Mr. Minsk is now for sale!

After over 7 months of traversing the whole of continental South East Asia (Hanoi to Singapore to Saigon) on two Belorussian wheels it is time to go home. Thus I am selling my wonderful Mr. Minsk that's been my good companion through all of those 12,000 kilometers.

About the bike:

It's an '89 model (with a license) fitted with a new engine, new gear box, new tires and a set of good (Honda) front shocks when I bought it 7 months ago. I got it from the most respected Minsk mechanic in all of Vietnam, Mr. Coung of Hanoi. It cost me 420$ plus another 30$ for the ultra handy waterproof saddlebags, a set of necessary tools and a spare part kit (including a spare electric box which is quite hard to find).

State of things:

Over the months I did some work on the bike since it has been taken through some pretty rough terrain. I changed the cables, replaced wheel and gear-box bearings (two months of offroading in Laos will do that to a bike), fitted new sidelights, replaced generator coils and have recently fitted a brand new back tire (8$), drive chain (8$) and a set of brilliant rear shocks (10$). 

Arriving in Saigon few days ago I have spent 45$ on an overall maintenance by a respected Minsk mechanic to get it back into top notch state (fitting new brakes, new clutch, throttle and brake cables, new engine bearings and a new clutch casing, transmission sprocket and transmission chain).
The rule of thumb when it comes to Minsks is the less shiny the better (unless of course bits are falling off due to rust). There is plenty if Minsk retailers (generally westerners) that claim their bikes to be the best there is where all they done is spray-painted them. I had a chance to ride a few of these back in Hanoi and trust me, stay away!

Why a Minsk:

It has been a blast riding it. It is not very powerful (125cc) but you can take it anywhere (highways, dirt roads, ox-cart tracks, mountain trails, rivers, marshes, you name it) and fix it on the spot if, god forbid, something goes wrong. It qualifies as an antique and looks totally awesome (I had people rolling down their windows and taking photos of me when riding the highways of Thailand and Malaysia).
If you're a person that goes berserk when a nut holding the license plate falls off or a throttle cable snaps this is not a bike for you. Get a Honda Wave like everyone else!

If you're however up for a proper adventure off the beaten path and don't mind getting your hands dirty (if you're planning a long trip something will inevitably go wrong - it's Russian design afer all) this is the bike for you!
Don't worry you know nothing about motorbikes. I hadn't either - first time I sat behind the handlebars was in Hanoi seven months back and now I'm a self-certified Minsk mechanic!

The adventure:

It's super easy to cross the borders of Vietnam with a bike although 99% of Minsk riders never do. True, there is lots to see in Vietnam but wait till you hit the roads in Laos. Ha!

Here is a taste of my adventures. For more checkout my Motorcycle diaries or my Flickr photo account.

Mountains near Sapa, Vietnam

 River crossing in Cambodia

Offroad in Mondulkiri, Cambodia

A ferry in Halong Bay, Vietnam

Through Sapa, Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh trail, west of Laos

Bamboo bridge, Laos

Mountains of central Laos

River crossing, Laos

A highway, Malaysia

The deal:

All in all I am asking for $375 (negotiable) for the bike, a helmet, saddlebags, toolset and whatever spareparts there are left (electric box, generator coils and puncture repair kit - all other you can get in Saigon and all over Vietnam - I can advise what you need). It is much less then the 700$ I spent on it in total but that's the way it goes.

I am leaving Vietnam on the evening of 14/9/10 and obviously need to sell before then. I will take the bike for a last run to the Mekong delta tomorrow and will be back in Saigon for the weekend to do test drives.

If you're interested drop me a message at  l.dittel[at]gmail.com. Sorry, no phone contact - both my phones got stolen.

Riding the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos

Good old Tom Waits and his Alice! 

