A random village party

Motorcycle diaries

Oh man... everything hurts!

I have been driving down a beautiful road for a good sixty kilometers but I could not bring myself to stop to take a single photo! That is how good I feel! But all will be better soon as I am now sat in a restaurant drinking a hair-of-a-dog beer! At least I hope so...

How did it come to this? Well.. The plan was to go trekking yesterday. Not wanting to join any organised tours because of too many people and too high a price I left Luang Nam Tha in the morning for Chalouen Suk, a village in the protected area. I did inspire myself by a few trek descriptions in the tourist agencies in town and armed with a little hand drawn map and three important phrases in Lao written down I was trying to get some of the locals to go with me. 

To my immense surprise however no one was interested even though I asked around three different groups of people. I didn't feel up to the challenge on my own - it is my premier trek in the jungle - not having where to leave all my stuff and mr. minsk either and on top of it all being told by a passerby with fairly good English that some falang have died in the area not too long ago did not help the confidence level either. I was thus advised to turn back to town and organise something from there. Thanks.

There was nothing that could be done and feeling somewhat disgruntled I was forced to mount my bike and aim for another village further southwest. Nam Ha it is called and that is the place where it all happened:

-

I drive through the village to see whether there any signs for treks, agencies, homestays etcetera. There are none so I turn my bike around and park it near a kiosk by a bridge. I can hear music in the background. 

As I dismount a loud cheer of a team of girls catches my attention. I turn around to see five girls giggling and pointing at my white body. Hello, ladies! 

As I stand there smiling widely I can see five more heads peeking through from behind the door. This is one hell of a party! 

Feeling not myself from the failure from before I do not feel like getting down there uninvited especially after seeing a young man walking out and giving me a cold face. I thus take out my camera and walk over the bridge to take a few photos instead. 

On the way back some of the girls are still standing at the door and wave at me. They wave and wave but I do not see any clear gesture of invitation so I wave back and point at myself and then at them to make sure all is understood. The giggle and nod their heads. 

Ok then, a party it is! 

I climb down the road bank and enter the house. As my eyes adjust to the changed light conditions I see fifteen girls moving their bottoms to the beats of Lao pop music and a few lads toasting with a laos-laos (the infamous Lao rice whisky). As they notice me coming in a large cheer is produced and I smile and cheer back! In no time a couple of the boys are catching me by the shoulders and forcing a shot glass into my hand. Here we go! 

The strong liquid doesn't have time to stop burning my temples before I'm taken by the hand into the circle by one of the dancing ladies... The party must have been going on for quite a while now since the girls are pretty wild and dance in manner that can be hardly called reserved. 

It doesn't take me long to get into it properly and within twenty minutes and two glasses of beer I am fully immersed and shake my bottom as hard as I can to the immense pleasure of the crowd - well, at least so I am judging by their cheers and laugh.

The next four hours are spent in drinking, dancing and singing. I feel like a giant in their company; being a good two to three heads taller then anyone else. 

One of the ladies is much more eager then the rest when it comes to sharing my company and keeps dragging me back to her each time I move away. When she hangs herself on my neck to bring my head down to hers for a rather juicy kiss I am quite startled but being fairly drunk at this point I do not object and surrender to her will. I pull my head away quickly when it dawns on me that I might be close to being chased out with brooms, hoes and machetes for seducing local girls but when the lady turns around and announces the kiss to the whole crowd which is answered with a loud cheer I feel quite relieved (and utterly embarassed). 

We dance some more and when all of the lao-lao seem to have disappeared the lady in question runs out and within three minutes comes back with a full one sticking a shot glass in front of my nose. And so I drink so more..

At this point it is time for karaoke and one of the agile lads grabs the mic and hits it of to an evident pleasure of the crowd. My lady - I choose to refer so to the lady in question - grabs me by hand again and starts pulling off some rather intense moves around me. I am beginning to feel like one of those pimps in the hip-hop music videos. Her hands are stroking my body from head to the waist and when they find body parts that are not meant to be found in public I am feeling a rather potent mix of excitement combined with terror (the machetes come back to mind!). I can clearly see where this is heading and my body is getting on the same train that's for sure! 

After another stolen kiss and a few subtle strokes I pull her away and give her a fairly explicit look.
But not now.. (The machetes come to mind again..)
When another bottle disappears I run out myself to get a few beers and another lao-lao from the kiosk by the road to reciprocate the hostpitality. By this time the dusk is settling on the valley and I, glancing at the bike, note to myself that this day there will is definitely no more road for mr. minsk and me.

