Tracey was woken at 5am by the public tannoy but i've been wearing ear-plugs to bed since Pakistan. Vietnam is still a one-party state, slower to give up some of its ways than its communist ideology. In Dong Xoai we joined the Ho Chi Minh (HCM) Highway which stretches north alongside the borders of Cambodia and Laos for 1,000 miles. Parts of the road follow the route of the legendary HCM Trail used by the Viet Cong during the American war as a supply route from the communist north to their forces in the south. Although the traffic is not heavy the Highway is far too narrow for the buses and trucks driven by madmen and it was only a marginally less dangerous route than when American B52's were dropping bombs, napalm and Agent Orange. It was over 6 weeks since we had cycled up a hill and it was something of an enjoyable novelty as we started our ascent into Vietnam's central highlands. It was a novelty that soon wore off as we mopped the sweat from our brows with rags. Tracey renamed it the Hilly Ming Trail.
Apalled at Tracey being out in the sun a lady on a passing Honda insisted on giving her a conical hat to wear. It would have been very practical if it had not kept blowing over her face everytime she went downhill! The following day we passed the first hill-tribe people wearing woven bamboo baskets on their backs and saw two wild looking women smoking cheroots.
The Americans left some more subtle legacies than unexploded ordnance: people waved at us with two fingers in the "victory" V, children rushed to the roadside hands aloft waiting for us to give them "high fives" as we passed and eveyone knew how to ask for "one dollaaaah".The Vietnamese are awake at 5am, eat breakfast by 7am and are tucking into lunch, beer and rice wine well before midday. Dining is done medieval banquet style, that is anything not consumed is thrown on the floor. As we were generally running an hour or two behind their time the best way to spot a popular restaurant as we cruised through town was to look for one that was ankle deep in bones, napkins, empty cans and squeezed limes.
Signposts were in short supply and the government has helpfully renamed half the towns, making it more difficult than it ought to have been to find our way. Approaching the town of Kien Duc (formerly Dak R'Lap) we were amazed to see the Cim Chay Ngoec Nho Vegetarian Restaurant and called in to give Tracey a break from rice and water spinach. As we were to discover Vietnamese veggie restaurants are not as you might imagine and we were served fake squid, prawns, beef, ham and even fake pig fat - all mostly the texture and flavour of rubber pen ends. But it was cool and there was a breeze and almost a view - all quite rare in those parts. It took us half an hour to drink a litre of iced tea in the thimble sized cups we had been given. But when we went to pay the family who owned the restaurant refused to take payment from us saying we were guests in their country - we were stunned and humbled. Truer to form a woman in the grocers down the road wanted to charge me double the going rate for a bottle of water. People all over the world are in turns generous and greedy - life's Ying and Yang in these parts.
Vietnamese school children have a 3 month summer holiday. Those not put to work by their parents running the family business are bored out of their minds and the sight of two western cyclists coming down the road was too much excitement for some of them - the sound of cycling in Asia is children yelling "hello, hello, hello, hello, hello" from every house you pass. Some of the older, wittier ones also muttered (in Vietnamese) something which probably translates as "you stink of piss" which of course was hilarious when we waved back smiling.
We passed a sign with fluffy rabbits, gentle tortoise and friendly pot-bellied pig: back home this would indicate a children's petting zoo, here it was a restaurant. Overlooking the town of Dah Nong, from the 3rd floor balcony of our hotel we had a splendid view over the surrounding hills, the construction sites of dams, bridges, hotels, homes and roads and the dead fish floating in our hotel's pond/larder, but there was a beautiful sunset.
The next day we cycled uphill until lunch by which point we had "jelly legs" but the air was fresh and cool. It was an interesting highland landscape of hills and distant mountains, of coffee plantations, pine trees and stands of jungle not yet logged. Hill-tribe people were living in box-like wooden shacks with corrugated steel rooves and had given up their traditional hand-woven clothes for "Doldace & Garbana". Thankfully it was mainly downhill to Dak Mil. I went for a wander around the towns lake and was harrassed by a young prostitute the whole way. In the shady dim of the market the women in pajamas waved plastic bags on sticks to keep the flies off choice pieces of meat and pigs ears. On the way to Buon Ma Thout we detoured to see some waterfalls and cycled along a lovely forest road before braving the traffic into town.
