[Stories from motorbiking in Northwestern Vietnam, December 2011]
Day 1
A Missed Flight,
A Foul Bus Ride
11:40 AM. Tan Son Nhat Airport, Saigon.
Goddamnit.
Partied too hard last night and missed my morning flight to Danang. No
idea why I left the house in a hurry if the flight had already left and landed
long ago. Arrived at the airport and no space on the next flight to Danang, no space until the 8pm flight, but in the state I'm in I can't be bothered to wait
that long, so it's time to screw the plan and just book the next flight
north. Onwards to Hanoi at 12:05pm it is. Central Vietnam just got
cut out of the trip, so I guess it'll have to wait until I come back to visit
this country as an old man. On the flip side, moto-tripping in Ha Giang
just got prolonged to two weeks. My head is throbbing and it's time to
board the flight.
Three hours after I rashly
decided to axe Central Vietnam and fly directly to Hanoi, and that's been
plenty time for my brain to do its work and rationalize why it was all for the
best. It feels good to be off the plan, making the trip happen one
decision at a time. Currently in a van crammed with seventeen people driving to
downtown Hanoi. It's an overcast and rainy day. I think I'll check
in to some hotel and then go to the movies.
Day 2
2:12 PM. Somewhere north of Hanoi.
A couple hours into the
drive, bus just pulled over for a rest stop. Everyone goes straight for
the bathroom, including me. Shoulder to shoulder with about fifteen men,
pissing into a long, sawed in half PVC pipe, liters of urine being
drained into an open air sewer. Out by the bus, a group of five people
squatting and smoking. The bus driver is taking bong rips from a bamboo
pipe; they love that weird tobacco mix up north. I have no idea where we
are, and yet again I'm anxious to get moving and head even further north.
2:23 PM - Back on the bus, obnoxious Vietnamese
techno switched back on to full blast, woman next to me elbowing me every
time she pulls out her phone for another yelling conversation. The girl
in front of me will probably start vomiting again soon, and the driver will
continue honking the horn every ten seconds for the rest of the way.
2:58 PM - The guy sitting on a stool in the
aisle next to me is puking.
3:09 PM - The guy behind me is puking.
3:28 PM - Somebody further back is
puking. It smells awful in here.
3:29 PM - The guy in the aisle next to me is
puking again.
3:44 PM - Now he's puking for the third time.
4:06 PM - On to number four.
4:20 PM- And number five.
4:36 PM - Six.
7:29 PM. Ha Giang - I never figured out if he made it to puke number seven, because as passenger got off the
bus, space freed up and he upgraded from his tiny plastic stool in the middle
of the bus aisle to an actual seat (a standard Vietnamese practice - the people
on stools in the aisle will be crammed until one person's knees are poking into
the next person's back). But judging from his earlier performance,
he must have made it to seven, just like there must have been a handful of
other unidentified puking incidents in the back of the bus that I didn't
notice. If it weren't for the face mask I wore the entire way, I might
have joined their ranks. Alright, enough about projectile body
fluids.
The second half of the bus
ride was not bad. We left the flat featureless landscape behind in favor
of mountains, rivers, and limestone karsts. We reached Ha Giang when it
was already dark, so I have no idea what the surroundings look like, but
something tells me it's a nice valley with steep peaks overhead, and the view
in the morning should be great.
The plan tomorrow is to
rent a bike for ten days, visit the police station to get a tourist permit, and
hit the road. This is the only area in Vietnam you're still required to
get a permit (Ha Giang is a province in the far northwest by the way).
There's an increased military presence here because of the shared border with
China, so that's part of the reason (China and Vietnam aren't exactly best
buddies). But this region is often
referred to as Vietnam's 'final frontier' by travel books, and a good friend
who just visited said it was like being in a Studio Ghibli film, so undoubtedly
it'll be well worth the visit.
