When your fears get the better of you

by Peta Maitland (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Vietnam

I felt like a child that first morning. A child about to experience Disneyland but my theme park was the streets of Hanoi. I had imagined the bustling streets for so long and finally it was time for me to step amongst it all. Grabbing all the essentials for an afternoon of exploring on a food tour, I hurried out of my room and down to reception. It wasn’t until I was standing at the desk that I realised I was about to step out into an unknown city. A city that looked chaotic from all angles. A city that I’d read so much about, I had scared myself. Standing for a few moments at the front of the hotel doors, I stepped outside and was instantly hit by the force of a regular day in Vietnam. Elderly women hunched over as a long bamboo stick balanced along the back of their shoulders; each end of the bamboo holding scale-like baskets with daily produce for sale. Their bamboo hats guarding their small frames from the sun. Sellers walked next to their bikes making sure their goods stayed on the wooden boards across the back. Shop owners stood on the sidewalk as they casually spoke to a friend or potential buyer. As I walked towards my meeting point, I struggled to focus on everything surrounding me. I wanted to stand in the middle of the street, to take in everything that was going on, but the streets had other plans. Childlike plastic chairs scattered the pavement gathering around a popup kitchen acted as a tool for the person working their mastery on a dish that had been handed down through generations. Their aromatic smells entwined the random stench of sewage seeping from the gutters. Motorbikes and bicycles parked along any space that was left in front of the shop fronts. This left the gutter as a slightly safer option until someone decided they wanted to stop in front of you. The frequent blasts of a motorbike horn warned any fellow motorists or pedestrians that they were on their way. Their frequency causing a sound bubble to wrap around you making it hard to pinpoint exactly where the noise was coming from. As my brain tried to decipher all the senses it was being hit with, I’d slowly convinced myself that I was being followed. I’d read all the accounts of street pickpocketing and motorists grabbing bags as they flew past. I felt it was my turn, for nearly the whole kilometre that I walked I could feel the footsteps getting closer. For some reason I’d decided to go slower, while trying to stay calm. I held onto my bag a little tighter, in a way that it didn’t seem like I had a care in the world. My breathing became erratic as I found it hard to take a regular breath. This was it. This was how my first day was going to be. I was about to become a statistic as I came up to a small alleyway that lead to the opening of the markets. I took the turn waiting for the tug of my bag from my shoulder. I gripped tighter trying to get closer to the vegetable sellers. The moment came. I felt the footsteps brush against me, then they were gone. My shadowed friend had finally found a gap between myself and the hurdles on the sidewalk using the chance to overtake me. Scurrying off without even noticing the strange, sweaty tourist trying to stop her self-inflicted anxiety attack.