the motorcycle diaries

After five months on the road, one of the best experiences that we’ve had, by far, was doing a seven-day motorcycle tour of northwestern Vietnam.  Surprising as it may be, this was not my bright idea.  Nope.  That credit goes to Aman who bought his first motorcycle when he was in college, has been riding ever since, and was bent on seeing Vietnam on two wheels. 

Riding a motorcycle with Aman, in theory, sounded fun enough.  But, as Troy Wegner could tell you, I had my reasons for saying no to the idea of jumping on the back of a bike with Aman.  Let’s see… there was the time that Aman and I went snowmobiling in Vermont.  Aman gladly volunteered to bring up the rear of our group, and used his position as last in the pack to alternatively hang back and then punch the gas to see how fast he could go.  (He only flew off the side of the mountain once.)  Then, there was the time that Aman and I went to Turks & Caicos for a long, quiet weekend.  It took three days for Aman to convince the hotel employee in charge of beach activities that he could handle a Hobie Cat without any prior sailing experience.  The employee’s last words before we set sail was, don’t tighten the rope that connects the sail to the rudder (i.e., so as to avoid going too fast).  Guess what Aman did first?  And, there was also the time that I went jet skiing in Key West with Aman and Troy.  It was a beautiful excursion around the entire island.  I, however, couldn’t walk for four days afterwards – the result of straining every major muscle group in my body for an hour and a half in a serious effort not to get thrown from the jet ski as Aman gleefully chased Troy, and vice versa. 

But, as Aman reassured me months ago, there’s no room for messing around when you are driving a motorcycle.  It isn’t like snowmobiling or sailing a Hobie Cat or jet skiing.  The potential hazards in a third world country (e.g., potholes, errant cows, oversized tour buses that ALWAYS have the right-of-way, drunk-driving tourists) are countless.  And, by the time Aman and I reached northern Vietnam, we had spent enough time together on a motorbike in other locations on this trip, that I was feeling really comfortable on the bike with him.

To get our adventure started, we Aman did a lot of research into companies that offer motorbike tours in Vietnam.  We were initially hoping to do a tour that left from Ho Chi Minh City and went to Hanoi (since we entered the country in the south and were making our way north), but as it turned out, the motorbike tour operators only run trips from Hanoi to HCMC.  So, we had to adjust our plans – to fit in a motorbike tour before leaving Vietnam, we had to take the open bus north from HCMC (which we did), and find a tour that both started and finished in Hanoi.

We ultimately decided to go with a company in Hanoi called Voyage Vietnam.  One of the co-founders of the company, Nguyen, worked with us over the phone for weeks to customize our tour – a seven-day, six-night voyage into the misty mountains of northwestern Vietnam.  We met with him at the office of Voyage Vietnam two days before we left in order to review the final itinerary, get fitted for our gear, meet our local guide, Binh, and test ride the bike.   

Getting fitted for the big ride!

It was a long day and I’ll admit that, at times, I was visibly skeptical about certain details… most importantly, the bike.  It was late afternoon by the time the bike was ready to be inspected, and we were standing outside Voyage Vietnam’s office on a chaotic, narrow street in Hanoi’s old quarter.  Whereas I was expecting to be introduced to a 150cc cruiser, I found myself staring at a 250cc Yamaha dirt bike.  It was absolutely huge.  We’re going to ride this for seven days, I asked Aman, eyebrows raised.  You’ll be fine, he replied assuredly.  Let’s go get a beer.

Two mornings later, Aman and I were back at Voyage Vietnam’s office, packed and ready to hit the road.  What we needed for the week was packed in our smaller bags, which we stuffed in saddlebags or covered in tarps and tied down to Binh’s bike.  (Everything else we stored in the office.)  Even with my hesitation about our bike (that couldn’t be shaken, even after a beer), we were both pretty excited.  We waited patiently as Binh made some last minute adjustments to our bike and then FINALLY, we were off!

We made our way out of Hanoi’s old quarter, and quickly on to a main road/highway that would eventually take us out of the city.  (NB:  I’m not sure how to classify a four-lane road/highway that didn’t have traffic lights, but did have pedestrian crossings… but, that’s essentially the road we were on, for the most part.)  I hadn’t appreciated how big Hanoi was until we started driving out of it.  Traffic was a busy, disorderly mess until we hit the interchange for National Road No. 6.  We had the option to stay on this road for most of the morning.  Binh, however, told us at our first coffee break that we could take another road – one that was a little more challenging, but a little more scenic.  Aman and I replied in unison that we would take the more difficult route.  We turned off Road No. 6, just as mountains began to appear in the hazy distance, and from there, things just got greener and greener.

Along the way, we drove through small villages surrounded by fields and fields of rice, sugarcane, fruits and vegetables.  There were few shops that sold anything other than food stuffs, as folks in these parts venture to the nearest town should they need anything special.  The road was mostly paved, but it was narrow and pretty much devoid of any other motor traffic.  Locals drove the few motorbikes on the road, and – more often than not – they carried chickens and pigs on the back as their passengers. 

For lunch, we ate in a small roadside joint that was typical of the region, the kind where you order either “lunch” or “dinner,” and wipe your utensils and plates with a tissue before using them.  But, make no mistake, the food was still pretty good.  We dined on the same dishes as everyone else in the place, and talked to Binh about the small village where we were staying that night, Mai Chau. 

A popular place to see one of the many “hill tribes” (or ethnic minority groups) of Vietnam, Mai Chau is inhabited mostly by the White Thai.  Hours after lunch, we caught our first glimpses of their colorful village from the top of a steep, misty pass that we spent all afternoon climbing.

