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.. -
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
No comments:
Post a Comment