Day 5: Pan Hou to Ban Me

Given that the resort was alongside a river in a deep valley, we were glad to start the day by riding in the van back to the top of the mountain, before being set free on our bikes.

The hills were gradually getting steeper, although we were still mostly riding down. Often a climb or descent would carry a signpost showing a gradient symbol labeled with "10%" - and only ever 10%, regardless of how steep the road seemed to be. I'm not sure the average non-English speaking Vietnamese person would even know what 10% meant, and we started to think that they only had one kind of sign, until much later in the trip we rode past a couple that said 12% (which we took to mean that the hill must be exceptionally steep)("oh no - look a 12% sign...").

We were tearing down one very long and enjoyable descent when Ryan decided to demonstrate how worn down the tread was on our bike tyres. I almost lost control coming round one steep, off-camber, slippery corner, only to hear Ryan skidding out behind me - in full view of half a dozen local people working on the roadside. Luckily, the road was so slippery that he managed to slide along without taking any skin off. We both rode a little more cautiously after that...

Along the way we stopped at a small ceremony being held at the roadside. Apparently there was someone ill in the adjacent hut, and the medicine man (don't know exactly what he was called - shaman???) was conducting a ritual to induce the person's erstwhile spirit to come back into their body. He had constructed a bridge for the spirit to cross and had part of a large pig sacrificed next to him on a small table. As we were standing there, a couple of villagers brought up the pig's head suspended on a bamboo pole between them. The men who brought the pig's head were fascinated by our bikes - particularly Ryan's. We saw plenty of bikes being ridden by villagers - these all had skinny tires and one gear. It therefore became common for our bikes (mountain bikes with front suspension, knobbly tires and multiple gears) to be viewed with much curiosity. It was also a favourite for the locals to try and sit on Ryan's seat - most would end up only being able to perch on the top tube and even then only just being able to reach the pedals.

More and more people stopping to see our crazy Westerner bikes

We stopped mid-morning in one small town for a coffee break. Here I had my first real Vietnamese coffee - with water dripped through a percolater perched on top of a glass of condensed milk. The ratio of milk to coffee was about 1:3 - it was incredibly strong, thick and sweet. In fact, it was almost undrinkable. But it definitely had a kick.

Our guide offered to take us along a slightly longer back road rather than continuing along the main road, and we were all eager to give it a try. The first few kilometres, though, were rough cobblestones - none of us were sure we would be able to manage rattling over 25km of the stuff. Fortunately, the cobblestones soon ended. Unfortunately, the road became very muddy and chopped up. But fortunately the local scooters, by all riding the same path, had made a narrow, compacted ribbon of track through all the ruts. And this was heaps of fun to ride (still downhill). The road took us through some isolated villages surrounded by tea plantations, and turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip.

Cobblestones

Tea plantation

Lunch is worth mentioning because one of the dishes we consumed was fermented pork. The fact that it was eaten with fig leaves (which our guide said were a good preventer of diarrhoea) maybe should have given us some forewarning for what was to come...

There is a scooter under there somewhere 

After lunch, we continued along the main road beside the river. The riding was flat and fast. I had a very close call with a buffalo's rear end at one point, after a handful of buffalo cut in front of a truck and caused a sudden traffic jam. We were trying to ride through the mess without getting hit by either when one buffalo came to a sudden halt directly in front of me. I don't think I will need to get any closer to a buffalo's bum in my life. Ever.

Our accomodation for the night was a homestay in a local village. This was in a traditional stilted house. Upstairs, the house was one large room which had curtained-off alcoves all around the edge containing mattresses. Our guide and driver had been sharing rooms up until this point - it was funny to see the guide position himself across the room as far away from the driver as humanly possible in an attempt to escape his snoring :-) The Vietnamese family slept in a separate house next door. Our host cooked a meal for us which ended with slices of the most (apparently) delicious orange Ryan had ever tasted. In fact, I think this orange remains the highlight of his entire trip (and I'm not just talking about food...)

Our homestay

 Wandering through the village

Day 4: Pan Hou

Today was a rest day. I don't think any of us really felt like we needed (or deserved) a rest, but if we were going to have to stay put for a day, this was a very nice place to do it.