As we descended into the amazingly tranquil valley, we passed banana trees, women on the slopes beside the road collecting brush to feed their cows, and groups of women working together in the rice paddies.

We spent our first night in the home of a local family, which is known as doing a homestay, a “must-do” while in northern Vietnam.  It was one of the most amazing highlights of our motorcycle journey.  The particular house where we stayed was a traditional Thai house built on stilts.  Our quarters consisted of nothing more than a large room with a roll-up mattress laid on the floor, but it was clean and comfortable, and we had a stunning view of the rice fields that blanketed the valley floor outside our window.

The house where we stayed:

The view from our window:

Also, the family that hosted us was unbelievably welcoming.  We couldn’t believe our good fortune to be sitting atop cushions on the floor in their living space, eating a homemade feast that they spent hours preparing for us.  Spring rolls, slices of pork prepared in a wok, various plates of cooked vegetables.  It was simple, yet this is not the type of village where you pick up groceries at the supermarket for dinner – i.e., everything was outrageously fresh, and really tasty. 

We ate dinner and drank homemade rice liquor that, we thought, tasted a lot like sake.  It was served in little shot glasses.  Before drinking, we raised our glasses and jubilantly said chups-a-hoi [sp] to wish each other good health, per the local custom.  Binh taught us that one.

The next morning was beautiful.  After saying good-bye and thank you to our hosts, we jumped on our bikes and motored through the village and the rice paddies where the local Thai were already hard at work in the basin of the valley.  There were women in conical hats dotting the fields, mountains surrounding us from every side, and complete quiet other than the sound of our motorbikes.  Beautiful.

Binh had asked us, the night before, whether we wanted to take another difficult road that morning.  He told us that the difficult road was nothing more than gravel and dirt, unless it was wet, in which case, it would be mud.  He said it would be very bumpy and much more difficult to navigate than the road we took the day before.  Since this sounded way more fun than a paved highway, we said we would do it.

We encountered the turn off for our route about an hour after leaving Mai Chau.  In the lower reaches of the mountain, the road was gritty, rocky and rough.  We weaved in and around the dips and bumps of the road.  When Aman downshifted, I could hear birds singing, but nothing else.  We stopped in small villages that consisted of nothing more than 10 or 15 houses, out in the middle of nowhere.  In between villages, we passed groups of little children walking down the side of the road who screamed HELLO!! as they waved and smiled.  We laughed and waved back.  We didn’t see another tourist all day.  Only locals. 

Lumberjack:

We spent the entire morning climbing up the mountain, which was very steep at times.  As we got higher up in elevation, it got cloudier, the air became more saturated, and the road got unbelievably muddy.  Binh kept a close eye on us.  He would tell us later how impressed he was with how well Aman handled the bike; it slipped every now and again, but we didn’t fall, get stuck or break down once. 

We finally emerged from the mud road at a very high altitude and, literally, in a cloud, which we watched blowing across the road off the slope of the mountainside.  After stopping for lunch in a local restaurant similar to the one we ate in the day before, we continued on, through cascading terraces of rice fields and rolling hills of green tea plants, towards the Black River.  Not all of the mountains that we passed were green – a lot, in fact, had barren brown sides, waiting for the next season to be sown.

Contrasting landscapes:

Reaching the edge of the Black River, we took an interesting-looking ferry to the other side and started heading up the neighboring mountain to Bac Yen, where we would spend our second night.  Along the way, we passed tribeswomen dressed in traditional, colorful clothing walking from the mountains where they worked all day.  Many of them had baskets strapped to their backs full of chopped wood.  Every now and then, we would stop for a little bit to hang out on the side of the road and soak it in.  We were invariably on some deserted stretch of road at a high elevation.  The air was fresh and it smelled like pine.

Bac Yen, once we reached it, was unfortunately nothing spectacular.  In fact, it was probably the lowlight of our motorcycle tour.  We stayed in one of only two hotels in town – if that gives you any sense of how remote our location was and the relative size of Bac Yen.  The place was what Jim Rogers would call, a five-flea hotel, and it would be an understatement to say that we were incredibly grateful to have our Cocoon TravelSheets® that night.  These awesome sheets were farewell gifts from a group of awesome friends before we left New York – thanks guys, you saved us.

We drove out of Bac Yen the next morning, descending through the mountains and heading further north towards Son La, where we would have lunch.  Spectacular landscapes all around us, we snaked along the road, a series of s-curves and hairpin turns.  Livestock running around everywhere.  As we approached Son La, we saw women on either side of the road harvesting maize.  We stopped in Son La briefly to eat and also, to visit a former French prison.

Back on the road, we were heading towards Tuan Giao, where we stayed our third night.  The ride continued to be amazingly bucolic.

Pulling into Tuan Giao, we encountered the busy main center of town.  For a small town, there was a fair amount of activity in the late afternoon.  And, heads turned as Aman and I pulled in on our 250cc monster!  We were over 500 kilometers from where we started by now, and the length of time that people stared in our direction seemed to have a directly proportionate relationship with our distance from Hanoi.  The further we went, the more they stared in curiosity.  This was totally fine.  We were staring in fascination too, as the further we drove, the more colorful the tribal women were dressed, and the more elaborate were the cylindrical turbans that they wore on their heads.

We followed Binh to our hotel, which – hold on – looked frighteningly like the one we had stayed in the night before…  After inspecting the room, we told Binh that we’d like to check out some other options.  We tried the place next door, which was no better than the first.  But one of the friendly employees told Binh to take us to the place across the street, which was apparently the most popular one in town for Westerners.  It was a precious little family-run hotel with a pretty courtyard and clean rooms, and a huge improvement over the place across the street.  Better still, one of the family members spoke…  English! 