I have just regained by private space after an hour long entertainment session with me the entertainer and a whole village of spectators. A good 50 people have gathered around the tent that I have somewhat unfortunately placed still too centrally in the past seven o'clock dark (the days don't get longer here). Quite at the end of my strength I politely excused myself for the third time and laid myself down in my tent. The folk got the message, well, at least for the next ten minutes before few people returned and resumed watching me, this time eating my supper from start till finish. I offered them an armful of bananas to make the feast a little less one-sided but to no avail, they pocketed the fruit and resumed their gaze. Oh well... (you sort of get used to it actually)

After crossing the Cambodian border I spent almost a week semi-paralysed with my scratched right knee swelling up like a pumpkin and a good fever on top of it too. Two antibiotics and a decilited of antiseptic later I rode into the Bolaven Plateau in search of good coffee which I found and coffee plantations that eluded me somewhat. Plenty of waterfalls on the way were a nice distraction but another two days of exploring the surrounding country didn't have the right vibe and somewhat disapointed from the dulness that comes with development and all the tourist traffic I turned into the mountains a bit more north and much further east in search for the signs of uncle Ho. A few hour driving from the developed Saravan on a road through the mountains and after spending the night in a beautiful little village at one of the mountain peaks with much less intense village folk I arrived to Tahoy in the early morning next day. Tahoy has been a major crossroad for the Ho Chi Minh's trail in the area and there is even an old NVA (North Vietnamese Army) tank nearby which I had the opportunity to explore.

(The Ho Chi Minh trail is a wide network of trails in the north-south direction on the border with Vietnam. As we all probably now it was used to bring supplies to its troops from the north and since it was the primary target for American bombarderes many trails have been put up in the mountains of Vietnam, east Laos and Cambodia even though there they call them Sihanouk trail - Sihanouk being the misfortunate king having the privilege of indirectly bringing the Khmer Rouge to power.)

And thus after the second day of riding I am sleeping in this random little village on the Ho Chi Minh trail in the mountains. I had plenty of opportunities and a desire too to stop earlier when passing some magnificent hillsides but the opportunities did not present themselves - it was still a bright light of day and none of the local village folk that gathered each time I stopped to marvel at the beautiful settings invited me in for the night. So I let it be and continued on this suprisingly easy stretch of road only to discover, as it tends to be, the rough bits when it started getting dark but being me (never turn back) I continued on crossing streams and climbing peaks on the ultra rocky and destroyed path meandering the jungle with the last of the light and then complete darkness. Just as I was contemplating putting the tent up somewhere on the road I have recognised the shape of huts on the hill just above me and altered my course here instead.

All photos slideshow.

Monsoon offroad

The crickets are churping in the grass around and I am finishing off another Angkor lager. As it seems I am not leaving here today, nor am I leaving early tomorrow.

After returning from the super rough 100 kilometer offroad with just a few little scratches from branches and bushes I managed to crash properly the day after going to a 30 kilomteer away waterfall: It started raining quite heavily and rapidly and after 5 minute long safe ride on the muddy dirtroad I am suddenly on my back with the bike twisted under me. Without a warning or at least a decent slide! Just the fall. We, my lady company and I, were going quite slowly so it was almost like landing on a matrace except for the few bruises and a scratched knee. Mr. Minsk ended up with more damage however and I had to spend the second half of today sorting out the bent front suspension. A lot of bending and hammering. However frantically I tried though I failed to finish before the light was completetly gone - taking apart the whole front wheel steering column is a pain in the arse and takes forever to put back together, especially when it is the first time you're doing it.

So I have to finish off tomorrow morning and push up north through some expected rough terrain, especially after the rains of the prevuious days, since I am out of visa three days already.

I had better go - it's pitch black and I have two kilometers to cover to my little countryside lodge. Mr. Minsk is left behind at the moto service shop so it's gonna be only me and the odd stray dog.

-

However hard I try fixing Mr. Minsk always takes longer then expected! And thus I'm staying put for another night after another looong day of bending, hammering, tightening and cursing. What good I managed to do during yesterday afternoon I undone in the last half hour of twilight. So I had to start all over again in the morning. But now I can say with confidence that I can fix a thoroughly bent front suspension.

My fourth day without visa is almost through and I'm only hoping that it didn't rain much in the north since I'd like to cover a lot of ground tomorrow. Starting early with no excuses will hopefully see me all the way through the rough bits. The somewhat confident plan is camping by the allegedly beautiful volcanic lake 200 kilometers away. (There is 200 kilometers and there is 200 kilometers!)

But lets have a few drinks first! Hey, bartender, old boy, get me a white russian, please!

-

Shit, a massive monsson rain just came on!