While in Buon Ma Thuot I made a day trip to explore the dry deciduous forests of Yok Don National Park. The Park is home to 17 species of endangered mammals but this says more about the plight of Asia's forests and its wildlife than the Park itself. My likeable guide, Chau, gave me an insight into conservation in Vietnam: Two Forest Rangers passed us on a trail and I commented that they seemed to have a great job, Chau explained that they would have were it not for the poachers, illegal loggers and hill-tribes encroaching on the Park. In attempting to stop them the Rangers were sometimes attacked with guns and knives, though apparently they are good at Kung Fu! We stopped to watch some brightly coloured birds and mosquitos descended. I was suprised to see Chau become agitated, trying to swat them away - usually the preserve of foreigners. He explained that many people had died of malaria here last year but stoicly refused my insect repellant. Later on, with dissappointment and shame he told me that no Vietnamese visit the Park to look for wildlife, only western tourists. The Vietnamese prefer to eat it and back in town porcupine meat and green pigeons were for sale at the market.
Further north we cycled uphill again into pine clad hills and were engulfed in rain and mist. There was nowhere to stay in Ea Drang but a few miles further on we hauled the bikes up a steep dirt track and camped in an orchard of sorts with long views and a stream fed pool. It was a pleasure to once again sleep to the sounds of nature. We passed the neat rows of rubber tree plantations before a long climb and quick descent into Pleiku, a town burnt to the ground during the war and rebuilt with Russian help. We got caught in torrential rain on our nightly hunt for vegetarian food and we were actually cold (in t-shirts) for the first time in 5 months.
There is a degree of mistrust and conflict between the hill-tribes and the Vietnamese government, which may explain why we passed a procession of brightly coloured propogandist billboards depicting Uncle Ho's brave new world as we made our way to Kon Tum. We paused a day and hired a local guide from the Bahnar people to take us on a hike through some hill-tribe villages. A wedding party was underway in one village so we bought an egg each for the bride and groom and 1/2 litre of rice wine and went to wish them good luck. I was quickly hauled off to drink rice wine through a giant communal straw from a large pottery urn and forced to sample the wedding feast which was being eaten by hand off banana leaves - some of which tasted better than it looked. It didn't really have the appearance of a wedding party and the guests were taking it in turns to take to the stage and sing, but in essence it was like weddings everywhere - people were getting drunk and having a good time.
From Kon Tum we took the opportunity to leave the Hilly Ming Highway for a day and make our way on quiet local roads. It was a slightly surreal day, I was served orange boiled eggs for lunch while a child serenaded us with his only english phrase "fu** you" and in the afternoon we found ourselves cycling through the middle of a Jarai hill-tribe village and then along a muddy track for 15 miles. In the one street town of Plei Kan I spent the night with my head in the toilet and subsequently Tracey spent the "two dullest days of my life" while I recovered. The highlight was watching a Vietnamese gameshow on TV that was a cross between The Price is Right and Play Your Cards Right - the top prize was a holiday in Cambodia.
I wasn't recovered but staying any longer was a risk to Tracey's sanity. Sporting the "Skeletor" look we set off again and found that the HCM Highway was now a different proposition - there was hardly any traffic and much less populated, we were cycling along smooth tarmac past hill-tribe villages and beautiful scenery - stopping to admire the high thatched rooves of village long houses. In my weakened state it took all my effort to reach the next town 34 miles away. The following morning we rode steeply uphill for 3 hours past broken down logging trucks to a high pass and the only way I made it to the next town that day was that it was downhill thereafter.
There was some beautiful scenery of hills clad in tropical forests shrouded in mists and spewing waterfalls but it was depressing seeing some of the poorest people in the world laying waste to one of the planets most valuable natural habitats in order to grow bananas and corn. Slash and burn farming ought to have no place in the crowded 21st century and tribal people using chain-saws and vehicles can hardly claim to be practicing traditional farming. The maths is fairly simple: since 1975 Vietnam's population has doubled to 80 million and over the same period a third of its natural forest cover has been cleared for timber, firewood and cash crops.
I continued at snails pace from one town to the next until after several days we eventually turned east from the HCM Highway and dropped out of the hills, down into the steaming heat and rice paddies of the coastal lowlands to Hoi An. Along the way we passed men on motorbikes on their way to go fishing - only instead of rod and line they carried electric prongs and a car battery.