After deciding to take the room, we sat down to relax after a long day on the bike.  We ordered two Bia Hanoi, and not long thereafter, we were asked what we wanted to eat for dinner.  We chose from a menu of items (a rarity), and then watched from our terrace as one of the women downstairs walked to a garden across the alley from our hotel and start picking vegetables for our dinner.  Outstanding!

Dinner was amazing.  In addition to the food, we were served homemade corn wine (it didn’t taste that much different than the rice wine we tried two nights earlier).  Aman and I impressed our host with our knowledge of chups-a-hoi, and learned a new local custom – after saying chups-a-hoi, you shake your fellow drinking mates’ hands as a sign of respect.  Many handshakes later, the owner invited downstairs to the hotel's karaoke lounge.  I innocently explained that I had never done karaoke before (crazy, right?), but I would go along strictly to observe.  I had no interest in singing karaoke, but I couldn’t stay behind when (a) Binh was proclaiming to be a Vietnamese Sinatra, and (b) Aman was betting him that he (Aman) could sing better.

The karaoke room was quite nice with new equipment, a wide selection of cheesy American ballads from the 80s/90s, and a comfortable sitting area.  To his credit, Binh was pretty darn good.  And maybe, since there was no one in there when we arrived, I even joined in to sing an off-key duo with Aman.  After a few songs though, about seven Vietnamese guys piled in the room.  The owner explained that these guys had a reservation.  They didn’t mind sharing the room with us, as long as we didn’t mind sharing the room with them.  Of course not!  The night only got more hilarious from there.  The Vietnamese guys (none of whom spoke English) were good-natured kids who smiled a lot as they cheered on our performance.  We cheered them on in return and, in between all the cheering, we squeezed in a chups-a-hoi.  Of course, when Aman and I reached out to shake hands with them, they went wild and we had to chups-a-hoi all over again.  Ridiculous.  This scene repeated itself several times throughout the night.

Of course, the next morning, Aman woke up singing (to no one in particular) Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins, as he packed.  By the time we had a bowl of pho for breakfast and hit the road, the both of us were belting out Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You by George Benson, into the empty mountaintops.  It was just one of those special moments.

That morning’s ride was a tough one.  The road that twisted along the side of the steep mountain disappeared and turned to dirt in spots, usually right as we went around a tight corner.  But, after a few hours, we were motoring down a better road, at a lower elevation, that wrapped around a huge lake.  After lunch, we started climbing (again) another mountain.  This one was covered in rubber plants, as far as the eye could see. 

We ended the day in Sin Ho, a remote yet scenic village that sits high in the mountaintops.  The road into town was completely unpaved, despite obvious signs of active construction efforts.  We slipped and slid around ditches created by the oversized tires of heavy trucks, and made muddy by the climate.  It was an exhausting day of riding, and the kilometers (about 700, at this point) were starting to wear on us.  After a quiet dinner, we made it an early night.

We woke up the next morning excited, because our destination that day was SAPA!  Originally established as a French hill station, Sapa is arguably the biggest tourist destination in the northwest due its spectacular views and magnificent surroundings of mountains and cascading rice terraces.  And, while we had been thoroughly enjoying our time off the beaten path (we hadn’t seen another tourist since Mai Chau), we were ready for a change of pace for the night.

The ride that morning was easily one of the best legs of the trip.  At one point, I remember looking at the perfectly, puffy green treetops on the mountainside next to us, and thinking that they looked as though Bob Ross himself had painted them.

Sapa sits at 1,700 meters above sea level and, although it was not the clearest of days, it was still amazing to be winding around the dirt/gravel mountaintop roads, which we had mostly to ourselves, at such a high altitude.  Sapa is home to many different hill tribes, most notably, the H’mong and Red Dzao people.  And, as we made our way into town, we saw so many different tribeswomen – more than any other previous day on the road.  Their cultural dress varies according to tribe, and within each tribe, their group.  For example, we saw these women at a primitive roadside “market” on the way to Sapa.

Flower H’mong Woman:

Black H’mong Woman:

 

And, here is the butcher:

Once we got to Sapa, it was time to unwind and explore.  Aman and I spent some time that afternoon visiting Cat Cat, which is a tiny village about 2 kilometers outside of Sapa inhabited by the H’mong people.  It’s a little touristy, with plenty of shops full of clothes and crafts for sale.  But, if you can politely ignore the pushy shopkeepers, there is a great hike where you share a (steep, endless) staircase down the side of a mountain with local women carrying brush and firewood in the baskets on their backs.  And, the kids from the village are quite entertaining as they play and run around.

We also spent that afternoon saying goodbye to our awesome guide Binh.  Due to scheduling issues, Binh was taking a train back to Hanoi, so he could get a few days rest before starting another long tour.  Before leaving, Binh introduced us to his colleague and our new guide, Tan, who had taken the train from Hanoi to meet us in Sapa.

 

Me, Aman, and Binh:

After spending some time getting to know Tan, Aman and I went out for the night.  We found an excellent pizza place (Delta Restaurant), which gave us a much-needed break from the awesome but starting-to-get-repetitive routine of spring rolls, fried pork and assorted vegetables that we had been eating for four and a half days.  We also found a fairly cool bar (H’mong Sisters), which was packed with an interesting mix of locals and tourists.