Before seven o'clock the party starts breaking and I am proposed a few alternatives where to stay for the night. One of the women is offering me a place to stay for a few kip (Lao currency) but I am keen to spend the night with my lady who suggested so herself. 

And so we leave everyone behind and walk into the night to a house further up the road together just with a friend of hers. What can I say, I am at this point very keen to be left alone with her but it is not meant to be as we enter the hut to find a small group of people sat in a round on the floor. We join the circle and when it is my turn I down the offered beer and pass the glass back. The company is laughing about something but I do not understand and do not care either. 

When we finally get up I learn that we are going to another house with two other girls and will sleep all of us together. Damn, I think to myself. But then again, it could have been worse and this is another country and another culture too; I turn around in my head thoughts of all different sorts! 

Once we reach the bedroom which turns out to be the top floor of the house where the party took place and that is now completely deserted we take off our shoes and sit down. The girls are talking a bit in Lao and I listen and try to guess their intentions. But nothing really prepares me for what comes next! 

They all start giggling and tell me that I will sleep under the big mosquito net alone and they will go outside.
Are you serious?
I look at 'my' lady not being able to hide the rather total shock! They all pull off another school-girl giggle and run off downstairs before I have time to say 'But..'!

It is seven o'clock now and I am left alone and totally awake in a room of someone else's empty house!
God damn it! 
This is not just how it was not supposed to be this is totally bloody cruel! Fuelled by all the alcohol and the excitement from the rather random encounter I feel like an animal in heat! 

There is totally no way I can fall asleep now and so I put my shoes back on, run down stairs, light up a cigarette and wait. An idea has formed in my mind that the lady might come back leaving her friends behind. 

But the cigarette is finished, so is my duty to the bladder and there is no sign of anyone anywhere near. 

D-a-m-n! 

I climb the stairs back up, take out my laptop that is - thank god! - fully charged and immerse myself in a gangster movie about John Dillinger that I downloaded off of another traveller in Luang Nam Tha. It is no comparison to what I thought was an obvious plan for the night but it at least makes a good job at putting me asleep and thus at around nine o'clock all worn out I fall asleep -

alone...

All photos slideshow.

Luang Nam Tha province

In pictures...

The planned trekking in the Nam Ha National Protected Area did not happen due to a cold so I ended up exploring the area on my motorbike instead.

All photos slideshow.

Laos encounter

Motorcycle diaries

It's nearing five o'clock and I am finding myself in Dien Bien Phu, an old site of the successfull uprising against the French which ultimately lead to withdrawal of the collonial power and freedom for the Vietnamese. I have just finished a tour of the cemetary, the only landmark in this otherwise unimpressive town, and am contemplating whether to leave the country today or not. 

One more look around and the decision is made. So I mount my bike and off out of town we go. 40 kilometers to the border and a bit over an hour before sunset. It should be plenty enough to reach the other side.

At least so I think until I am good twentyfive kilometers into the journey and all signs of civilisation give way to the all encompassing jungle. I pass a road marker confirming I am on the ride track just as I am starting to have doubts. 

The road ascents higher and higher and with every 100 meters of elevation looses 10% of the asphalt cover. Soon enough I am left with what is for major part a dirt track botched with heaps of gravel that make my front wheel fly all over the place. But I adjust the speed, kick in the lower gear and accompanied by the high pitch of the growling engine I go on. 

The green jungle is starting to turn yellow with the late hour as I pass a rather rundown sign for a village five kilometers to the left. - I am quite reluctant to repeat the experience from two nights ago when after going out of my way to give a man a lift I had to search for a campsite in the dark and failing to find one had to continue for another twenty kilometers on an awfully dusty dirt track to have to settle for a night on a pile of gravel on what was a road building site. If the border will be closed by the time I get there I will at least have somewhere to come back to. - 

After another 8 kilometers on this excuse of an asphalt road I finally reach the top of the mountain where, to my immense surprise, lies a modern looking large two story building housing the customs and the border gate.    

As I park my Minsk a young and fine looking official gets out and greets me with a smile. He follows with the traditional 'where are you from', etc in quite a good English. 

The border is luckily still open and will be for another fifty minutes so all seems to be well. I wait for a good fifteen minutes for a customs official to declare my minsk for export and pass the time entertaining group of guards that have now surrounded me with my new google phone.