-

I'm getting up with the sun and by half past seven am already in town getting a quick breakfast, a pitch black coffee, stocking up on supplies in case the 'shit goes down' and filling up my tank to the fullest. By eight I am taking on the road to Kok Niek, a 100 kilometers of fairly decent dirt surface which shouldn't take more then two and a half hours to cover. Unfortunately, yes you guessed correctly, it takes me almost twice as long - the monsoon rain didn't spare it and being super concious about bikes stability from the fall two days ago I am forced to take it rather slow.

Spending almost two whole days in maintanance would normally mean no bike problems at all but since the nut on the drive sprocket is completely shot I have to stop on several occasions after loosing the drive on my back wheel. Few days ago I also found out that another nut on the transmission side is permanently welded on to the axel. What can I say... never let a mechanic near a bike they don't know.

When I finally make it to Kok Niek I stop at the local service shop and give the nut a good banging to make it a nice ellipse shape - it is a pretty brute force approach but as one mechanic in Malaysia put it, if you have no choice you have no choice (good use of English on that one)!

I've been feeling a bit weird all morning, not really being able to put a finger on it the first two hours until it finally strikes me that I am anxious and a bit freightened of driving. Going 'into the wild' in the clear state of mind is one thing but doing it after a crash is another. Also I had this merry dream of getting bitten by not one but two snakes, swelling up like a pumpkin and being left to die in the jungle all alone. Well, if that wouldn't depress you now what would!

I stop by a little eatery filled with locals watching a muai tai match but this time I don't stick around. I buy a bottle of water and ask for directions. The shop owner points in one direction and shakes his head. That way all flooded. He points to another road and says 'Bad, bad road. You need a guide.' I was thinking myself to get a guide since the stories suggest a really tough ox-cart track with lots of opportunities to get lost and when one of the lads offers himself to take me through the rough 40 kilometers for what seems to be a mere 10$ I do not hesitate and agree. I am really in no state to undertake it on my own and it is already half past one. 

All agreed we we take off into the wilderness, me and the two gents, my guides, sharing a moto.

After two kilometers on a good road westwards we cross onto a narrow trail north. It keeps zig-zagging around but it is otherwise fairly straightforward and relatively fast. As we continue so for another 15 minutes, crossing a few smaller puddles I am beginning to regret taking the guys with me. It is always a different experience doing it on your own. But what is done is done so I focus on the road and chase after my guides who managed to take off ahead. Not another fifteen minutes later the trail roughens and gets crossed by many other ones. Whenever we get 'lost' my guides don't bother retracing their steps but rather confidently take it across a forest or a rice field. It's almost unbelievable what Honda scooters are capable of - the guys seem to have no problem getting through any terrain, they don't even seem to have second thoughts.

And so we continue 'straight' on with a few cigarette breaks. At a few occasions when I stop to take a photo I am said to hurry up. A storm seems to be lurking on the horizon but looks to be quite far west for me to be really bothered. That is at least until we make a sharp turn west and the onset of rain seems now to be imment.

And so it is. An hour into the journey it suddenly gets dark and the rain comes on with all force. I stop to cover my luggage with an improvised rainproof sheet that is actually a torn bag used to transport corn and sugar and is not waterproof at all... But you go with what you've got.

In about fifteen minutes such an immense amount of water falls down that the track turns into a stream. As we head up a tiny little slope all the water comes rushing down and what was riding a while ago feels like water skiing now.

It takes another ten minutes for the surface of the road to turn to a complete slush. It takes all the effort of the arms and legs to keep the bike from tilting over. We slow down radically and I am now permanently settled in the first gear. My shoes are thoroughly soaked, the scab on my right knee nicely dissolved yet it keeps raining. When we cross a little settlement I glance to the right to see a family watching this masochistic procession.

At this point there is so much water everywhere that I cannot see the bottom of the then-trail and keep a good lookout on which path my guides are taking. When the bike ahead seems to struggle the guy on the back jumps down and pushes the moto out. It looks like they're used to it. I rev the hell out of the engine and manage to get out on my own.

