My problem with Vietnam is its lack of space. Being a tourist in Halong Bay had left me positively shaken, and full of dread for the journey south, my preferred direction if I am ever to go home. Just fifty kilometres across at its narrowest, the country’s south and central coastal regions have a well-trodden path. Though Vietnam offers plenty of scope for getting off that path, I was suffering from terminal lack of imagination. My problem is (well, one of many actually, but I shan’t bore you with those), I don’t have time available to clear my own route directly west into Laos then south to Cambodia, as originally hoped. I have a date to keep in Thailand for Christmas, so reluctantly, I have to get organised. The pressure!
I had not even considered the far north and west of the country, but after a little tentative research, I found this could be my escape from the tourist treadmill. The predominantly mountainous region is home to a diverse range of ethnic minority groups, and remote land borders run with Laos in the west and China in the north. Vietnam has, among other things, some of the craziest roads in South East Asia. Therefore, it was clear to me that hiring a motorbike would be an absurd, ridiculous and dangerous thing to do. The idea was growing on me by the minute.
I gambled I could spare a week, leaving me then two to make a dash for the south. The route would initially head southwest out of Hanoi, covering around 450km to the Laos border, before turning north then east, close to the Chinese border. Journeys’ end would be in Sapa, from where I planned to load the bike onto a train back to Hanoi; for the final stretch of road joining the town to the capital is long, straight, and featureless.
I immediately began looking at bikes to rent. The machine of choice is unquestionably the Russian built Minsk – a legend in the north and workhorse for many. The first meeting took place, as with everything in Asia, on the street. The owner, a stocky man of middle age, who went by the name of Mr Wu, presented me with a bike that looked like it would not make it to the end of the block. As if I had made a personal and derogatory remark about his wife, he looked at me incredulously when I pointed out that the front brake was non-existent, as was the clutch. He motioned me to mount the thing, to give her a try, as it were (not the wife, the bike). I should perhaps point out at this juncture; my motorbike riding experience extends to a scooter in Thailand, and periodically stealing the Shepherd’s scrambler on a farm I used to work on. On both occasions, I would routinely fall off.
When trying a bike in the presence of its owner, it is important to appear competent. At first it wouldn’t start, until I remembered to switch on the ignition. A single raised eyebrow from Mr Wu. Without a clutch, I had to ease it into gear, with much grinding, holding the revs. The thing immediately stalled – prompting two raised eyebrows. At length and with much revving, I wobbled away into the oncoming traffic and was almost immediately taken out by a cyclo driver. I would have liked to look back and see him raise a third eyebrow, if indeed that is possible, though I suspect not. However, the view behind was lost in a thick blue cloud of oily smoke; the very same stuff pouring out of the Minsk’s exhaust pipe. “I’ll sleep on it” I told him when I finally managed to turn around.
I did sleep on it, and despite my reservations about the general disrepair of the bike, I was still interested. With hindsight, I can’t believe that I ever even considered riding that thing at all. My saving grace came in the form of Mr Cuong’s Motorbike Adventure – an outfit I discovered was experienced in dealing with both travellers and the mighty Minsk. It was a little more expensive, but everything, well, most things anyway, worked. Mr Wu was through; Mr Cuong would get my Dong.
Meantime, I had been in contact with Dan, a Californian guy I met in China some weeks ago. He was due in town, and was interested in getting involved. A trip where two is definitely better than one, I was glad of the company.
We spent a day getting to know the bikes and shopping for gear. For a small extra charge we rented a set of panniers each, enabling us to carry more food, water, and general clutter. I acquired a rice sack from the market to keep my clothes dry, along with other important items such as a hammock, a machete and fetchingly traditional pithe helmet as many locals like to wear.
As with most things I get myself into, a large part of this plan would be left open to “see what happens”. The one thing that had been niggling me though, was actually getting out of Hanoi. For while I was confident I could keep the machine on two wheels for the greater part of journey, the chaotic city traffic was a little unnerving. The solution was to leave at the ungodly hour around 0430; it had to be that early, for in Vietnam the entire population is up and at ‘em by six. Accordingly, with panniers packed and bikes safely stowed in the Little Hanoi Hotel lobby, we went out for dinner and a few bia hoi’s to go over our battle plan, before getting an early night.
Except, I couldn’t sleep. The last time I felt like this, I was thirteen, awaiting the arrival of Santa Clause and a sleigh full of goodies. Had I packed all I needed? Would the Minsk hold together? And how did those gears go again? I imagined the great stories that would surely come out of this trip, and wondered who we should model ourselves on. Could we be the Easy Riders, preferably without getting shot dead at the end? But maybe The Long (Wrong) Way Round would be more apt (I’d want to be the good-looking one though), for once again, I will be heading in the opposite direction to where I should be going.
It was no good, just too excited, and much to Dan’s dismay, I was up just after three and in the shower. We killed some time, not wanting to wake the hotel staff quite this early, before wheeling out onto the cool dark street. Both Minsk’s spluttered to life on the first kick, Dan and I shook hands and we took off into the night. A new adventure of undetermined length and outcome was underway….