After I successfully fill out the declaration form for the bike I am asked for an export tax of 10 US$ which I, quite knowingly, pay and do not even expect to see a receipt. Afterall I want it all to go smoothly.. 

The passport control is a piece of cake and with another thirty minutes left I take off towards the Laos checkpoint. 

The nice newly paved road again disappears after a kilometer and the remaining five are driven on a rough dirt track. 

When I finally make it to the other gate it is already dark. The first Laos village is 10 kilometers away which in slow speed should be no problem to reach even in the dark whatever the road conditions are. 

But that is not meant to be as I find the Visa post completely deserted and have to call on an officer to go and find his relevant peers. After a good twenty minute wait a young man in civillian clothes and a rather unsteady walk appears to inform me of the fact that the road ahead is closed until ten am and so is now the border. 

Before I have the chance to note that I have been waiting here for twenty minutes which was well within the boundaries of opening hours he suggests that I can stay here overnight and sleep somewhere in the office.

Wow, the border patrol works quite differently here, I am truly stunned. 

I kindly refuse the offer and after pointing at my bike I draw the shape of a tent in the air. All is understood and I go off in search for a good spot for the night. After finding one I turn to a little canteen with loud music pouring out to ask for a drink but turn out invited to a dinner with all the officials present, including the doctor and the head of the border post. Since none of them is on duty we spend a good three hours drinking beer Lao style - three half full glasses are passed around and a random trio of participants down it in one go after toasting to whatever seems to be worth toasting to; generally good health and all that. At several occassions I feel like I can't do anymore since I am toasted with more then the rest of the group but I manage to go through it all with my dignity intact. I do however depart the company in a slightly sad state and wake up in a similar one after forgetting to hydrate before going to sleep. 

All packed and with my Laos Visa in the pocket I find myself on the road into Laos. Or whatever they call roads here. When I thought the way towards the border on Vietnamese side was bad I had another thing coming: the road here is literally just being built and I have to make way for the bulldozers to clear out and climb over the heaps of soil that are yet to be rolled flat. 

After crossing a river with no bridge around, stalling and pushing my bike a few times because of the amount of mud stuck under my rear mudguard I finally make it to Muang Khua, the first proper Lao town. The seventy kilometers from the border took only four and a half hours.

I cross the deep river that divides the town on a shallow slowboat with my Minsk lowered into it with a help of two local men (for a fee of course) and upon succesfully reaching the other side following a rather exciting twenty second boat ride I find a pub and a cool refreshing beer in a company of an Englishmen. 

Kevin, that is his name, a fourty odd year old expatriate has been living here with his Laos fiancee for over six months. She is a UN employee so I get to learn about their influence in the region ranging from opium growth replacement programs to helping building schools and infrastructure. 

I do not inquire as to what exactly he means by a fiancee after he tells me he spend last 10 years in the region having 'fiancees' all over Southeast Asia. Apparently though they got engaged - I can only assume so as to make their living together more pleasing to the lady's family. In the eye of the Lao law however any physical relationship between a man and a woman is prohibited until the couple is married. This, strangely, holds true for both the Laos and the falang (white). At any rate before I depart to find a spot for the night which turns out to be quite near to the river I get a tip and directions to visit a very authentic village in the nearby mountains which is on one of the UN programmes for poppy replacement and sofar sees no tourist traffic at all. It is supposed to be a truly beautiful spot and it is thus my plan for the following morning.

I leave the town around nineish and follow a rather deserted asphalt road for about 40 kilometers before stopping in a village to ask for directions. I am sent up the hill on a dirt track and after another 20 kilometers of dusty landscape I park my Minsk on a mountain top at a UN plate near the entrance to a village. It is not the village I am after but I fancy a short stroll after the forty minute bumpy ride. 

As I am unpacking my camera to take a few photos a woman in her fifties comes to me. After we exchange hellos she points to her foot to a rather ugly cut that is yet to be healed. She looks at me and points at my luggage. Seeing so much UN traffic here she must assume I am UN personnel too. So I dig into my backpack and take out my medkit and send her off to wash the wound. 

