Crossing river into Vietnam
We finished our time in China covered in sweat. Just south of Jianshui the
world dropped out from under us and two months of high, cool riding came to
an abrupt end. As we descended a crappy road for 1200 meters the languid
jungle heat seemed to blast at us from the Red River valley below. We knew
that it would get hot down there but we were not prepared for the furnace at
the bottom of the hill. We found the river valley temperatures hovering in
the low 40's and the humid air seemed to carry the heat to our core. We
stopped for cold drinks and took breaks in the shade but the small breeze we
developed from riding became our only solace. Equally discomforting was the
thought that the river we were following flowed all the way to Hanoi, a few
hundred meters lower and presumably hotter. We spent that last night out on
the Chinese road in a puddle of sweat. It was the first time in perhaps a
thousand nights in a tent that we were actually too hot to sleep. When the
thunder came and then the heavy rain, we did not affix the rain fly,
preferring instead to lay there and let the water pool up in the floor of
our tent. It gave a new meaning to "bathtub floor" and after a bit of
torrential downpour, we cooled off enough to catch a few winks of
disgruntled sleep atop our soaking clothes. We reached the border at Hekoe
the next day and gladly checked into a room with an air conditioner, taking
turns standing in front of the heavenly unit. It would become a familiar
comfort. In all of that heat I pictured my old buddy John, and others like
him, decked out in battle dress utilities with a ton of gear. It seemed an
unimaginable plight given our rampant discomfort in spandex tights and
t-shirts.
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The crossing into Vietnam was supposed to be one rife with scrutiny but we
walked through in minutes. The Chinese immigrations officials were shocked
to see a Xinjiang entry stamp in our passports as they could never imagine
going there themselves and probably considered it somehow off limits to
foreigners. In truth, we feel lucky to have been allowed to travel
independently in Western China. It is doubtful that such opportunities will
continue to present themselves to foreigners as visa and entry requirements
seem to be constantly changing. A storm is brewing there, it seems
doubtless, of what type, we can only speculate... As for us though, it was
the usual process of strolling right in with our bikes serving as a smoke
screen; the customs officers were more keen to give it a ride themselves
than actually look things over. Perfect.
On the other side of the river it was immediately clear that we were in a
new country. The food was different, the attitude made an immediate shift
and the coffee was good, good, and good! After a few months of Nescafe, the
robusta bean culture of Vietnam was a real relief to two serious coffee
addicts. We have been enjoying several ice cold glasses a day, with our
usual level of snobbiness, since we entered the country. Of course
we have to drink it cold because it is hot beyond our imagination. Our first
experience in Vietnam was a 1200 meter climb back up, up, up to the very
touristic village of
Sapa in the northern highlands. The reward for this was
a cool night or two of good mountain sleep but the climb was the hottest of
the trip. We struggled to maintain electrolite levels and began to suffer
from mild cramps and somewhat scary chills just before we topped out and
cured our ails with big salty bowls of ubiquitous Pho. This soup, along with
bananas and coffee has become our mainstay diet. We power it down with
copious fluids and ride on. When we can get it, we also enjoy Banh My;
lovely, meaty sandwiches on half baguettes that actually satisfy our
hunger.
Sapa was a bit depressing. Whenever we see places where people have left
their otherwise sustainable lifestyles to essentially beg from tourists, we
are forlorn. In Sapa, women from nearby (or not so nearby) hill tribes come
to town by the droves to sell their goods and offer a wide array of services
to the multitudes of tourists who flock there to escape the summer heat and
catch a glimpse of minorities in their traditional garb. Unfortunately, the
draw of tourists has pulled an inordinate number of locals into the town to
sell and most of the fabled tribesman one encounters are essentially there
to pose for a photo. In that old familiar way, there seem to be as many
peddlers as tourists, comitted to serve the fickle tourist industry and all
of its whims. Unimpressed, we mounted up and continued up the hill.