Off to a great start....
I was heading for Hoan Klem Lake, a central landmark in the old quarter I have come to know well, where we could pick up the road heading west to exit the city. Having walked to it most days, I was as surprised as Dan to find it was no longer there. Great, just great. I am in charge of navigation, and within fifteen minutes, we are lost. My headlamp emitted slightly more light than a candle, and Dan’s packed up altogether. I began to envisage a five-day trip circling Hanoi. With many stops to consult the map, and much cursing, an hour later we had cleared the city centre and were well on the way to Ha Dong. The long straight road became busy as it passed through the suburbs, more vehicles joining the fray with each minute. Motorbikes of all shapes and sizes carried produce and goods to the opening markets. One man had perhaps twenty chickens dangling upside down from the back, lashed by their legs and no doubt wondering where they were going. A cyclo driver (three-wheeled bicycle) nearly pole axed me in the half-light. Unbelievably he was riding with perhaps six metre lengths of steel rod stacked long ways, with no lights or even a piece of rag tied to the ends. But such things are normal here.
Daylight revealed a dusty road full of huge trucks, and total concentration was needed to stay aboard. You need three hundred sixty degree vision, but above all, the nerve to keep a steady course and let others avoid you. This is the technique we would need to master; keep moving and make no sudden moves. My eyes picked from the dust and fumes, my brain ached from the ear-splitting air horns of trucks – a good time to stop for coffee and noodles. We were feeling good, but the first stretch had been tiring. Secretly, I wondered if the road would be like this for the entire trip; if so, I believe I have made a fundamentally bad decision.
We made great progress as morning wore on, passing through patchwork fields and small but busy towns every so often. Mobs of kids going to or from school haggled us as we fled by, and we stopped often to chat or explore. Increasingly we opened up the mighty Minsk’s to see what they had to offer. The road begun to climb, and I felt things could not be better than this – the dramatic views, warm rush of air, independence and anticipation of the road ahead.
We had previously agreed to let the first day be one of settling in, getting used to the roads, the bikes and each other. Perhaps rather ambitiously, we had Son La in mind for the days’ end, some 310km distant. Having started so early, we had made great headway, but by the eighty-fourth photo stop, I concluded that this looked less likely.
Just when we were both privately wondering where we would sleep tonight, some distance apart we reached a low mountain pass and stopped to take in the view. A long way below was a narrow valley of flooded rice fields, cut in two by a lazy river and hemmed in on four sides by sheer mountain ranges. We could spy a village and without further ado, our minds were made up; wherever this was, we wanted to explore and sleep here.
It took another hour to descend into the valley and follow the tightly twisting road that threaded its way to the village of Mia Chau. Like some kind of hidden paradise, this little community was almost totally hidden from view of the outside world. We passed through a patchwork of fields, mostly rice stubbles that were being ploughed by water buffalo, some growing various types of vegetable, a few flooded and covered with white ducks for the table. The village was a self-sufficient community of White Thai people, and luckily for us we were quickly able to secure lodgings in a traditional stilted house.
After a sumptuous meal, I think the finest I have experienced so far in Vietnam, we were treated to a show of traditional singing and dancing nearby. Dan had had to turn back to deal with a growling stomach, the beginnings of something that would keep him up all night. On entering the performance, a little late as I have sometimes been known to do, I was greeted by a mob of drunken Vietnamese businessmen. They quickly seated me on the floor in their midst, and set about filling me up with rice wine, offering me snacks and cigarettes. I felt totally self-conscious as all attention was directed to us rather than the splendid performance that the young folk were trying their damnedest to continue with. The men, behaving like schoolboys, noisily competed for my attention; they stole my hat (the gravest of offences), talked (shouted) above one another, and prodded and poked me as if some alien life form just descended through the clouds. I tried to turn their attention back to the performance, but it was no good. They had discovered my leg hair. Asian males are normally quite a touchy feely people, and a fascination with hairy western legs is usual, something to grin and bear. But when they begun to grope my crutch, I knew it was time to make my excuses and leave. With some difficulty, I prised away the hands and got to my feet. This was my moment, my chance to escape, and then I heard those words. “Yu wrestle arm”. Just like when that butch guy in Back to the Future used to say “chicken” to McFly, it does not matter what order the words come in, I can never turn down a good arm-wrestle. The performance was forgotten and an area cleared for the match.
An opponent was quickly selected, the youngest and possibly the strongest (the rest were too pissed to wrestle their way out of a wet paper bag), and we locked hands. It was over in seconds, possibly the easiest victory of my life. It dawned on me at that moment, there would now be no getting away from here and more importantly, they were getting more excited and touchy-feely. So on the next, I put up a good struggle and let him win, bowing out gracefully, on with the shoes and down the stairs.
It was a crazy introduction to rural Vietnam, and a great shame we did not get to watch the performance, for they were really quite good.
It had been a long long day, and though brimming with excitement, I couldn’t wait to surround myself in that mosquito net and fall asleep in the cool hut above the water.
Such a romantic setting, apart from Dan being up and down all night with the shits. |