Waking the next morning, I looked out the hotel window and saw nothing but white.  It was a cloud, as opposed to the very distinct view of the mountains that we had the day before from our window.  This wasn’t good, we thought.  We walked outside and felt a light rain.  Even worse.  It was the first morning of our motorcycle trip that we needed to pull out the rain gear that we brought.  As we drove out of town, it was impossible to leave the visors of our helmets down (because they didn’t have windshield wipers) or up (because the air was so cold on our bare faces).  We pulled out the little facemasks that we bought before leaving Hanoi – the ones that the locals wear to keep the pollution off of their faces and out of their lungs.  Now, we were really starting to blend in.

From Sapa, it was a quick descend down the twisting wet road.  We rode carefully and, thankfully, the weather improved though it would stay misty all day.  Given how close we were to the Vietnam-China border, we stopped for tea that morning in a nearby town called Lao Cal, which sits on the border. 

Fascinated as were by the narrow river that divides the two countries and serves as a natural border, we did not stay long in Lao Cal.  There was a very long drive in front of us that day – 230 kilometers to the next village, Vu Linh, where we would stay our last night before heading back to Hanoi. 

Lao Cal is a pretty big town, and the roads leading to and away from it were paved and pretty good.  But after about an hour, the road narrowed and got worse.  Still, we passed through beautiful villages, limestone mountains, and rice and palm fields.  We also passed by a stretch of brick factories. 

We spent the afternoon driving around Thac Ba Lake, which is pretty massive.  We were coming from the north, and Vu Linh sits on the eastern shore.  For most of the way, the road was lined on either side with sheets and sheets of timber that had been cut and were now air-drying.  The timber would be cut into smaller pieces and mashed together to form plywood that would eventually be exported to China, Tan told us. 

 

We made it to Vu Linh by late afternoon.  Vu Linh is an incredibly tiny village (i.e., you will not find it on a map) inhabited by the White Trouser Dzao people.  It was our last night on the road, and we were spending it in another homestay.  Based on our first homestay experience in Mai Chau, Aman and I were pretty excited about it.  We expected that certain aspects of it would be similar to our prior experience, but at the same time, Vu Linh and Mai Chau are two very different places inhabited by two very different tribes of people.

We entered the village through a very narrow dirt road that twisted and turned between the traditional houses, which were all built on stilts.  The family with whom we would be staying – such nice people, greeted us underneath the house.  They showed us upstairs to the large room where everyone slept on roll-up mattresses in curtained off sections.  Aman and I unloaded our stuff, and then went outside to check out our new surroundings.  There, we encountered the grandmother of the family who was working quietly in the garden.  She had on a traditional blouse that tied around her neck with metal hooks.  And, her lips were stained red from eating beetle nuts, which the Trouser Dzao people see as a sign of beauty. 

We passed the evening on the floor of the great room eating dinner with our hosts and a group of Belgian tourists who were staying at the house next door.  The food was again amazing – crispy spring rolls (you find them everywhere, but they are never made identically the same), plates of fresh vegetables, tiny little fish from the lake, chicken and mushrooms, and of course, pork (pork is perhaps the most popular meat in northern Vietnam, at least from what we could tell).

Me and Tan:

Unsurprisingly, the family broke out some homemade rice wine that we shared over dinner.  They introduced us to their local custom of saying – not chups-a-hoi – but bozo!! as a toast to our good health.  Following the toast, we would shake hands and say homie do!! (thank you) to those with whom we drank. 

Before getting on our bikes the next morning, Tan took us for a walk to check out the lake.  It was remarkably silent all around us.  We hardly saw a soul, except for some children from the village playing on the side of the dirt road. 

The lake itself was blanketed in a morning mist, and serenely quiet.

We took a short cut back to the house through the family’s rice fields, which sat adjacent to the house.  And, after saying thank you and goodbye to our kind hosts, we were back on our bikes for the final leg of our journey.

The house where we stayed:

Our host:

The ride back to Hanoi was a relative easy one that, at times, followed an elevated dirt road.  Rice fields and duck farms sat to one side below us, as we drove past grazing cows. 

When we got closer to Hanoi, we took another elevated dirt road that ran alongside a small lake.  We passed more grazing cows, as well as local women running a busy open market on the side of the road.  Traffic gradually started to increase all around us and, by the time we reached the city limits of Hanoi, the roads were packed.  We maneuvered around the larger vehicles along with all of the other two-wheelers on the street and, not long thereafter, we were back on Luong Ngoc Quyen, the familiar street where Voyage Vietnam is located.  We were back.

It felt great to be back in Hanoi after an amazing week.  In all, we traveled almost 1,300 kilometers up and down some pretty difficult roads.  You wont find a lot of them on a map, but they’re there and they will bring you to some of the most amazing places that you will ever see.

the vietnam open, part II (Dalat/Nha Trang/Hoi An)

The bus ride from Dalat to Nha Trang started in the remote reaches of the central highlands of Vietnam.  We were driving down a twisting, desolate road similar to the one that brought us up into the mountains just a day earlier.  Aman and I were in good spirits, having enjoyed our visit to the Crazy House in Dalat and looking forward to getting back to the beach. 

Given the huge improvement over our last bus, I was hopeful that we would have a smooth ride.  But, about an hour into our drive, things turned mildly interesting when a Western girl from the back of the bus slowly walked forward to speak to the driver (who spoke no English).  She hesitated a little when she began…  Um, can we make a stop before Nha Trang…  A stop?  A stop to use the toilet?  The driver looked over his shoulder, half confused/half bothered, and kept driving.  The girl patiently repeated herself.  She looked hopeful for some kind of response.   Ummm… before we get to Nha Trang, a stop?  Toilet?  A toilet stop?  Bathroom?           