We spent the day wandering up and down the road past the resort. We never saw any real wildlife in Vietnam, but there were plenty of domestic animals to see and today was no exception, with all sorts of encounters along the roadside. It seemed that every animal had babies as well - baby chickens, piglets, puppies, kittens, buffalo calves.

The suspension bridge to the resort

Along the road we passed a tea factory. There were no workers when we were there, but two women invited us to sit down for tea. Ryan and I each tried a tiny cupful to be polite, but the Brit was in his element. Afterwards, we weren't really sure whether we were expected to pay for the drink, but looking questioningly at the women and asking "money?" only resulted in shaking heads. Given the complete lack of English in the village, we were expecting some kind of agitation or demand for payment as we walked away, but it never came.

Further along we also came across two women fishing in the river. At least, we think they were fishing - they were wearing gumboots and walking through the water, presumably stirring the bottom with their boots, and dragging nets behind. We later asked our guide what they were catching - the answer was "whatever gets in the net" (likely small fish and freshwater shrimp).

After lunch at the resort, we walked in the other direction towards a bigger town. We passed some women embroidering on the front porch of their house. On the return trip, the few items they had displayed outside had magically multiplied and they were clearly hoping for a sale. The Brit ended up bargaining for some embroidered purses for his grandkids (no mean feat with absolutely no common language between the them).

We also passed one slightly disconcerting sign directed towards tourists visiting local houses. It listed a number of rules, including instructions not to cook cat or dog meat in the stove, and not to bring snakes into the house.

Our tour included a complimentary herbal bath back at the resort, and despite reserving times at the beginning of the day, the three of us all ended up being scheduled for the same time-slot . We were lead into a steamy bathhouse which had several large half barrels sunk into the floor. These were filled with hot water strained through a concoction of herbs. It was like having a bath in a giant cup of tea, and I had to resist the temptation to have a taste. While we were soaking, there was a French family having massages - at one point I opened my eyes to be confronted by a topless middle-aged woman sitting upright directly across from me while she had her neck massaged. Needless to say, I closed them again rather quickly.

As we prepared to get out, the Brit got up first to have a cold rinse-off under the shower. He did the male thing of thinking he could figure out all the taps and dials without asking for help - this resulted in a spray of cold water shooting directly out over me in my tub (which happened to be the closest to the shower). The massage-girls were horrified and rushed over to shut off the water. I'm sure it only reinforced the Frenchies impression of us as uncultured cretins...

Day 3: Bac Ha to Pan Hou

We were woken at 06:00 this morning by the dulcet tones of radio Vietnam. I think they deliberately parked the broadcasting van in the street with all the tourist hotels.

We rode away from the town into cloud once again, which persisted as we descended down a dirt road. Near the top, we could barely see 20m ahead, but as we dropped down off the mountain the mist gradually cleared to reveal views of the terraces below. The road itself was great until we got to the part of it that was still being upgraded. The surface went abruptly from smooth, fast, hard-packed dirt to long sections covered with chunks of jagged stone. Ryan and I both managed to bump our way down without losing any skin, the Brit and our guide, however, elected to walk.

My teeth still hurt just thinking about it

We cruised along the rolling roads of the valley floor before stopping in a local town for lunch. Most of our meals consisted of an assortment of communal dishes which we all shared. There would usually be some kind of broth or spring rolls, a couple of vegetable dishes (like pumpkin-vine leaves, cabbage or grated kohlrabi), a tofu dish, a couple of meat dishes (most often beef or pork), loads of rice and little dishes of fish and chilli sauce for dipping. And usually nothing but chopsticks to eat it with. The highlight today was a plate of small fresh-water shrimp which had been fried and we ate whole (tasted like prawn chips).

We started the afternoon riding alongside the river (so nice and flat). All along the roadside were thin sheets of plywood laid out for drying, or stacked up ready to transport.

Unfortunately, the road eventually left the river and started to climb. I think we were being eased into the riding gently, because this climb was nice and gradual (although it did go on a long way)(which we were learning to be the nature of Vietnamese roads). The technicality of the ride was increased somewhat, though, by having to dodge the occasional buffalo and the not-so-occasional buffalo mine (lets just say that a buffalo's waste is proportionate to the animal's overall size and that riding through one of those things is a really bad idea). And then we were rewarded with a ripper downhill on the other side :-)

We finished by riding through a few small villages, which gave us our first real taste of how friendly the local people were - with everyone smiling and waving and calling out hello (there was very little English spoken in the areas we visited, but everyone still knew the word "hello"). After riding about 90km for the day we were reunited with the van and drove the rest of the way to the Pan Hou resort.