And so we push on for another twenty minutes when the rain seems to be settling down a bit. It does not make any difference though since the damage's been done. The soil is soaked, or rather dissolved but still most of the water remains. A little straight ahead was transformed into a somewhat elongenated mini-lake but having no other option we push through. My engine dies out occasionaly and I keep watching my exhaust pipe being above the water level before attempting to start it again. At a few occasions I have to dismount and give it a good push to get it high enough to start and continue. I am truly impressed at having no problems at starting up - especially after the drowning incident from a week ago.

The land seems to be barely moving around us as we struggle in what is now a strolling tempo for the elderly. 

A long while later when the rain almost subsides and I feel my arms and the muscles on my thighs I never though existed burning we make another stop. The guides try to press on since they are planning to return back the same day. To me that seems insane since it will clearly be a deep night by then but then again, I'm not a hearty Cambodian. To reimburse my spirit I casually ask how far till the destination and when I'm told we're just about half way I'm lost for words. Well, except for 'Fucking hell!'. We've been at this for three hours already. And a good part of the journey was in the dry!

Before it started raining we crossed two rather shallow streams, not deeper then half a meter, at least in its shallowest crossing point. Now we arrive to another one measuring not more then five meters across but with depth upto my waist - I jump off and get into the water with the guides to find the shallowest route across. Just ten inches under the waist is the best we can find. Plenty high to submerge the scooter completely and leaving only the handlebars above the water on my Minsk.

The guides look at me and suggest we turn around. No way my friend! It is true I lost my gear pedal a minute ago - it just finally gave up the struggle and fell off together with the bit that was welded (not so) permanently onto the gear shifting axel. But we couldn't be more commited at this point being more then a half way in (from my point of view of course). And I still have the first gear afterall!

The guide throws me a smile that says he knew pretty well it wouldn't fly by. And so we lift the bikes one by one and struggle across the quickish stream with them half submerged. I've been cheering for the decision to get a guide for a while now and at this point I see the money spent as the best money spent in my year of traveling! (Otherwise I'd be forced to 'drown' it and then spent a good two hours cleaning and drying (drycleaning?!). The bikes start no problemo and with no applause we mount and continue in our travail, still most of the time half submerged. 

Only when it begins to get dark the water level drops and I can now see the bottom most of the time. The occassional 'dry' patches where we are totally out of water become more frequent and by the time the twilight sets on the 'dry' land prevails.

It is however getting more slippery, not sure whether due to the quality of the top soil or the fact that water was actually helping the tire's grip. Not much point in deliberating however since there is still loads of ground to cover and there is no option of camping out since my guides set out only in their shirts and jeans. (It makes me smile.) I gave up my jacket a while ago in favor of the other driver since he was visibly shaking from the cold and shared all my food supplies as well. It is actually refreshingly fresh riding only in my tee since that rain has calmed down. It is tropical climate afterall.

At this point my clutch starts complaining about all the mud and when I am forced to use it to prevent the engine from stalling it gets stuck and needs a kick or two into the engaging mechanism near my right food. In the pitch black it is quite a hit-and-miss effort and I keep (unintenionally) revving the engine with no power on the wheels waking up the whole forest.

It is indeed pitch black and with no end in sight. My guides push on as if it wasn't dark at all and I loose them on several occasions when I get stuck in deep mud and cannot get the clutch to disengage. My efforts at explaining that my light is pretty shit and they should slow down when I'm falling behind are met with empty faces whatever pictograms I draw in the air. Bollocks! And so I struggle on my own. At one point I choose the totally wrong route and end up loosing both of my shoes just before stalling in a knee deep water. Bollocks! I dismount and turn the bike around with whatever force that's left in my arms and after a three minute struggle get it out onto a dry patch just as one of the guys comes back. 'Now you tell me!' I mutter out loud when he points onto a little trail just right to my one.

I meet up with the other bike and ask for time out. A little applied brute force on the front light and I can now finally see. Unfortunately only everything to my right but it is progress afterall!

It seems like we've been at it for eterniity when I finally spot a light emerging from the forest. It is a tiny little thing but produces enough power for me to make out the outlines of a house. And there follows another one and another one. When we stop on a crossroad I am hoping that the lads have decided to stay for the night afterall but they are just lost for directions. What seems to me just a lucky guess we take the right turn and emerge onto what is clearly a rice field. The path continues on but is so flooded that the rice field option seems a much better idea.