The driver said not a word, but abruptly stopped the bus in the middle of the road and jerked the door open.  We were in the absolute middle of nowhere.  Some of us on the bus laughed quietly at the comedy that was unfolding, as the driver began speaking at a rapid pace in Vietnamese.  The girl looked out of the side window – contemplating how badly she needed to go, no doubt – and then looked back at the friend with whom she was traveling.  She had an expression on her face that said, PLEASE HELP ME.  The driver was still muttering on in Vietnamese as the girl started back to her seat.  He closed the door, resumed driving and kept talking to himself.

About an hour later, we stopped at one of the few open-air, roadside restaurants that we passed on the drive through the mountains.  I’m still not clear what motivated the driver to do so… at first, I thought it was because he really did understand the word “toilet” and was giving us all a break to use it.  But, by the time everyone had gotten off the bus and taken a bathroom break, our man was washing the bus.  Most people (including me and Aman) ordered and then ate banh mi (the torpedo-shaped baguette sandwich introduced by the French colonialists and common in Vietnam) while we waited and watched in a state of semi-confusion.  Two hours into a long ride on a dusty mountain road just didn’t seem to be the right time to wash an over-sized vehicle full of passengers…

When our man was done washing every last inch of the bus, he indicated that he was going to go into the restaurant and eat by using one hand to make a circular motion over his belly.  Hilarious.  After a good 45-minute break, we were back on the road. 

The rest of the ride went relatively quick and, soon enough, it looked as though we were driving through a fairly big town.  We paid particular attention to the signs above the shops on either side of the road for some clue as to where we were.  (In Vietnam, these signs typically bear the full address).  Sure enough, the shops indicated that we had reached Nha Trang.

Nha Trang is a major beach destination on the coast of the South China Sea.  Although Mui Ne and Nha Trang are both beach towns, that is about where their similarities end. Mui Ne is a little fishing village, whereas Nha Trang is a proper city with high-rise big-name hotels (Sheraton, Novotel, and coming soon, the Marriott), a couple of topnotch beach clubs, and a developed waterfront area with protected footpaths that wind up and down the shore through sculpted shrubbery and neatly trimmed patches of lawn.  (And, judging by the industrial cranes looming up and down the coast, we would say that development is on course to continue.)

It was just before sunset when we hit the coast.  The bus turned right on Tran Phu, the wide-set boulevard that runs along the shoreline.  After a few more turns, the bus stopped on the side of a smaller road.  It wasn’t a bus station by any means, but the gaggle of touts on the sidewalk – ready to pounce – let us know that we had reached our destination.  Thankfully, our hotel was only a five-minute walk away.  Aman and I dropped our things and quickly set out in the direction of the nearby waterfront to explore.  We were happy that the huge expanse of beautiful beach was very clean and, given the hour, not too crowded. 

We stopped briefly at the Sailing Club (a fancy little beach club that Aman and I really liked) to have a drink before dinner, and to nail down exactly what we wanted to accomplish over the next two days while we were in town.  Aman had already done his homework and identified an isolated beach that we wanted to check out named Doc Let (pronounced Yop Lek), which was about 45 minutes north of Nha Trang.  We decided to go there the next morning and so we spent some time our first night making the necessary arrangements for a car/driver, in addition to generally exploring the Nha Trang nightlife – unlike many Vietnamese cities which shut down early, Nha Trang stays up late. 

When we woke the following day, it was beautiful outside – the perfect weather for exploring an untapped beach.  We grabbed a tasty breakfast at a café across the street from our hotel and were just wrapping up when our friendly looking, non-English speaking driver arrived.  We jumped in the car, and started north along Tran Phu.  Our driver made a quick stop no more than 10 minutes into the ride to grab a banh mi at a sidewalk food stall.  Again, hilarious.  It was definitely no big deal, but as we waited, Aman and I marveled at how our Vietnamese drivers seemingly made the most randomly timed stops (gas, food, a car wash, etc.) after picking us up.     

After our driver’s banh mi break, we were barreling out of Nha Trang (literally, weaving in and out of oncoming traffic on a two-lane road, as is customary in these parts) with mountains to our left and the South China Sea to our right.  Everywhere, more scenic beauty – we passed a lot of salt fields, which we almost mistook for rice fields, since they share a similar design.  The fields were dotted with women in conical hats, women with shallow baskets tethered to a pole and slung over their shoulders, and, on the raised pathways that divided the fields, you could see various modes of transportation – bicycles, scooters, buffalo – sitting idle.  You could tell that a lot of fishing activity goes on in the waters.  Boats, huge nets, and little fishing shacks built on stilts sat offshore in the calm water of the bay. 

After exiting the main road and driving through one of the smallest towns we had yet seen, we finally pulled into the parking lot for the beach.  We told our driver (in a combination of simple English and hand signals) that we would see him at 5 p.m., and took off towards the water.  On the way, we passed a group of locals having a morning feast of crabs, which looked like they had been just caught.

  

A virtually deserted beach, Doc Let was AMAZING!!  This idyllic setting was more beautiful than either of us could have imagined – the sand was a soft white, and the water was crystal clear.  Mountains sat on either end of the bay, and colorful fishing boats bobbed happily offshore. 

Aman and I strolled up and down the tranquil shore a couple of times before finding a beach resort (there were only a handful), which looked like a comfortable place to relax for the afternoon.  We grabbed a couple of beach chairs and an umbrella, hung up our bags, and took to the calm, warm water.