One last climb - you can see the road we came up on the mid-right of the picture

This place was seriously nice. It was accessed via a suspension bridge over the river and consisted of multiple thatched cottages nestled within beautiful terraced ponds and gardens. We were a little startled at one point, though, to come across a pony peacefully nibbling the grass along one of the walkways. We were also starting to get the hang of Vietnamese showers - usually a fairly "normal"-appearing bathroom otherwise with a shower-head attached randomly to one wall somewhere. Showering would therefore result in pretty much everything in the room getting wet. We soon learned to leave all clothes/towels/shoes outside and got in the habit of drying off the toilet once we were done. At least the water was hot.

The food at the resort was also excellent. We didn't know it at the time, but this would be the last place that we would have fresh fruit juice to drink - we were too busy enjoying banana pancakes to think about it :-) After the meal, our driver produced a questionable-looking unlabeled water-bottle (apparently the vessel of choice for home-brewed rice wine). We both declined, but the Brit crumbled under the pressure from the guide and driver (who both took tiny sips as he downed his shot). We were also learning that these home brews usually had some kind of "special" ingredient which would be soaked or infused into the wine and it was a fun game inquiring of its nature after the Brit had consumed the contents - this particular brew was laced with opium poppy.

Two maps from Endomondo - one from the morning and the other after lunch.

Day 2: Lao Cai to Bac Ha

I don't think either of us were sad to get off the train - I was surprised that Ryan was able to stand upright after having to lie in the foetal position for 11 hours...

Breakfast in Lao Cai would form the pattern for most breakfasts to come - fresh, crusty bread (a hangover from the time of French colonization, and surprisingly available in most places we ended up staying) and for me, strong Vietnamese coffee sweetened with condensed milk. I expected the condensed milk and thought it simply represented a Vietnamese sweet tooth, but after a few days realized it was because of the general lack of fresh milk (and dairy products in general) outside of the big cities.

We were introduced to our driver, who met us with a Ford Transit Van loaded up with our mountain bikes, and set off for Bac Ha.

Along the way we stopped at the riverbank on the outskirts of Lao Cai - turned out the river formed the border between Vietnam and China. Our guide regaled us with stories of China's exploits along the border - like the Chinese "randomly" buying alot of Vietnamese cats (which hungry people in need of money would gladly sell), resulting in the local rat population exploding and destroying the Vietnamese crops. Or the Chinese having a sudden demand for buffalo knees and the Vietnamese killing and wasting a lot of animals for such a small part of the carcass. I'm not sure how much truth was in those tales, but I got the impression that the Vietnamese feel exploited by China.

Over the river to China

We also discovered the reason it takes 10 hours to drive 300km on Vietnamese roads - they are narrow, very windy with lots of blind corners and frequently blocked by trucks. As we slowly wound our way up into the mountains, we gradually ascended into the clouds until visibility on the road was so limited that it was difficult to see the white lines on either side. We crawled the rest of the way into Bac Ha, but my respect for our driver's skill increased significantly (I was mostly just glad that we didn't wipe out over the front end of one of those trucks as they unexpectedly materialized out of the fog). And then, just as we approached the town, we emerged into clear air with the cloud left behind like a white wall behind us.

The town was a buzz of activity for the busy Sunday market. Many people traveled a long way for the market, and most noticeable were the Hmong women in their colourful traditional dress scattered in pockets everywhere in the crowd. We thought they must have dressed up specially for the market, but apparently they wear the same clothes for work at home.

There was everything for sale - from the expected cloth, wall hangings, hats, even small toys made from the same colourful woven fabric, to the unexpected - puppies, musical instruments, buffalo, all sorts of meat (including a pig's head sitting serenely on one table). Scattered amongst the vegetables and noodles in the eating area were platters of intestines. The Brit and our guide were brave (?) enough to try some corn alcohol brewed by one woman who sat next to old, unlabeled water containers brimming with the stuff. The guide estimated it to be about 50% ethanol - it certainly looked like it burned the whole way down, although the vendor (obviously an old hand) swigged a glassful with no problem.