By the time she is ready to apply the antisepic spray we are surrounded by a dozen children and a few other adults including an old woman with bloated neck. Once I patch the first woman's foot and let her take my hands into hers in gratitude she points to my antiseptic and then to the tumor on her neck. Her eyes are pleading for help but I have nothing to give to her. The initial excitement from helping someone is all but gone and I am feeling really awful for not being able to do anything. I stroke her arm and appologise warmly before getting up. Another man comes to me and points at a scab on his daughter's shoulder. It seems to be healing nicely from what I can tell so I just nod and push my way out of the circle. I shouldn't have played a doctor, now I can see that. Luckily noone else comes to seek my 'expertise' and after inquiring which way to go to get to Hong Lerk I am finally on the way out waving back to the crowd.

About a kilometer or two I am forced to stop to help a clearly drunk but very congenial man to take his motorcycle out of the bushes just above the precipice where he parked it unintentionally. We shake hands and I watch him take off in the other direction. Better luck this time, my friend.

After another 7 kilometers I finally arrive to the plate saying 'Hong Lerk - 4 kilometers'. It points to a narrow path into the forrest. As I take on the road it turns out to be wide enough for a car but gets quite steep at points and I have to rev the engine in the first gear to get enough rpms for the engine not to stall. 

After a few minutes I make it to the village entrance. It is surrounded by wodden fence, something I have not seen before, and I have to climb a set of 'stairs' to cross onto the other side. 

I feel like a proper alien as I am making my way though not really knowing whereto exactly. I have been told by Kevin to seek the village chief - naibaan in Lao - and that is precisely what I am planning to do. 

When I notice a woman near one of the houses on the left stareing at me quietly I ask for naibaan and not until I repeat a few times with different tones am I pointed the right direction. 

As I pass through the older villagers observe me quietly. Young children run screaming at the sight of me. A man standing by calls on his older sun to take me to the chief when I stumble across a crossroad and have no idea which way to continue. 

Now I am followed by a pack of dogs which like me even less and I have to turn around constantly to make sure my ankles are not being chewed on. 

When I finally get to meet the chief I am quite surprised at how young he looks. He speaks no English and I no Laos so I repeat the only two words he might understand: Kevin and Muang Khua using my hands to draw a connection. He does not seem to grasp that Kevin is his alleged friend from the town and I am beginning to have doubts as well but he understands where I am coming from and why I am here. That is good enough and when he suggests I stay in his house for the night all is on the right track. I go back to my bike to fetch my guidebook and map so we have something to talk about. Unfortunately I have no phrasebook this time and the few phrases in the guidebook are insufficient for even the most basic of conversations. We however still manage to go though the origins and family stuff and I learn he's got a wife of the age 25, himself being 34, and has got two kids. Two are enough he gestures when I suggest when there are more coming. When the silence becomes somewhat ukward again we turn to some more lao-lao (local rice whisky) and I suggest a walk around the village. 

And so we walk around with him trying to explain to me where what things are and I, understanding half of it, give up trying to inquire more and pretend I understand. Relationships are happier that way, so much I've learned on my travels sofar. I do however get to see where they plant their rice, where the kids play and learn, where people go to pray and where they are building a dormitory for the future tourists. I smile at the privilege of being the first and wonder whether any good will come out of this for the villagers. They seem to be so happy in their own secluded way of life and I cannot see any joy coming out of a bunch of westerners with shiny cameras running around and taking photos of anything that moves. I am being very subtle in my camera work and choose not to take photos of people. Not the ones I do not know and not too much anyway. I feel like an intruder enough as it is! 

The kids are still running away at the sight of me but are curious enough to follow me when I am not looking. The second half of the village tour sees a trail of a good dozen of kids running back and forth each time I turn back and around. 

The lao-lao now spread evenly in my veins made the feeling of akwardness fully disappear before we get back to the house. The day is now shifting towards dusk and I suggest I go on for a little walk by myself. The chief is clearly somewhat relieved to get a bit of time off when I take my camera and depart for a little hike around the area. When I turn to a trail up a hill and encounter a young woman carrying wood for the fire she cries out in sheer panic and starts back into the forest until what is clearly her mother knowing about my presence tells her it is ok. I smile a guilty smile and she an appologising one as we pass each other. 

The view from the top of the hill onto the other side is magnificent. A wide valley and mountains on the horizon.. 

