"Can I see your license and registration, ma'am?"

It had to happen sometime. Yesterday I had my first run-in with a traffic cop.

I was at a busy intersection, made an illegal left turn, and then saw the cop standing on the sidewalk. He stepped in front of me and waved me over. I was tempted for a second to go around him and hit the gas - I heard sometimes cops can do little more than throw their batons at your retreating head - but I'm glad I didn't. Turns out some cops have their own motorbikes nearby and are only too happy to give chase.

So I parked my bike, promptly fell into a muddy ditch (the bike toppling onto me), was helped up by the cop, and then stood there awkwardly as he asked me for my papers. In my head were the words of wisdom offered by my friend Hai, a fellow American Viet Kieu: "DON'T SPEAK A SINGLE WORD OF VIETNAMESE!"

"Can't I just say a little, enough for them to know I'm not-"

"NO! NOT A SINGLE WORD OF VIETNAMESE!"


You see, there are plenty of traffic cops who like to blackmail people (my Vietnamese friend Nga recently had to pay one VND500,000, about $31), and of course those guys are willing to blackmail a foreigner as well, but when faced with someone they can't speak to, most of them just can't be bothered. Hai has had four run-ins with traffic cops and gotten out of all of them scot-free.

His most recent incident was tricky, though. As he and his friend Betty stood there speaking English in front of two cops, a random Vietnamese man - "this fucking Good Samaritan," as Hai put it - pulled up and said cheerfully in English, "Hi! Do you need some help?"

Hai managed to surreptitiously tell Betty, "Speak Spanish."

They began saying to each other things like, "Hola. Como estas? Bien, gracias, y tu?"

The man turned to the police. "They're not speaking English, I can't help you," he said, and took off.

The police and Hai continued bickering in their respective languages until one of the cops pulled out a piece of paper and wrote, "US$50."

"Oh, hell no," Hai said. The two sides stood there at a stalemate, weighing each other before the cops finally waved him off.

So I had all this in my mind as I looked at my cop. I had about VND200,000 ($12.57) on me and I wasn't keen to give it up.

"Where are your bike papers?" the cop said in Vietnamese.

"I don't know," I answered in English. "I'm renting so I don't have any."

He looked expressionless. "You're a foreigner. From where. Malaysia?"

"America."

"Malaysia."

"America."

He pointed to where I had turned and shook his head. "You can't make a left turn here."

I shrugged, helpless and frustrated. "Well, I didn't know it wasn't allowed" - (not true) - "and I do it all the time" (most definitely true).

Pause. I could tell he was getting tired of this. "Where are your papers?"

I pointed to the back of my bike, where the rental company had put a sticker (in, unhelpfully, English). "Look, this is the place I rent from. I'm renting. I don't have papers."

He looked at me, then waved me off, the movement indicating I simply wasn't worth it. I took off before he could change his mind, ridiculously, deliriously happy. The whole encounter took less than five minutes, guys, and I didn't even have to cry. Coppers, you can stop me anytime.