That is at least until we are commited to it and keep sliding all over the place. The surface feels like an ice skating ring and I can't skate for shit. One of the guys is helping pushing the first bike through and they struggle enough to leave me to my own fate. I keep drawing half circles to the right and to the left while revving the hell out of the engine. The few attempts at clearing the glued clutch did not work and I all my efforts are now reduced to blindly kicking the right engine casing and pushing the bike forward with whatever force I can muster. When one of the guys comes back I am three quarters through and he helps me through the remaining bit. Seeing me pulling the throttle with no result makes him laugh out loud and I cannot but join. It actually makes me proud what my beloved Mr. Minsk is willing to undertake. (Little petrol and oil later sorts it all out!)

When my engine stalls again I can clearly hear music from the direction we're heading. That cannot be bad news! All the more eager we slide the rest of the way into a village.

When we make a stop at a local kiosk I cannot help but ask how far more and when I am told the Sre Pok river, the end of the rough bits, is only two kilometers away I am enthralled!

It is about eight now and I feel we've had enough. To cross the river we'd need to hire a ferry and my clutch has suffered so much punishment that I am quite concerned about its state. I refuse to go on and explain to the guys that I'd like to stay put here for the night. They insist on sleeping at home so I agree that they're duty was fullfilled and cut them loose.

It's time to settle the accounts, it wouldn't go without a drink so I buy three beers at the shop, and when I draw 15$ dollars out of my wallet with a little pride at the generosity of the tip I am surprised when they expect more.

'What do you mean more?' He draws four fingers out of his fist which can only suggest the forty thousand riel (10$) we agreed upon. Unless...

Yes, it is 40$. Forty bloody dollars for, well, quite a few hours of struggling but nevertheless. Forty bloody dollars! In the next ten minutes we establish the fact that the translation has been lost through the old man back at the restaurant who translated his forty dollars into my forty thousand riel. So there is nothing left to do now but to reach a compromise. Well, not much of a compromise since I end up paying him 32 dollars leaving only the last tenner for myself for the fuel to Bang Lung where I should find the next ATM. I think it is more then fair considering the misunderstanding - it is almost a months wages of the poorest people (not much of a comparison I know) and the fuel there and back wouldn't have cost him more then six dollars. Plus I would have never agreed to such price in the first place. He is still not happy but when in the next ten minutes I keep shaking my shoulders saying there is simply no money left he reluctantly gets up and heads for his bike. I see them off and as we say our goodbyes there seem to be no hard feelings.

Mad people, they are actually heading back in the dark.

Once they disappear into the night I walk back to where I parked my bike and continue on to a nearby house on stils. When we arrived a group of people were peeking out of the window to see what is all the commotion about and I can still here them from inside. I knock on the house's support beam since I'm too tired and I guess polite to climb the stairs to get their attention and when a lady puts her head out of the window I smile and ask if I can sleep under their house tonight. She agrees without a moment's hesitation and so I move my bike under the house and set up my bed on an elevated platform at the back. It is too hot to bother with a tent and the bugs are not too many either. 

  I sleep like a baby and wake up with the first light making its way through the nearby trees. I check the contents of my wallet and decide on a coke to wake up a bit. A coffee would be better but I have never seen anyone drinking any in small villages.

After a half an hour of bike maintanance where I clean and oil the clutch mechanism and after a few failed attempts at kick starting the bike I am finally waving my hosts goodbye and head off for the remaining few kilometers to the Sre Pok river.

Before leaving the village I find myself stopped by a good seven meter long and three meter wide puddle, not being able to find another route. I explore the best way through on foot getting my shoes stuck in the sticky mud. Finally I choose the western edge and after an intense labor on both my bike's and my part we're finally on the other side where an old man with very feet teeth stands grinning approvingly.

I ask about the best route forward and he draws a semicircle in the air. And so I follow his instructions crossing a little bridge over a small stream and head on north through a forrest. Not fifteen minutes of fairly easy terrain I spot a house in front to the right and a few meters later see the mighty Sre Pok river itself. I made it at last! I park my bike midway on the steep slope down to the river since my breaks are no longer working (the sticky mud again). A teenage boy appears from the house and sets on preparing the ferry consisting of two tiny long boats and an engine tied together with ropes and with a platform on top. After a combined effort we load the bike on and off we go across the muddy river which is supposedly the one depicted in Coppola's Apocalypse Now. 