Spared the ravages of war and redevelopment Hoi An's old town is a living World Heritage Site of old colonial buildings and traditional architecture set in a river delta. It is unashamedly touristy but the first town in SE Asia we've seen with any charm and we stayed for 10 lovely days as a base to explore Hindu ruins, Marble Mountains and the South China Sea. Tracey went diving on the Cham Islands, completing an advanced PADI course and swimming with seahorses.
Much happier with the world we followed the coast road north to Danang where a Greg Norman golf course and expensive resorts are being built amongst the sand dunes and bomb craters. North of Danang a spur of the Truong Son Mountains stretches east to the coast and Vietnam's main highway climbs from sea-level up to the Hai Van Pass at 500masl - thankfully nearly all the traffic now goes through a tunnel leaving us to sweat our way up and enjoy spectacular coastal scenery and a fantastic descent to Lang Co, a spit of sand between a still lagoon and the blue sea. We joined the Vietnamese holidaymakers for their late afternoon swim wishing that every day's ride could end so blissfully.
We cycled with the thundering trucks and buses along Highway 1 and over two small passes before turning inland to the entrance to Bach Ma National Park, a jungle clad mountain that rises almost straight up from the coast. We were told that cycles were not allowed in the Park and that we would have to hire an exhorbitantly priced mini-van to take us along the 13km road to the facilities near the summit. While we were considering our options a man walked past and we grumbled that it wasn't very eco-friendly to allow vehicles into a National Park but not bicycles. Unfortunately for us he happened to be the Director of Eco-Tourism and agreed - he said he wanted the rule changed and would speak to the Park Director over lunch. They must have had a sadastic streak because they came back and said that they would give us permission to ride as long as we signed a disclaimer with regard to the condition and steepness of the road and that we write a report for them at the end as to the viability of cycling in the Park. All of a sudden the mountain loomed a mile above us in the sky, shrouded in cloud and it was a sticky 35C at the bottom.
I woke the market stall women from their siestas amongst the fruit and vegetables and piled additional kilos of food and water on my bike just in case it wasn't difficult enough. It took us 4 1/2 hours to travel 8 1/2 miles - this is in fact walking pace and its fair to say that I pushed nearly as much as I rode. The gradient was 10% the whole way up. Sweat poured from me and ran down my legs to fill my shoes which were squelching by the time we were only half-way. Physically it was the hardest ride of the journey so far and at times we both doubted that we could make it. As we went higher and higher the views across the forests, mountains and coast were absolutely stunning. The air cooled with altitude and as dark fell cicadas hissed like chain-saws from the jungle. We arrived at the Park restaurant to find all the staff drunk. They wanted us to camp in the car park where they were happily urinating and refused to show us further along the road to the campsite. We made our own way but couldn't find it in the dark and instead camped near what appeared to be an unused holiday villa. Leeches struck as we put up the tent. We were exhausted and dejected and surrounded by croaking frogs and giant insects.
Next day we swapped the tent for a room with a view and stayed for a couple more days. We had been physically broken but the forests of Bach Ma were a peaceful place with breathtaking views, tropical wildlife, cool air and kareoke singing Vietnamese. The ride down was lovely. We wrote our report and made our way along a bumpy local road and over a new bridge to an island of fishing villages and sand dunes littered with thousands of colourful grave temples that was a bit like a drive-thru cemetary. We got caught in a storm crossing another bridge back to the mainland and on into Hue, the 19th century capital of Vietnamese emperors on the banks of the Perfume River. The city is famous for its temples, palaces, tombs and pagodas but not for hairdressing and I left with a skin-head.
A days ride along the Highway took us into the infamous wartime DMZ but as we crossed the Ben Hai River that once seperated North and South Vietnam there was little to see other than socialist propoganda billboards. In late afternoon sunlight we cycled a pleasant local road to the beach resort at Cua Tung and enjoyed a cold beer looking out to sea from our hotel restaurant. The lights from squid boats bobbed in the distance where once American warships bombed the local fishing village into oblivion. Next day we cycled along a lovely coastal road with unspoilt bays of white sand to the Vinh Moc Tunnels, built by the Viet Cong to withstand the US bombardment. We headed inland and after cycling under the arm of a working digger at some roadworks we made aquaintance once again with the HCM Highway. There was hardly any traffic, towns or facilities along the road which made for great cycling but after camping the night having to ride 30 miles before finding somewhere to eat breakfast rather took the edge off things. We diverted to the coast at Dong Hoi to eat rice pancakes and then rode back inland, amusing ourselves for a short while by asking for directions to Phuc Mi. On Saturday afternoons there are 10 million drunk Vietnamese men riding Hondas and Yamahas and on our way we were hassled by one of them and children begging for money. The residents of Xuan Son village earn their living by extracting as much money as possible from daytrippers to the caves at Phong Nha National Park. Their attempts to part us with our cash were so unwelcoming and Vietnamese tourists so overwhelming that we left the next day without bothering to see the caves.