I am back in the house just in time for supper which is at this point very much welcome. We eat upstairs, that is me and the chief - everyone else eats on the groundfloor. I am the guest who came to see the village chief afterall. The food is uberdelicious. Three different kinds of fish pate with basil, mint, garlic and lime. We eat raw mint and some other green leafs dipped into a chilly sauce (fantastic) and as the side is the laos-home sticky rice which is eaten from a ratan bowl with bare hands. 

After dinner the whole extended family moves upstairs for entertainment and I do my best to provide some. I take out my laptop and present them the photos of the places I've been in the past 8 months. Mongolia seems to fascinate them the most and upon seeing the camels they all exhale in surprise and disbelief. 

And so the day finishes on a merry note and around nine o'clock when we all depart to our respective beds. I am staying in the 'living room' and sleep on one from the row of mattracess with the two other left unoccupied. I do not feel bad about taking someone else's place anymore since their hospitality would prevent me sleeping anywhere else anyway. 

The morning starts early, before six o'clock when it is still dark. I sleep in a little bit not to pressure the hosts with their hosting duties so early in the morning and get up with the first sign of light. The cocks are quite persistent at this hour and the last thirty minutes can be hardly called sleep. 

After breakfast I pack up my stuff and head on since the chief is going on some business out of the village anyway. I shake hands with the family and the chief's parents, take the one and only photo as a memory and depart to my motorcycle. After getting it all ready for departure I go on for a little hike in the surrounding hills to make the day start the right way.

As I walk I contemplate on the value of tourism and cannot bring myself to believe that the village will benefit from this in any other then financial way. The UN is basically extorting them in exchange for financial aid. But then again money spent has to be money earned and with poppy production now banned this seems like the only one legitimate way of bringing the community out of poverty. After my somewhat paradoxical visit - not doing the touristy thing I felt like the ultimate tourist - I can only hope that whatever the UN has got planned will be well thought through and executed carefully so as to not break the delicate balance that holds this secluded community together.

All photos slideshow.

Down the Northwest

In pictures...

I left Sa Pa behind and in a few days slowly made my way west and down south through various landscapes towards the northernmost Lao border at Tay Trang. I got to drive under influence again, cruise a deserted mountain road, swear at the immense heat, jump into a river from a 6 meter high rock with half a dozen kids, sleep at a Black Dzao family home, on a roadside pile of gravel and give a good sixty kilometre lift on rather bad roads to a Vietnamese lad in flip-flops... After all see for yourself.

All photos slideshow.

Sa Pa and the minorities

In pictures...

Pictures from my week long stay in Sa Pa in the northwest of Vietnam. Since riding takes a significant amount of my time these days I do not have as much left to write stories as I have done in the past. Instead I comment the pictures more thoroughly so you can get an idea of what was going on from browsing through the photos.

In summary though I met a local girl called May from the Red Dzao minority in one of the bars and end up spending some time with her. She took me to her village where I got to see how her parents and most of their tribe live. It is a poor place but it is nice to be surrounded by the authentic way of life unlike in Sa Pa, wher most of the minority people choose to better their standard of living by selling tourists all sorts of trinkets.

It was quite bizarre to see the minority people dressed in their local clothing talking colloqueal English with foreigners and trying to force their goods on them in a rather cunning fashion. Seeing kids as young as seven doing the same is however more a saddening sight and after going on a hike through a few villages in the nearby valley and having kids running after me and asking for money I even got to feel depressed.
I understand the desire to strive for more when it is there to be had but taking it out on children is a treat too bitter for me. It is thus quite easy to refuse to hand out money - it will only bring more corruption to the community then help. This is certainly no way to bring people out of poverty!

I also did some offroading - the first one quite unintentionally when I managed to get my bike to where the road simply stopped and being me I refused to turn back so there. But it turned out quite nice as I got invited for lunch to one of the houses scattered over the mountain and after the feast got to drive the rest of the journey down fairly merry from all the rice wine I was 'forced' to drink. But all ended up well as you can see..

All photos slideshow.

Into the mountains

Motorcycle diaries

God damn, it is cold!

A layer of haze and mist raised my hopes up as I got my ass out of bed at an unbelievable time of 7:20. By 8 I was already in fourth gear and making my way on the meandering road up into the hills and realised that it is only to get colder.