How marvellous to be crossing the final obstacle! Once on the other side a similar steep slope is waiting and I have to push the bike up in the first gear with the help of the boy. This is it. Once at the top a nice tidy dirt road appears and I follow it sluggishly in the first gear through some lovely lowland country with rice and fields of other crops emerging on both sides. After a kilometer I get tired of the tempo and not expecting any steeper hills I use my wrench to switch the drive into second gear and later the third and follow the road to Lumphat. I spend a few minutes in search of moto service shop and once found I get my gear pedal welded back on and clean and tighten my front break - can't be bothered to do the same for the back wheel. The oil in my gearbox has turned white from all that water and I rinse it with a good litre of petrol. While I leave it to dry I have a little stroll around the river bank and have that coffee I've been craving. Sat down with my feet up - not very polite in the Cambodian culture, but there is no one watching me - I watch the slow pace of the river.

It is still morning as I set on for the final 60 kilometers to Ban Lung, the capital of Rattanakiri province, the last planned stop before getting out of Cambodia and back into Laos.

All photos slideshow.

Back in black, baby!

Finally back behind the wheels in Mr. Minsk's natural habitat!

I'm sat in a restaurant after a failed attempt at riding the tough road to the gold mines of Preh Meah stuffing my face with a cashew nut veggie stir fry.

I left past ten o'clock this morning and made it all 15 kilometers of the 47 - the latter 35 are so tough they take about three hours to cover - but was forced to return since my back break gave up on me. The hills were getting pretty intense and with just the front one working I found my heart pulpitating on several occasions.

So back to town, stop at the first service shop, lift the back wheel up, disconnect the drive chain, take the wheel off and open up the break. As expected it was covered in the disgusting super fine sticky mud - courtesy of a little incident two days ago when I managed to drown my bike in a rather deeper pool of water then expected - that however quite surprisingly did not wash or burn or whatever away in the 100 kilometers of the past days. So off to the shop to get some petrol and clean it all off. This improves the situation quite a bit but since the break pads are somewhat worn out a this stage (of course no replacements available from Laos to Singapore) so a more radical solution is required.

After a moment deliberation I take the parts and head off for the welding service. I show them how I need a little steel bit extended to provide more span of the break pads which are then in return able to break more easily and with more force. I do the sanding myself since the brute force approach of the welder makes me shiver and all fits snugly together in no time.

Back to the service shop, fit the break, put the wheel back on and, much sweatier, dirtier but all the more gritty I'm ready to go!

I check the clock on the shop wall and see that only two hours were wasted, a much much better performance then yesterday that saw me doing the maintanance all day long and since it is long past twelve I decide to head back to my favorite little lodge restaurant for lunch which brings us back to the whole 'cashew nut stir fry' bit!

Mondulkiri province is like no other in Cambodia. The countless little hills one stemming from another make the landscape average a whole 800 meters above the sea level. They are covered with pastures and rain forests and surrounded by the same immense sky as is granted to the lowlands of south. The sun shines with the same intensity here if not more but once a cloud passes over the chillier air becomes evident. The nights are actually so refreshingly cool that I was tempted to put on a jumper last night. All in all a wonderful and a refreshingly different place to all the rest of Cambodia! -

All right, it's getting late so I had better get on with it to get anywhere before sunset - the four hours might turn longer as previous experiences suggest but I am well equiped for a night in the jungle.

Knowing the first fifteen kilometers of the road and having now the perfectly tight breaks I speed as I can to make up for lost time. If the trip is really to take four hours I better hurry too. Something tells me the sun 'sets' earlier in the jungle.

First fifteen kilometers are through and so are the following two when the decent wide dirt road literally disappears into the jungle. I see a narrow passage just wide enough to snuggly fit a small truck and head on. Soon another path forks to the right - it is clearly the motorcycle trail I was advised to take. And so I hop on and off we go merrily through the dense forest.