We cycled uphill through the National Park into a sapping headwind for several hours. At the top of the pass there was a beautiful view across the forested slopes to receding rows of mountains on the Laos border. In the afternoon we passed small hill-tribe villages amongst limestone pinnacles and camped next to a natural pool with cystal clear water to cool off in. At night I washed the camping pots and fireflies danced over the water.
We continued north through the hills and then made our way down onto the plains where water buffaloes wallowed in mud holes to escape the heat. French missionaries had been effective in this part of Vietnam and huge churches towered above small villages. We were fairly shocked to notice that our hotel in Hu'ong Khe had bear paw rice wine alongside Johnie Walker. We were having a quiet jug of beer by the town's lakeside, protected from the rain by a tarpaulin, when we noticed two very large fish swimming near the surface. A small group of men rushed excitedly to the waters edge and a brick was thrown into the lake, a man stripped to his pants, jumped in and swam out to retrieve the huge carp which had been knocked unconscious. In the lowlands the temperature rarely dropped below 30C at night, sleeping without AC or fan was difficult and the intermittent power cuts affecting North Vietnam were unwelcome.
Oddly, the further north we went the hotter it was getting, turning us into cycling zombies dreaming of the cold. In Pho Chau we met a french cyclist on his way to the Laos border and enjoyed his company over dinner and a beer as the rain poured outside. The 60 miles to Tan Ky were amongst the most enjoyable in Vietnam with scenes of rural life, rolling hills, distant mountains, jungle, plantations, paddyfields and children riding water buffaloes. The road seemed to be used as much for drying vegetables as it was for traffic.
The only discernable difference between the North and the South seemed to be that in the North people wore green pith helmets and smoked tobacco from bamboo gongs. It took us 3 more days to reach Ninh Bihn in heat which was bordering on being dangerous. Many of the locals were cycling with umbrellas to keep the sun off. We were not due to meet Tracey's friends in Hanoi for another 3 weeks and we were supposed to be on a "go slow" but had cycled 500 miles in 10 days. We rested a few days and were glad to bump into two South African cyclists we had met briefly in Cambodia. They had set off from Cape Town 2 years ago making our journey seem like a ride in the park!
We were only a long days ride from Hanoi but decided to take the scenic route and visit some places of interest along the way. We stopped at Van Long Nature Reserve, a shallow, clear lake surrounding jungle clad limestine pinnacles that are home to a troop of Delacour's Langurs. It is estimated that only 300 of these rare black and white monkeys remain in the wild. A woman rowed us out onto the lake in a small bamboo boat to look for them. Had we not come across Frankfurt Zoological Society who support a project to protect the monkeys we would not have spotted them way up above us on the top of a cliff.
The following day we rode west to Cuc Phuong National Park. It was a joy cycling through the pristine rainforest along the 10 mile road that runs uphill through the Park to the park centre. We camped two sweaty and damp nights and went in search of wildlife before heading back the way we came. We tried to dodge the rain showers as we headed north on some disastrous roads through a scenic landscape but were very soggy by the time we found a hotel set on a lake. The 30 miles to Hanoi were Vietnam cycling at its worst - hot, dusty, bumpy, noisy and dangerous. We were two weeks early and it was unbearably humid but a glass of cold beer cost only 9 pence.
We had long ago concluded that the world is incomprehensible and that humans are deranged and Phnom Pehn only seemed to confirm this. In what kind of world can people earn religous merit by paying to release wild birds captured and put in small cages when their doing so only means that more wild birds will be captured? In what kind of world can people turn a school into a torture centre, murder thousands of innocent men, women and children and then live free in society? In what kind of world can diners select a live tortoise out of a glass tank to eat? In what kind of world can you find yourself in a mouldy hostel room sampling a pick-n-mix of spiders (weird), crickets (tasty), maggots (not sure about the way they expode in your mouth), beetles (vile) and cicadas (plain wrong).
