Ticket to Ride.

Hanoi's streets are a racquet.

Hanoi, Vietnam – The rains came down, and the ponchos flew up.

Yet, nothing stops the scooters – there’s cargo to transport across the city, and cell phones to be talked on as rush hour disintegrates into a puddle around us. Colourful fashion helmets like cricket players' bob by my window on the bus to BTL, as raincoats flap like capes: Hanoi’s modern-day caped crusaders.

I’ve settled into my routine of leaping onto a city bus at the last minute and bracing myself for the half-hour ride that weaves across a Red River stitched together by barges transporting sand from large scars on the river’s banks. I almost never get my $2,000VND in change, but don't care. It's the equivalent of a dime.

With each jolt in the road, the heavy plastic handgrips clack against each other like maracas. And the horns – ever the horns. Whereas taxis push bikes from the road, buses are the undisputed lions of these roads. And they aren’t afraid to growl.

Cornering the t-shirt market.

While I haven’t personally had any problems with the smog, quilted face masks are the other ubiquitous accessory in each corner of the city. Bright colours, plaids, Hello Kitty. Skull and crossbones.

A woman perched beside me on the bus had even hollowed out a baguette she used to cover her nose and mouth. This, despite having a more-traditional mask looped around her neck.

As we left downtown, the skyline offered a crooked grin as the mountains seeped through the morning fog. I had somehow previously not really noticed them smirking at me.

A quick cross of the road brought an exited shriek. Popping out of the doorway, a young girl chose to spend what is likely her only English word on me with a gap-toothed grin and a vigorous wave.

"Hello!"

There are precious few moments more tender.