Not three minutes later I hit some rough terrain with rocks and small boulders protruding from the ground. The sparse formations soon make way for a proper bolder dash and I have to slow down and hold on tight. It is one hell of a ride down a steep hill and I have to squeeze the breaks with all the force I got and hold on tight to make the two hundred meters all the way down. Half way through I get a sudden rush of panic since the slope strikes me as definitely one of those impossible to climb with my Minsk (previous experience from traversing the slopes of northern Vietnam) but since I am fairly commited at this point there is really no other way but forward. And so I continue down another bizarelly rocky path until I reach a shallow river. I get off to make sure it has no surprises in store for me and after a few skids I am safely on the other side.

Kilometer after kilometer of intense descent I am finally in a valley. It was the toughest terrain I had a chance to traverse yet and even though the surrounding forrest is simpy lush the handling of the bike leaves me little time to have a proper look. I pass two little villages and make sure I am on the right track and follow the trail up and down some smaller hills. The path occasionally crosses the rough wider road clearly destroyed by trucks. (Click here for the offroad video.)

 To cut the long story short after two hours and a lot of engine revving and even a little pushing up the steeper rockier hills I finally emerge into a vast lowland where the path gets much faster and I can speed things up a bit. Flying over a narrow path avoiding the coming up trees by inches is magnificent. I am so comfortable at handling my Minsk that I can afford to continue with the same speed when the path starts zig-zagging around. Three more quarters of an hour and I am clearly out of the forest and pass though a few little settlements with rather surprised looking local folk. Two villages later I am finally in Memong. I park my Minsk at one end of the streets and head on exploring on foot. I search the local 'shops' for something refreshing and manage to find a semi cold beer. The TV is playing in the background and a company of six Cambodians are sat in front of it. Before I have the chance to wonder at what is so interesting to have them all glued to the screen the ads finish and a muai tai match - or 'Cambodian boxing' as the patriotic Cambodians prefer to call it - takes over. It's the third road where the white guy gets the shit beaten out of him to immense cheer of the by-standing crowd. 'Good for them', I think to myself as I take a sip of my mildly cold beer and sit down on the offered chair. I take out my cigarettes and light one after offering a few around.

The match is over in twenty minutes with the Cambodian coming out quite decidedly the winner. I pay my respects and leave off to fetch my bike and drive further out to find a nice and safe (understand land mine free) spot a bit further away from the village.

Before I manage to get properly out of the inhabited area a man on a moto speeds by and jumps on his break a little ahead of me. He is wearing a hat with a white Police across, points at me and the direction back to the village. I tell him I am heading further ahead pointing the other way but when he repeats his gesture and says 'Police!' rather persuasively I smile, nod and turn around. Let's see what the police has to say!

We drive bavck through the village, passing the place where I watched the boxing match and onwards for about another kilometer. We pull up by a rather large two story house on stilts with two men sat down on the open bottom floor eating. It has gotten pretty dark as I dismount my bike and am lead to the two men.

They are both in their early thirties, well fed and not too bad off to - judging by the gold chains hanging off of their necks. As I walk towardws the table they give me an indifferent look of the position of power and offer a chair to sit down. A telephone rings and the shorter of the men picks it up and spends the next two minutes in a rather monotonous chatter with the person on the other end. The other guy is looking in another direction saying nothing so I just sit there and watch the two men in turns. My eyes suddenly fall on the edge of the table where a naked pistol is sitting silently with its barrel pointing straight at me. I grin since the situation does not seem dangerous - all we need is some proper gangster rap in the background and a few 'bitches' to shake their booties and all is set for a village music video. When the phone conversation is finally over the rounder and shorter man looks at me and starts off, to my surprise, in a fairly fluent English. He is a ranger in the local Wildlife preservation area and shares the office with the local police officer, the taller slimmer man with more gold around his neck on the other side of the table. The latter turns around and nods. Apparently he is interested in my purpose here and off I go explaining my destination of the nearby gold mines and my plan to sleep in a tent somewhere a bit out of the village. The ranger nods and translates to the policeman. A short conversation in Cambodian follows after which I am told that it would be best if I sleep here since the policeman is affraid of my security. Apparently there is a lot of snakes in the area and he does not want me to step on one going for a pee in the middle of the night (!?).