Day 3
Into the Butterfly's Dream
I rented a
dirt bike from a Viet Kieu guy with a bald head and a goatee, got my Ha Giang
travel permit at the government office, and hit the road. I probed further
north into the mountains, trying to get away from whatever it was I didn't want
to stay for down below, and enjoying the successive increments in latitude and
altitude. I found myself thrust into the unfamiliar yet again, exactly as
I had hoped for. The landscape became viscerally alien. Jagged
limestone karsts exploded out of the ground, towering over the tranquil rice
paddies below. In the distance, a chain of these steep peaks suggested
the back of a giant crocodile in perpetual sleep, its thick hide already
calcified into brittle limestone. Of course there must be scientific
explanations behind these geographic features of the land, but as I lack the
necessary knowledge of geologic processes, I cannot intuitively understand
their creation, and thus they are relegated to the provinces of magic.
And I am not the only one to do this, either. In Quan Ban are two rounded
limestone hills - the 'Fairy Breasts'. Such geographic perfection could only
be explained with the image of a supernatural woman sticking her delightful
bosom out of the earth. Sure, you can find beauty by unweaving the
rainbow, but sometimes it's nice to just lie back and look at it.
I arrive in
Tam Son or Quan Ban, unsure of which name is the town and which is the
district, or if perhaps one or both names are used interchangeably. It
really doesn't matter at this point, signs in this territory are becoming
traitorous, the space between signifier and signified widening and
widening. The architecture and buildings here tell a similarly confusing story.
Vestiges of a not exactly bygone Communist era, they lack the details or clues
necessary to discern the primary use of the spaces they enclose. All
similarly built and painted, all with government insignias and using the same
typography. Yet in the courtyard of one I see military trucks and men in
uniforms playing volleyball, and on the balcony of another, clothes hanging out
to dry and a woman breastfeeding her child. I enter one building, lured
by the music within, and stumble upon a group of kids breakdancing in an empty
event hall, hip-hop playing on blown-out speakers. Out back, the remnants
of an abandoned playground: swings and slides sprawled on the broken concrete
like victims of war, corroded carcasses being further eaten by rust. It's
something out of a horror movie set, but I always find peace in these abandoned places.
Today is the
first day. Tomorrow I dive deeper into this strange butterfly's dream.
Communist
Wake-Up Call, Please
This morning began
with more pomp and parade than NVA tanks rolling down Le Duan in the Fall (or
'Liberation') of Saigon. At 4:50am the village loudspeaker came to life
blasting trimphant military anthems, preempting or drowning out any rooster's
crow. Good morning, Vietnam! Next was an audio track for a
calisthenics workout. 'One and two and three and four, again!' Was
anyone really up in this pitch darkness, moving their body like a puppet on
strings, following the orders of an anonymous voice coming through the cracks
in the window? I thought about China and its single time zone, spanning
thousands of miles west of Beijing. 'Too bad if your 6am falls
smack in the middle of darkness, people are getting out of bed in the capital
and so should you!' I drifted in and out of sleep throughout this
madness, fortunately/unfortunately not dreaming or I might have been caught in
some cooky and surreal Communist dream.
Out on the road, it was
cold. The motorbike's forward motion propels you into high speed
encounters with the biting, icy air. It permeates through your many
layers of clothing, a ghost moving through a crowded room, then touching your
skin and chilling you to the bone. But the surroundings keep you
distracted; the landscape continues to make absolutely no sense, yet remains
utterly spectacular. The same elements, in their infitinte iterations: limestone karsts, turquoise rivers, rocky outcrops, muddy rice fields, bare
cliffs, jurassic park jungle, dense pine forest, the list goes on. You'd
think you'd get tired of it after a few days, but there is always some
aesthetic novelty in a different arrangement. Around the river bend, over
the mountain top, down into a valley... the new views never cease to
amaze. And ever present is the empty void next to you on those narrow
mountain roads, following you on the side with a steep drop down into
oblivion, calling you, whispering your name. But the rock and roll
banging on your ear drums keeps you focused and the vertigo at bay, and so you
march onwards. Thanks Jim, thanks Jimi.