When the afternoon had gotten late, I started to pack up and told Aman that I needed to make a quick bathroom run before we started back to the car.  I noticed two guys sitting at the end of our row of beach chairs, as I started for the resort.  By the time I returned, Aman had struck up a conversation with our fellow beach goers.  Alex and Caleb, two buddies from Seattle, Washington who had recently taken a break from their jobs and were in the first few weeks of their own extended travels through Asia.  Just like us, Alex had been keeping a blog (www.alexpickering.blogspot.com)…  Hmm, it seemed we had some things in common with these two guys, and we liked them immediately.  After sharing a few travel stories and some laughs about our respective misadventures, it was time to go.  We made plans to meet Alex and Caleb for a drink later that evening when we got back to Nha Trang, where they were also staying.

On the walk back, Aman and I noticed that it had gotten slightly crowded since we arrived.  No tourists though, only locals.  We passed one group of young kids, maybe high-school students, who were playing some game that involves holding your breath and running after/tagging people.  In Hindi, it’s known as kabaddi.  Don’t ask me, it was a game that I had never played growing up, but Aman recognized it immediately and his eyes grew wide.  I know this game… do you think they’ll let me play, he asked distractedly.  You should ask, I encouraged, while grabbing the camera.  Man, did these kids get a kick out of it when Aman jumped in the game.  And, at twice the size (or more) of the Vietnamese teenagers on the field, he gave the girls quite a scare as he came playfully tearing after them.

On the drive back to Nha Trang, we watched the sun set behind the mountains.  Plenty of people were still hard at work in the fields.  After one brief mid-way stop (so our driver could eat!), we were back at our hotel and getting ready for the evening.  We met Alex and Caleb at the Sailing Club around 8 p.m.  After a few rounds and some more laughs, they had to take off to catch a train north to Danang.  We exchanged contact information and left open the idea of meeting up in Hoi An, where we would all be in a couple of days. 

Aman and I stayed behind and enjoyed a couple of more drinks at the Sailing Club, as the place had really started picking up and looked too fun to leave.  Eventually we realized that it had gotten late, and we had not eaten dinner.  We weren’t in the mood for anything fancy, so we opted to venture out in search of some delicious Vietnamese street food.  It was not two blocks later until we each had banh mi in our hands and smiles on our faces – a perfect ending to a great day.

Our last day in Nha Trang started the same way it had the day before – at the awesome café across the street from our hotel.  We ate a leisurely breakfast at one of the sidewalk tables out front, which was especially nice because it allowed us to take in the busy morning street traffic of rickshaw drivers, food vendors, scooters, and ladies milling about in conical hats.

After breakfast, we made our way to the beach.  The scene at the beach club where we decided to lounge (Louisiane Brewhouse) was much livelier than the isolated little gem we had discovered the day before, but it provided a nice contrast.  And, of course, the turquoise waters of the bay made for a sensational backdrop.  

We hit the streets after a couple of hours in search of an art gallery in the heart of Nha Trang that we had read about, the Long Thanh Gallery.  Thanh is a local photographer whose work has been exhibited all around the world.  He takes black-and-white images of the simple moments in everyday Vietnamese life.  Very moving, well worth the visit.

After thanking Thanh for sharing his work with us and saying good-bye, we were back on the hot city streets.  We did not have much time before the night bus to Hoi An was scheduled to pick us up, and we still wanted to try one restaurant before we left Nha Trang: Lanterns.  (We had tried to eat there on our first night in Nha Trang, but it was so packed that we got denied.)  So we set off for a late lunch, which was easily the best meal that we had in Nha Trang.  We ordered seafood banh xeo (a delicate crepe/pancake rolled with various seafood, fresh vegetables and herbs) and braised cod in a hotpot (again, served with local vegetables and fresh spices/herbs) – both bursting with classic Vietnamese flavors and delicious!  Moreover, Lanterns is very involved in the local community, which we thought was awesome.  They allow you to join them in visiting a local orphanage and distributing food to those in need.  We were only slightly disappointed that we learned about this on the last day in Nha Trang, since we would have loved to participate.

We went back to the hotel to wash up and pack.  Waiting in the lobby of our hotel, we again made bets on what condition our bus would be in when it arrived.  The ride from Nha Trang to Hoi An was a good twelve hours, and Aman unilaterally declared that, if we did not have a sleeper bus for this leg of the journey, we would be staying in Nha Trang another night.  So, you could imagine his reaction when a regular old mini-bus pulled up, and the familiar local Vietnamese type of guy jumped off and started for our hotel. 

I had barely said yes in response to the man’s simple question of, Hoi An?, before he had picked up two of our bags and turned in the direction of the bus.  Aman was right on his heels, firing questions.  Long story short, the mini-bus was not the bus that would take us to Hoi An, but rather the shuttle bus that would take us to the sleeper bus that would take us to Hoi An.  Aman looked skeptical, but we got on. 

We were first on the bus, and made several stops for additional passengers.  One particularly intoxicated young fellow was among the first group of people that we picked up.  The last group was a lesser, but still intoxicated group of Brits, one of whom (like Aman) initially refused to get on the bus, as it was not the sleeper bus that he was promised.  The guy’s friends tried to convince him that we were all going to get on a sleeper bus before leaving for Hoi An, but he thought it was all some sort of prank and it required some degree of persuasion to get him on the bus so we could continue on.

After the mini-bus dropped us off at the sleeper bus (it did exist!), it went and got another bus full of passengers.  We waited on the sidewalk for someone to open the sleeper bus, which didn’t happen until the second mini-bus full of passengers arrived.  In the meantime, the very intoxicated guy alternated between passing out on the sidewalk and demanding the other passengers to let him on the bus.  The rest of us exchanged worried looks about which unfortunate soul would wind up sitting next to him for the next twelve hours…  Thankfully, it was not us.  Aman and I were happily situated on top seat/beds near the front of the bus. 