I try to object since I would like my privacy but the ranger is quite persistent so I have no other option but to agree. I am offered a hammock but since it doesn't come with a mosquito net I choose to put up my tent in the patch of grass surrounding the building,

Once I'm through showing them my passport of which they seem to be interested in every single detail I depart, leaving my passport behind for them to copy bits over, to put up my tent.

The nighty is hot and sticky and I am forced to leave the entrance open. It is not the first time I am cursing the fact there is no mosquito net and after being told about the snakes I put all sorts of bits of plastic and paper outside of the entrance to get an 'early' warning of the odd unwelcome visitor.

The night goes through without an incident though.

Next morning I get up early, have a quick shower from a two litre water bottle, pack up my belongings and ride off the last seven kilometers to the gold mines. I manage to get lost after being a bit too confident of the direction but after asking a few locals I arrive to Preah Meah safe and sound and with the sun rays still drawing sharp angles.

The town is a mesh of hastily built wooden houses that spread down a little hill onto another dug out to bits. Heaps of stone and dirt towering next to each other, tens of tubes and little streams channeling water used for dissolving the dirt and deep precipices - months long efforts at digging now left abandoned quietly drawing in water.

I make my way around jumping from one heap to another like a somewhat injured gazelle and take in the atmosphere. Little groups work each on their own little patch. The pace is not hasty at all - every single pound of dirt is examined thoroughly in few iterations. When I bring the camera to my eyes to catch the people at work I am not met with any surprise whatsoever so I assume they must be used to being filmed for documentaries and such.

I walk around greeting the people who smile at me widely - quite a different experience to the gold mines of Mongolia. I cross old wooden rails that are used to carry the heavy loads from the bottom of pits up where they're analysed. The humming of diesel engines is deafening - they're used for everything from pumping up water, pulling trolleys, crushing big chunks of dirt and filtering finer ones.

I draw a big loop onto the other side and share a cigarette with the three lads digging a pit under their own house. Land is getting expensive here I guess.

After climbing another heap I find myself face to face with a family of parents, both sets of grandparents, an uncle and five children all working around a little shaded area. They've got quite a little manufacture here - one of the grandmothers is sitting behind a massive engine crushing large soil chunks brought in by the uncle and some of the kids. She looks rather out of place here - I'm trying to imagine my 90 year old gran here... The father is looking after the filtering platform where the pumped up water dissolving the soil streams down the flat metal construction covered by sheets of rough absorbing cotton (closer examination reveals they are actually normal towels). These are used to catch the fine metal particles and are occasionally taken down and washed in big pots of water. This water is then examined manually deciliter by deciliter in conical shaped pans that the mother and the children rotate in their hands searching for the shiny yellowish gold dust.

It is amazing to see the whole family working so piecefully together. Not a word of complaint even from the smallest children - must be about seven years old. What childhood... I wonder how many days a week they're allowed to go to school and how much playtime they get. Observing all this makes me feel spolied beyong words!

I am disrupted in my contemplation when the father shouts something my direction and waves at me to come to have a look. The whole family draws together around one of the pans and I, poking my head through, see the fine gold dust shining out of the muddy water. Wow! I wouldn't have dreamed of seeing them finding anything in those fifteen minutes I've been around. Judging by their excitement I assume it is quite a rare sight for them as well and it makes me wonder how cost effective an operation this is. The gold dust found would not make a single gram of low quality gold and yet it must have taken them ages to find. But this is a poor country and any income is welcome in this place where an average man earns a single dollar for a hard day of working the land.

After filming a few videos I kindly thank them for the privelege and head back for the village to collect my bike. What an experience! I always though of a gold mine to be the place of low morals and general unhappiness but seeing a whole family bound together with a common goal, quite happy and serene in their ordeal... Buddhism really goes a long long way!

It's blazing hot now and it is still two hours till noon. It's promising to be a long hard day of riding all the way back. The dark clouds on the horizon last night might have brought some rain as well so it will be all the more effort. I better get going.

All photos slideshow.

Singapore

This is a truly cosmopolitan super modern and ultra clean city, full with culture and amazing modern designes that leave you gasping. It might have a feel somewhat similar to Hong Kong but with much lower population and less in-your-eyes wealth is much easier to digest. Out of the three planned days I stayed here a week and still didn't see it all!
All photos slideshow.