Current location- Yen
Minh, a town caught in a dust storm. It's dusty here, real dusty, and the
bikes and trucks non-stop rolling up and down main street keep the particles
perpetually airborne. Women throw buckets full of water out on the street
but it's no use, they're only splashing the bare feet of people walking by in
sandals (how, in this weather, I do not know). Anyway, it's like we're
trapped inside a giant snow globe, except the snow has been replaced with dirt
and dust and there's always someone shaking things up. An anti-oasis of
sorts, coughing and choking around town while fresh air and nature surround us
not far away.
I'm getting out of
here at sunrise.
Day 5
Drivin'
Round the Borderlands
Drivin' round the
borderlands, yeehaw, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout.
Ridin' rocky roads,
monster zig-zags back and forth the face of the moutain, goin' up up up 'til
you're wondering if there's any space left to go, head almost scraping the sky,
maybe holdin' in your breath in case you pop out of the atmosphere only to
clear the ridge and plummet down another zig-zag on the other side, one second
feelin' godlike on top of the world, the next you're insignificant again, an
ant among colossal towers, just another detail of the landscape.
Sunny on one side,
dark on the other... some valleys only getting light from 10 'til 2, others
getting none at all, always in the shade, outcasts from heaven. And it's
all rocky, so rocky it's a miracle anything grows up here. Hell, it'd
probably be easier to grow more rocks, but good luck tryin' to sell 'em cause
the next guy's got just as many in his own backyard.
Detour to Pho Bang and
I drive down some weird rabbit hole. Checkin' out the market and
everybody's staring like I'm some kind of martian, talkin' in tongues that
din't sound like no Vietnamese to me. All the men boozing, bottle of
spirit in hand, pullin' swigs in between chit chatterin and smoking and spittin
on the dusty ground. One man's forcing a pig into a sack... squeal squeal
squeeeeaaal!... lil' piggie knows what's coming for him. Another man is
selling rocks.... pause.... actually.
Now I'm by the border;
got my two feet planted in 'Nam but I'm lookin' at China, military guy telling
me not to go further, but if I had a death wish I could've easily slipped past
and drove a couple clicks in before being caught and arrested or getting my
head blown off, and maybe even scoring a few handwaves and 'ni haos' from
friendly locals along the way. Lookin' good China... just the same as
what's on this side of the border but that's alright with me. I'll be
checking up on you again tomorrow.....sleep tight.
Day 6
Nighthawks
& Border Patrol
Yesterday I arrived in Đồng Văn and checked into the Rocky Plateau, a
groovy little place with cooky decor and super friendly staff. There's a
replica of 'Nighthawks' hanging over my bed, and that right there gives this
hotel an extra star. I joined the young staff for lunch; they were
celebrating one girl's birthday. Lots of food, lots of photos, lots of
'mot, hai, ba, dzo!', shots, shots, and more shots, getting wished good
health and wishing it back (chúc súc khoe!) and sealing the deal with a
double-hand handshake and a 'thank you' or two. Real good, traditional
kids. One of them took me for a hike after the party, up to the top of
this cliff overlooking the entire town. At the summit were the ruins of
an old military fortification, originally French and built in a perfect
strategic location: 360 degree views and clear lines of sight down every side.
Hard to imagine trying to storm that place and not getting shot, but
obviously someone eventually got through. This is Vietnam, not Tonkin,
after all.
Day 7
Then today I went for a
ride on some bumpy backroads and made it to Lung Cu, which is about as north as
I'll ever get on this trip. It's waaay up there, shoved up a little piece
of Vietnam that juts into China, so it shares borders to the east, north, and
west. I tried following the road and making it to the actual border, but
some officer in town must have seen me head that way and chased me down on his
bike. I had stopped at a scenic point in the road to take some photos
when he caught up and started yelling at me, super angry, and pointing back to
Lung Cu. I was a bit nervous but I played it cool by acting
stupid...
Excuse me,
where is Lung Cu?