It was after 8 p.m. when the bus finally got moving, and we were soon asleep.  When I awoke, we were driving along a countryside road lined with rice fields.  The sun was coming up over an overcast sky and the fields were covered in a hazy morning mist.  Not long thereafter, in the early morning hours, we reached Hoi An, another coastal town in central Vietnam.  From the bus station, we took a smaller van into the center of town.  One of the Brits who had been sleeping in the seat/bed behind Aman casually asked his buddy if he heard "that guy" snoring last night on the bus.  Aman proudly leaned forward and said, That was me, man.

Given the time, our hotel room was understandably not ready when we arrived.  We asked for a room on the opposite side of the property from a very loud rooster, which I had actually read about on TripAdvisor, and threw our big bags behind the front desk of the hotel – underneath a wall of clocks that conveniently showed the time in various international cities.  It was 8:00 a.m. in Hanoi, 9:45 a.m. in Tokyo, 2:20 a.m. in London…  Wait, what???

To pass the time, we found a good place next to our hotel to grab breakfast after consulting the “comments” book in the front lobby, where previous guests helpfully pointed us in the direction of Restaurant 328.  This place didn’t look any different than any of the other open-face roadside restaurants offering a bite to eat, motorbike rental, and/or laundry services.  But it was run by a super nice local woman who promised us she had the best food in town and would make us anything we wanted.  We opted for two bowls of pho, which turned out to be really delicious, and a motorbike that we hopped on immediately when we were done eating.  (The laundry we gave to our hotel to wash…)

Once we had wheels, our first destination was the Old Town, which was a five-minute ride from our hotel.  We heard so much about the Old Town since arriving in Vietnam.  Romantic, picturesque, charming… these were just a few of the words that we had witnessed people use to describe Hoi An.  And in our opinion, Hoi An, a fine example of a traditional Vietnamese trading port, perfectly fit these descriptions. 

The Old Town consists of small narrow lanes of pedestrian traffic, which are mercifully closed to motor traffic, and lined with handsome little wooden buildings painted mustard yellow.  Built right upon the water, there were plenty of traditional Vietnamese boats floating by and a footbridge adorned with festive lanterns.  The town was left unscathed by the Vietnam War and also received status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1999.  As a result, it is exceptionally well preserved.  Aman and I wandered aimlessly about, taking in how beautiful everything looked.

We were very excited to check out some of the tailor shops – Hoi An is famous for and has a plentiful supply of them.  But, we decided to first stop at the hotel and grab some of our favorite clothes so that they could be replicated at the tailor shop.  On the way out of town, we took a small detour to check out the beach, which was wildly angry.  White-capped waves crashing on the otherwise gray shore, and the wind so strong it made our motorbike sway as we drove.  It was not a hard decision, from there, to spend the rest of the day in the Old Town.  We spent HOURS at two or three particular tailor shops – sorting through fabrics, picking fits and styles, bargaining for a price.  It was exhausting.

We rewarded ourselves with an amazing late afternoon meal at the Mermaid Restaurant, whose menu featured all of the local cuisine – with lots of local specialties, Hoi An is well regarded as one of the most fun places to eat out in Vietnam.  We tried the banh xeo, the cao lau (thick doughy noodles topped with greens, bean sprouts and tender slices of pork), and the famous “white rose” (tasty morsels of meat atop steamed rice paper, all of which is arranged in the shape of a flower). 

It was delicious.  Across the street from the restaurant, we watched some locals eating on the sidewalk… everything looked so good.  Aman and I wondered aloud how we were going to be able to sample it all before we left for Hue in two days.

After we finished eating, we drifted with the other street traffic back towards Le Loi, the street where we parked the motorbike.  Our bike was annoyingly temperamental, and as Aman patiently struggled to get it started, Alex and Caleb walked by.  It was awesome to see them again!  We confirmed plans to have dinner with them that night at one of the more upscale restaurants in town, Mango Rooms, and talked briefly about what we had all been up to since parting in Nha Trang (i.e., spending the day in Hoi An at the tailors).  Aman finally got the bike going and, before it could stall again, I quickly waved to Alex and Caleb, and we sped off.   

Aman and I met up with the guys again later that evening.  As we walked to Mango Rooms, I noticed how the Old Town looked even more charming at night, all lit up with red lanterns.  The restaurant was right on the water.  A fun place painted in vibrant colors with a centrally located kitchen and lots of small seating areas.  Not exactly a place that offers the local specialties, their menu is a creative fusion of both local and international flavors.  Aman and I both tried the pan-fried red snapper, which was absolutely divine.  And Alex and Caleb, of course, were excellent company.  After dinner and a couple hours of great conversation, we all walked to a café-bar in the Old Town that was PACKED.  It seemed as though everyone in town was there having a drink.  We grabbed one of the last tables and, conscious of how expensive imported wine and liquor tends to be in these parts, we asked for – no, we insisted upon – the cheap local stuff.  Oy, not exactly our brightest idea…. Without getting into all the boring details, let’s just say the night got eventful from there, and everyone got properly “sharm”-ed.  Fun times!