And it did.
And it does.
I stopped in the last bigger town for the next 250 kilometers to have my morning coffee. God knows when I'll have the chance next.
It's slightly depressing to find out that although I am driving fast, or at least as fast as the roads and the sane person in me allow yet I am doing only slightly over 30 kilometers an hour on average. Quite a depressing thought really, with the 300 kilometers left to get to Sapa. Will see how far we'll manage before it is too dark or too cold. Something tells me the latter is more likely to happen first.. -

It has been only three days since I said good bye to Doris who has been a lovely companion on my journey along the fascinating limenstone scenery of Halong Bay. My poor Minsk was struggling to cope with all that weight - my saddle bags, two backpacks and another person on top of it. But it has managed well and so did I and my nerves since the steering felt more like driving a boat rather then a motorcycle - no accidents and no near-death experiences either!
My relationship with Doris was rather unique, in fact so unique that I cannot but share it with you since we seemed to get through quite a few stages in the little time frame of our week together.
As relationships tend to start we were too initially fascinated by each other, after a few drinks at a bar we realised we share similar philosophies on travelling and life and have much more in common then with most of the people we met in months. In the solitude of travelling on one's own it is more then enough reason to feel very close. In no time we ended on the beach bathing naked in the moonlight and.. well, it didn't end there.
In the evening of the next day we decided to leave the island for a little road trip to wherever the wind will takes us. The excitement from the adventure was at least for me superimposed by the terror of driving the colossal weight up and down the steep slopes.
Our first night in a tent shown first cracks in our perfect little relationship - the company of half a dozen children from the nearby village was much enjoyed by Doris and not so much at all by me. The physical attraction has somewhat ceased by the morning of the next day and after the hours of riding we were happy to just sit around holding hands as lovers do.
On the fourth day we discovered that our conversation has reached its peak and it is not such a joyous ride down hill; we came to a realisation that we indeed do not have as much in common as was initially thought but the warm feelings toward each other and the activities were plenty enough to enjoy our day together.
On day five we became good friends, taking comfort in each other's company, not saying too much since all has been said but feeling very at ease with each other.
On day six, the day we were supposed to say goodbye but did not I started feeling a certain anxiety from not following my plan thorough and not being on the road to Sa Pa already. Day seven thus brought a somewhat welcome good-bye and the end to our little marriage of the moment.

-

Hello, hello. I am immediately greeted by a large group of well-off Vietnamese dining in the roadside eatery with their huge SUV sitting still near where I park my Minsk. 76 kilometers have passed since my last stop and I am more then ready for lunch. The time says 12 o'clock as I order the Vietnamese signiture dish Pho Bo - noodle soup with beef.
One of the more agile Vietnamese invites me to the table for a happy new year toast with some home made appleish brandy. I toast to the good health of the company and sit myself at a nearby table taking out my laptop, pouring myself a good warm cup of tea from a nearby teaset after filling the kettle with hot water from a nearby thermos and wait for my food.
A big warm bowl of soup arrives in no time in the hands of the equally warm cook who retreats only to come back with even wider a smile and some sort of pickled radish of which I take plentyful. Some chilly sauce and pepper are mandatory to season the otherwise quite plain dish and I am ready to dig in. I stop only to blow my nose - the chilly and the wind are the best decongestants I must admit.
The last sign post about 70 kilometers back said Lao Cai - the northermost Vietnamese post in this region - is 165 kilometers away. There is thus about 90 kilometers left. I check my wonderful new Google phone to find out I was doing about 40 kmph on average - that is not bad at all since a good third of the way the road was wet from rain. It's been overcast the whole way but I am sofar quite luckily avoiding all but a few drops.
Three more hours should therefore get me all the way up and from there it is only another forty kilometers west to get me to Sapa. I might make it there tonight afterall!
Food is finished and I am just about to set out when another batch of well-off Vietnamese settles down at another table and before I know it another agile man is standing in front of me with another shot to toast the new year. What can I do but to accept, smile and down with it! I can feel the immediate warmth as the strong liquid spreads through my body but I am forced to refuse another pointing to my bike. The man understands.
The break was nice but it is time to go. As I mount my beast and fire up the engine I raise a hand in a goodbye answered by multiple others waving back I put in the first gear and hit the road once again.