--That way!!
(pointing back to where I just came from)
Ahhh, ok,
ok, sorry, I understand.
--Go!! go!!
(still pointing to Lung Cu)
Ok, ok, but
where does this road go?
--China!!
Oh my god,
China! Sorry, sorry...I didn't know! Sorry!
I took one photo of the forbidden
area before getting back on the bike, his 'No taking photos!!' a shutter click
too late, and then booked it back the other way, a bit shaken up but satisfied
of having made it that far, and now following a new instinct, no longer going
north, north and further north, but just getting the hell out of there fast.
Day 8
Riding into the
Sunset
Ha Giang's otherworldly
quality began to fade shortly after arriving in Meo Vac. I had just
driven the 20km stretch from Dong Van, considered to be the crowning jewel in
the 'extreme north' motorcycle loop, and one of the best bits of road in all
Southeast Asia. There was tons of hype, and it totally lived up to it,
but where to go from there? The scenery had been consistently getting
better and better each day for the past few days, but now I had just climaxed
and the afterglow was gone. Fade to black, roll credits, The End.
So It was time to bring
motorbiking in Ha Giang to a graceful conclusion, to encapsulate the entire
experience in a concentrated pocket of memory, careful not to drag it out too
long in time and then have to spread it out too thin over the folds of my mind.
Like blowing a soap bubble from a bubble wand, blowing just enough to get
it to the right size and send it off floating in the air, with all its
multicolor magic glistening in the sun. Blow for too long, and it'll pop.
I began driving back at
10am this morning, back up that spectacular stretch of road, landscape looking
like an overexposed photograph in the ultra-brightness of the mountain sun.
Through Dong Van, catching one last glimpse of the Rocky Plateau hotel,
past the turnoff to Lung Cu, thinking about the angry military officer, and into
the rocky lunar landscape I enjoyed so much on the way in. Then it was
time to alter the route back, taking a left for Lung Phin, following a road not
yet traveled, towards the last bit of adventure the extreme north had in store.
This new route ended up
being a real ball-buster of a road. Almost all of it under construction,
looking more like the gnarled embryo of a road than an actual avenue of
transit. It was like driving on gravel except the rocks were bigger than
your fist, both legs always hanging out to the side to catch yourself the
moment you lose your balance, like it just happened five seconds ago and will
happen again in two. Working up a sweat with all the physical exertion of
keeping the bike moving in the right direction as the bumpy rocks keep on
bumping your front wheel left and right, trying to send you on a new bearing,
and not forgetting for a moment about the sharp drop right over there 'cause if
you go just an inch beyond 'too close' then it's game over. Arms are sore
and hands are cramping and this is definitely not something you'd call 'fun'
but it's somehow adding value to the trip.
Finally make it out of that
hellish road (after having covered about 20km in 2 hours), and it's back to
smoother pavement and making good time towards Ha Giang City. Done with
looking at the scenery and focusing entirely on the bike and the road before
me, enjoying the process of man and maching merging into one. Totally in
sync, shifting gears at just the right moment, engine purring like a kitten.
Leaning into those curves with everything you've got... sometimes they're
packed so tightly you lean out from one curve and immediately lean into the
next, and it feels so good when you hit it right at the sweet spot. Then
on to flatter ground following a river at the bottom of a valley, gunning it at
top speed, rice fields zooming by. Children barely getting a chance to
recognize you as a foreigner and wave and scream hello. Sorry kids, this
time I won't wave back because I'm doing mystery miles per hour (if only the
spedometer would work!) but whatever it is, it's fast and I gotta hold on tight!
It's evening and it's
getting dark and I turn a bend in the road and suddenly I'm riding into the
sunset (no shit!) and Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Games' just came on, guitar twangs
sending this entire moment into spaghetti western overdrive, and now I'm feeling
like a proper Ha Giang motorcycle cowboy, smiling a very personal smile and
thinking what a perfect conceptual ending this is.
Northwest Vietnam, a set on Flickr.
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