Mmmmm...lunch anyone?? (those are not sausages)

After lunch (pork noodles in our hotel, not intestines in the market), we were introduced to our bikes and went for a "short" test ride. Ryan managed to get left behind and lost within the first 2 minutes, after stopping to adjust his Camelbak at exactly the same time that a bus pulled across where we had turned so that he couldn't see which way we had gone. He rode in the wrong direction to the edge of town before he realized his mistake while we anxiously waited wondering what calamity had befallen him...

The ride took us on a climb through the hills on the outskirts of town. The roads were not steep (I don't think the local vehicles have enough guts to struggle up anything steeper), but the hills were - so climbs would switchback gradually upwards over many (many) kilometres. As we rode up, we passed lots of people on their way home from the markets - riding overloaded scooters or walking with heavy loads, even shepherding buffalo up the road.

After ascending a solid 10km into the clouds, we turned around and enjoyed the ride back down (and the fact that in that direction, we are by far and away the fastest things on the road). Ryan caused many giggles amongst the local kids by riding along the flat outskirts of town with no hands.

That evening, there was some kind of festival in the middle of town. A stage had been set up and we watched a series of acts ranging from traditional dance to a modern singing duet. It felt a bit like "Bac Ha's got Talent". Many of the locals simply rode their scooters into the middle of the assembled crowd and used them as ready-made seating or let their kids stand on the seats to get a better view. We could sense alot of whispers and side-long views directed towards Ryan, until a few people got brave enough to approach him and we realized that they were fascinated by his height. A couple of people wanted their photos taken with him, and then all of a sudden he was mobbed by teenage schoolgirls. There was lots of giggles, more photos and the girls tried out some of their English on us. We eventually had to retire to the hotel before we caused some kind of riot. I guess it's tough being at the top :-)

Ryan's groupies

Here's the stats from Endomondo (except that it only recorded the first half of the ride - the second half was the same but in reverse):

Vietnam: Day 1 - Hanoi

(Spiceroads - Cycling Vietnam's Northeast Mountains)

Actually - it all starts at 03:20 in the morning of Day 0, but you don't need me to dedicate a whole post to describing what it is like to sit on a plane for 12 hours...

We eventually arrived in Hanoi at about 17:30 local time (21:30 Sydney time - long day). As we descended into the low clouds blanketing the city, we had no idea that it would be the last time we would see the sun for the next 2 weeks. Mistake #1: assuming it would be hot and humid in Vietnam...

The hour long drive from the airport to our hotel gave us our first taste of Vietnam traffic. They drive on the right-hand side of the road, and the general strategy seems to be to aim the car where you want to go, trust that anything smaller than you will get out of the way (lots and lots of scooters), yield only to vehicles at least twice your size and honk ALOT.

We did, however, arrive at the hotel alive and after dumping our stuff, braved the streets again to find something to eat. We soon discovered that it's one thing to be driven through the traffic, and another entirely to try and forge our way across streets that buzzed with what seemed like a solid stream of scooters. Our exploration that night was therefore limited to the block on which the hotel stood (chicken I know, but we were tired). Ryan took a long pause at a street stall laid out with a delicious (I use the term loosely) array of chicken's feet, brains and other meats of questionable origin, but (lucky for me) the lady there stolidly ignored him so we were forced to move on. After a complete circumnavigation of the block, we ended up buying bowels of Pho from a street stall right next to the hotel. I thought I was managing quite well with chopsticks (as in more food was actually making it into my mouth than what got dropped back into the bowl), until the lady running the stall came over and placed a spoon into my other hand, showed me how the other customers were scooping their noodles into their spoons and firmly pushed my head down closer towards my bowl. Apparently I still wasn't doing a good enough job, because she returned a minute later with a large pair of scissors which she dipped into my broth and proceeded to chop my noodles into smaller lengths. Sigh. 

We woke the next day to constant, misty rain and a city shrouded in cloud. The plan was to walk to a few interesting landmarks (a combination of suggestions from the tour company and named structures on Google maps). This meant that we very quickly had to figure out how to cross the roads. The key seems to be to just look straight ahead, walk directly across and trust that the scooters and cars will dodge around you. Looking at what is coming is a definite mistake. Or, alternatively, to find a local who also happens to be crossing the road and use them as a body shield. We made one hurried crossing over 4 lanes of traffic after a distant guard outside an imposing gate who was toting a large gun sternly signaled us to stop, then pointed emphatically for us to cross the road (from about 50m away). Not sure what it was he was directing us away from, but he didn't look like someone you would want to argue with.