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After crossing the Tram Ton pass we headed out into the backcountry of the
north. The descent off the backside of the mountains took us into a world
far more remote seeming than the actual kilometers might indicate. The
topographic relief was big and though the heat was unforgiving, the beauty
was relentless. We rode through green kilometer after green kilometer. From
the rice paddies where the White Thai live in stilt houses, up through the
tea plantations where the Red Dai groom their trees, into the high forests
where the Black Hmong woodcutters keep bees, and then back down again. The
country redefines green; we saw coniferous forest juxtaposed with rice at
its peak. We also had the chance to see the hill tribes of the north in
their traditional roles in a landscape that is as lovely and organized as
any painting. Their smiles were unabashed and we felt a greater degree of
sincerity in their greetings than we had in the previous months. And so the
road continued, from cold drink to hot Pho, to iced coffee and back to cold
drink, from rice patty to pine forest to rice patty, all the way to Hanoi's
back door.
The legendary
Hanoi traffic filled in about twenty kilometers from the city
center. We had very distinct goals in the city and would have gladly skipped
it had it not been for our morbid desire to look upon the supposed corpse of
a communist idealist who died before either of us were born. The full
intensity of Hanoi came on quite quickly and we soon found ourselves caught
up in a wave of traffic moving slowly but not gently through the broad
streets in oppressive heat. A few kilometers in we stopped for our third
session of the the day at a Mia Da stand. These perfect drinks are fresh
pressed cane juice with a bit of lime chilled and served in a mug with a
crema on top. Up until now we have only experienced these in coastal
Tanzania. At this stop we consumed three a piece, they were our fifth of the
day and we felt perhaps a half a degree cooler. The streets would be a
nightmare for a car and they are a nightmare for a pedestrian but on two
wheels the insanity unfolds nicely and we were able to navigate to our hotel
without carnage. We did stroll past the hospital during our two days in
Hanoi and checked out the wall of shame where they display photos of massive
extremity injuries caused by motorbike accidents. These limbs had been
reduced to hamburger (we initially thought they might be landmine or UXO
injuries) with thumbs and toes pealed back to elbows and knees. Severe
though these may have been, they were likely primary injuries. We can
imagine that in automobile land, these would have often been secondary to
more critical chest and head traumas. As intense as it feels, the motorbike
mayhem in Hanoi is quite organized chaos and moves along at a pretty mellow
crawl.
We headed over to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum in the early morning. We did not
have to wait long before the cue led us to the door of the massive cement
block that contains the holiest of holies for the Vietnamese. As we
approached, the cool air eminated from the building like the entrance of a
Vegas Casino and we quietly hoped that some incident would unfold and
somehow stall us inside the building. Uncle Ho himself is something of a
Soviet masterpiece. Until recent years, he made an annual journey to Russia
for "upgrades" but now they just roll him across town to the hospital where
some pale Igor Ivanovich type works his annual magic. It is a macabre scene
and it was hard to believe. Bodies always look like wax under those
funeral-home-pink lights but this one was particularly monochrome. We
slowly slinked passed the guards in snow white regalia along with some
random sports team in their uniforms and unused running shoes. We revelled
in every second spent in the best air conditioning in Vietnam, and then we
headed out to face the reality of the morning heat; a direct contrast to the
unreality of what we had just witnessed.
Leaving Hanoi, it was just one more day to the blessed ocean, moderator of
all temperatures high and low. Somewhere out in the Taklamaken Desert, the
idea of jumping in the sea first began to cross our minds. Out on the island
of Cat Ba, our dream finally came true. Like contented water buffalo in a
mud hole, we sank into the bathwater warm Gulf of Tonkin and swam around
like reborn fish. The next day we rented two sea kayaks and paddled through
the karst islands of Lan Ha Bay, stopping to swim on our own little beaches
and climb a few boulders. Cat Ba is another tourist trap but a few minutes
of sweating leaves that far behind and tranquil, idealic spots are
everywhere for those willing to seek them out. None the less, after a few
days in pseudo-paradise, it was time to head south again. The road always
brings us great joy and in Vietnam we feel particularly at home in a
decidedly two-wheeled culture. We are greeted warmly wherever we go and this
youthful culture is constantly reminding us of how quickly scars heal in the
face of change. The heat has backed off closer to the ocean and we are
hugging the coast as much as possible now, hunting out as many swims as
possible. Our frustrations with the constant attention we receive are
moderated by the sincere curiosity that accompanies it. While many tourists
visit Vietnam, few wander from the main sights and many locals have never
had the opportunity to chat with a foreigner. While we certainly cannot
answer every Hello, or stop at every beckon, we can take the time to share a
few smiles and appreciation for the delicious culture we have rolled into at
the end of a long journey. It is their land after all, and they've certainly
earned it.
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