa sữa trees on Nguyễn Du.

A car is different. It is a capsule, inhabited by isolated individuals with no connection to the world around them and even less responsibility. You see this very clearly in the love of blacked-out windows, or conversely in the sense of shock we experience when we encounter a convertible sports car with the top down, and realize that cars in fact contain real humans who occasionally make eye contact or even smile at the people around them.

But convertibles are the exception that proves the blacked-out rule. The other evening as I walked out for a plate of cơm rang, I watched a new BMW 5-series creep along Nguyễn Bình Khiêm street, both driver and passenger (presumably husband and wife) engrossed in separate conversations on their iPhones, oblivious not just to the minor traffic jam they were creating, but also to each other. Call me lạc hậu (it's okay, everyone does), but I still prefer the motorbike to the car, the real to the virtual, talking to the person next to me rather than someone on the other side of town. But then again, maybe it's just that BMW 5-series owners are particularly boring. Here's to enjoying real life and real people wherever and whenever we can.