-

Being a bit superstitious never hurts and I am learning the hard way - soaking my completely wet socks while waiting for a coffee. I could have picked a better spot then the side table at a cafe to do this but it was a rather spontaneous decision and aftermath does not apply.
It started raining almost immediately after taking off from lunch but all was ok until the last 20 minutes of the ride. The Vietnamese rainsuit I bought works quite fine except that it is good 15 inches shorter then would be welcome. Together with a big puddle in the middle of the road it creates a perfect setup for my thoroughly wet shoes!
After a traditional local brew of coffee - I must admit I really am liking the Vietnamese blend - I hit the road for Sapa. I have another hour before it gets dark and for the 35 kilometer ride it should be plenty enough.
Getting out of town turns out to be more seamless then expected. After taking a right turn to do a quick tour of the city centre before heading off I, surprised, find myself on the right road to Sa Pa.
It is getting visibly darker now but I slightly hesitantly stop twice to take a picture of the unfolding scenery. As usual the views are much more magnificent fifty meters further from where I decide to stop but I have no longer time for any dealys if I am to make it to Sapa before it's dark.

The road slowly meanders out of the inhabited surroundings and up a hill after hill. The roadside marker says 25 kilometers left to Sapa when it starts to rain again. This time the drops, even though lesser in numbers, are big enough to make me choke before I have the chance to pull down the protective shield on my helmet.
The road is becoming steeper and steeper and I am forced to exercise my clutch more then I would like. Soon enough the constant bends prevent me to reach enough speed to have the engine purr comfortably in the third gear and have to resort to the high rpms of the second one. But it is ok however loud and painful the engine sounds, the two strokes were made to be reved as far up as the throttle allows.
And so I struggle up the hill with an occassional car passing me by. Within a few kilometers a thick layer of fog spreads onto the road and with the late hour the visibility is reduced to minimum. The rain has not subsided and I can feel the shivers from the cold crawling down my spine. Another road marker brings bad news - it is another 18 kilometers to my destination and in the sudden and overflowing desire for warmth I rev the engine even more and stop bothering with changing the gears at all.
After another six kilometers I have to jump on the breaks to slow down the bike to almost a halt since most of the road is covered in a thick layer of soil washed down in the extensive rain from the slopes on the right. After a few more kilometers the road has been completely washed away and an ongoing building work is trying to reestablish it on a more secure ground further away from the precipice. I have to cross a temporary surface of large rocks and sticky mud and almost end up bathing in one of the puddles when my front wheel neerly looses grip on one of the accumulated piles of mud.
All goes well from then on and the excitement of the past events even warms me up a little. Soon enough the thick fog steps aside and I am allowed a magnificent view of the truly majestic mountains. I have been climbing constantly upwards for the last twenty kilometers and the country here bears no resemblance to the one below.
I bring my Minsk to a stop at one of the wider spaces on the side of the road and dismount. A tiny patch of dark blue sky shines through the thick layer of clouds hovering over the mountain top and I stare at it in disbelief. It's been almost a week since I had the chance to catch a glimpse of it.
I am beginning to loose feeling in my fngers in my thoroughly wet gloves and decide to move on. It is still ten kilometers to go and the night is almost at the door.
I push on for the rest of the journey and soon find myself surrounded by little houses making way to bigger ones and the occasional light from the windows replaced by the shine of the street lights. I am now thoroughly soaked and cannot stop shaking as I start a search for a cafe where I could melt my stiff bones and decide on a hotel. The place is however quite deserted and there are no signs of cafes or hotels anywhere in sight.
I pull by a little eatery near the road where the kind hosts offer to share their fire as I struggle to free my fingers from the sticky gloves.
As I can finally feel the shivers go away with a help of a few cups of hot tea I am told by my hosts that the town centre is a bit further down the road and I surely cannot miss it.
Reinvigorated I mount my bike, wave them goodbye and continue down the road as advised. Within two minutes I am welcomed by the extensive yellow warmth of the abundant street lighting difussing in the fog that is again taking over the land. Few neon lights advertising restaurants and hotels pop out from behind a corner and I know I have finally arrived.

I book myself into one of the hotels advised in my guidebook and after a super hot shower change into dry clothes, put on my thin sports shoes, the warmest alternative to my soaking wet boots and head out into the night in search for food and internet connection.
A certain integrity issue is forming in my mind as I sit myself down in a nice looking French restaurant and order a big juicy steak and a beer. The pleasure I feel from the contrast of an hour ago and now is however too strong not to shut off the trail of thought that is reminding me how I am trying to avoid all things too touristy.
I am not sure who said 'if it feels good it can't be that bad' but I cannot agree more as I take a first bite of the delicious cuisine! Kudos to the chef and healthy appetite!

Halong Bay

In pictures...


All photos slideshow.