Aman and I ended the night in the wee hours of the morning with a xe om (motorbike taxi) ride back to our hotel.  With the two of us holding on for dear life, our motorbike taxi driver zipped along the quiet streets with the confidence of a person who had driven them all his life.  When we reached the hotel, Aman promptly declared that he was hungry and needed some banh mi before we could go to sleep.  (To be fair, it was almost breakfast time.)  I tried to be sympathetic, but I was exhausted and it was way past my bedtime.  So Aman departed on a solo mission that led him eventually to a commercial bakery that was churning out loaves of bread.  The next morning, I would awake to find a plastic bag with three small baguettes in it – two of which were inexplicably half eaten.  

That day, we spent running around from tailor to tailor being fitted for our new clothes.  We had traded in our temperamental bike for a better, newer one that morning, which was a good thing, since we must have hopped on and off it at least half a dozen times that day.  At one point, late in the afternoon, we hopped off and parked – not in our usual spot on Le Loi, north of Phan Chu Trinh – but, a little bit closer to the main tailor we had been using – on Le Loi, south of Phan Chu Trinh.   

We strolled around, window-shopped and stopped in a café for coffee, while we waited for small alterations to be made to our clothes.  It gradually became night.  On our way back to the tailor, we were walking up Le Loi, past the spot where we parked our bike, when I heard Aman ask:  Dude, where’s our bike?  I stopped and turned around.  Our bike was not where we parked it earlier.  Aman and I stared silently at each other for a couple of seconds.  I looked over each shoulder, up and down the street.  I looked at the empty spot where we had parked our bike.  It has to be around here, I said plainly.  Someone is just messing with us.  I thought that maybe we parked in a no-parking zone, and someone had moved it.  There was a cluster of motorbikes on the near corner.  We walked over and checked them.  Not ours…  There was another cluster of motorbikes on the next corner.  We checked those.  Not ours…  I think it’s time to get out of Hoi An, Aman said.  I tried to stay calm. 

We decided to split up so that I could make it back to the tailors for one last fitting before they closed, while Aman canvassed the streets in search of our bike.  When we met up again twenty minutes later, Aman informed me that he might know where to find our bike.  A woman selling trinkets in the street was pointing him down a side street and indicating that she knew the whereabouts of our bike… But she wouldn’t give us any more information unless we bought some trinkets.  We told her, no way.  A little further down the road, another trinket-selling woman seemed to indicate to us that she knew how to find our bike.  (It’s these little moments that remind you how useful it would be to be able to communicate in the local language.)  She called for her son.  A quiet little boy emerged from a nearby house.  He could not have been more than 7 or 8 years old, and didn’t speak any English.  But he understood the question when Aman asked what was his name: Sam.  We trailed our four-foot-tall guide down the narrow side street to a dimly lit building where, WHEW, our bike was parked inside.  (Apparently, we violated the no-parking-south-of-Phan-Chu-Trinh-after-dark-rule, which caused our bike to be impounded.)  Sweet little Sam started walking away before I could even get some Spacebucks (i.e. local currency) out to tip him for his service.  He shyly came back and accepted the bill in my outstretched hand. 

Aman and I walked our bike in the other direction.  We were beyond relieved to have it back:

The next morning – our last day in Hoi An – we woke up in the pre-dawn hours, having arranged a sunrise tour of a local fishing village, which was situated at the point where the river meets the sea.  The hotel was pitch dark at 4 a.m. as we made our way out front to meet our van, and not a soul was stirring.  When our van arrived, it was empty.  Aman and I were happy to learn that we were the only ones that booked the tour that day and essentially would be having a private outing.  Score.

We drove for about ten minutes before we reached the tiny village, where we got out and started walking.  Despite, or because of, the extremely early hour, the village was quite busy.  Houses were lit, and people gathered in the front courtyards drinking tea.  We walked past a loudspeaker blaring overhead in the street, which our guide explained was a local radio broadcast.  No music, only talk.

Through the village, we reached a small pier where we took a bamboo fishing basket to a little boat sitting offshore.  The boat, in turn, cruised slowly over the waters.  It was a very overcast morning, and the sky had turned a slate gray by the time we got in the boat.  Around us, there were men working the huge Vietnamese fishing nets, which were interesting to see in action.  There were also lots of traditional Vietnamese fishing boats in the water, and men in smaller boats pulling in collapsible fishing nets.  It was very quiet, even with all of the early morning activity on the water.

We disembarked briefly on the far side of the river to walk around a bit.  There, women worked busily on shore, tending to the catch that the men brought in.  Bikes and bamboo fishing baskets sat idle on the side of the road.  A small ferryboat was being loaded with people and motorbikes, and miscellaneous cargo.  Men sat in a noisy, crowded restaurant drinking tea and coffee, and smoking cigarettes.  We walked past simple houses with thatched roofs that would need to be replaced every five years, according to our guide.

To see such a genuine side of everyday Vietnamese life stirred an amazing feeling in the both of us.  The entire experience was incredible. 

After a quick breakfast on the boat (of spring rolls and shrimp porridge – a traditional Vietnamese fisherman’s breakfast) and a lesson in how to paddle a bamboo fishing basket (it’s harder than it looks), we were back in the car and back at the hotel by 8 a.m.  We took one last spin to the Old Town, and then relaxed before our bus was scheduled to pick us up. 

That afternoon, we concluded our open tour of Vietnam by boarding a bus that would drive us five hours north to Hue.  We didn't plan to spend any time in Hue, it was simply the closest town with an airport, and we had plans of catching a quick flight from there to Hanoi.

Overall, we had a really good experience touring southern Vietnam on the open buses. The four different places that we stayed in all had a unique charm, which gave us a good sense for the cultural diversity that exists within Vietnam.  And driving from city to village, from mountain to beach allowed us the opportunity to soak in the scenic beauty of the Vietnam, which comes in various shapes and sizes.