Our first stop was the Imperial Citadel. In hindsight, I think we may have missed the actual citadel, and just visited the military museum on the grounds (English signs/directions in Hanoi are few and far between). It didn't really matter because the museum was interesting enough, although I have to admit that I am still not really any wiser to the history of war in Vietnam. There were alot of artifacts from enemy soldiers and displays celebrating Vietnamese heros for shooting down planes or destroying enemy outposts, but English translations were sporadic and seemed to miss the actual gist of what happened. Outside there was a monument made from parts of wrecked enemy planes directly adjacent to the massive 200-year-old flag tower. I was left pondering how much our view of history is shaped by who it is that is doing the telling.

From there, we want to see Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum. The imposing stone building is hard to miss - but at every intersection where we tried to access the seemingly open grounds we were directed onwards by more armed guards (despite seeing people freely wandering out from the other side). Eventually we came to the main entrance and were funneled in single file along a covered walkway and through several security checkpoints before finally being ushered into the Mausoleum itself. The steps and doorway were flanked by uniformed guards holding bayonets. As Ryan ascended, one of them sternly gestured for him to unfold his arms and put them by his sides. We were ushered inside a small group at a time, walking through single file to the central room in the structure where the old president was laid out in a glass case surrounded by more guards in ceremonial uniforms and toting bayonets. We filed silently past and then back outside again, the whole thing seeming a little surreal. Finally, then, we were free to wander the grounds at will.

We walked through the gardens of the old palace. The building itself we could only see from a distance, but we were allowed to wander around the living quarters where some rooms were open to the outside and the presidents old cars were on display. We also saw the One-Pillar Pagoda, which seems to be a major attraction in Hanoi, but turned out to be a small temple perched atop a single column in a small pond in the gardens. We couldn't really understand what all the fuss was about. Westerner cretins...

Next stop was the Temple of Literature. We exited the grounds of the mausoleum freely from one of the previously blocked streets (it seemed that visits the the mausoleum itself ceased at midday and from then on the guards became disinterested) and braved the Hanoi traffic once again. The temple was set at the end of a series of courtyards within a large walled-off garden. One courtyard was flanked by rows of turtle statues with their heads protruding from one side of the wall and rears from the other. The insides of each courtyard gate and the temple itself were surprisingly ornate in contrast to the austere and crumbling stone outside.

By this time we were starting to get a bit weary of wandering around and rather than visit the Old Quarter as planned, we decided to finish the afternoon by heading back to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. We avoided the first level which was choked with a throng of school kids and wandered around the displays upstairs. Again, there was lots of interesting things to see, but we never really learned much about the man himself. At least we were out of the rain. We also discovered that the Vietnamese have a fondness for order (despite the way they drive) and once we completed the top level, we were funneled down the exit stairs leading outside with no ability to walk back through the displays. We had to ask (and by ask, I mean gesticulate to) a lady downstairs to pass through a barrier so we could see the floor we missed. Which turned out to have no English translations. Needless to say, we also had to repeat the prescribed path through the rest of the museum before we could once again access the exit stairs.

Finally, we wandered back to the Hotel to await the arrival of our guide. We sat in the lobby for 90 minutes next to the only other person on the tour without knowing who he was (although we did guess it was probably him, knowing that we were sharing the tour with a 58 year-old British guy and what were the odds of randomly sitting next to someone else fitting that description??)

The guide arrived, took us out for dinner and then to the train station to catch the night train to Lao Cai.

I don't know how you would figure out the train if you weren't a local. After sitting at the station for 15 minutes or so waiting for the train to "open", there was a mass exodus despite the complete lack of any discernible signal or announcement. We then walked over about 8 other train tracks in the dark to our train which looked exactly like all the other trains we had passed. I guess that's why we were paying a guide...

The train carriage was divided into sleeping compartments with a narrow passageway down one side. Each compartment held two bunk beds. Ryan and I took the two top beds and our guide and the Brit the bottom. Ryan didn't fit in the bed by a good 10 inches or so and neither of us really slept. Can't say the same for our companions, who both snored pretty much the whole way. The train was slow, unsteady and seemed to stop alot of times during the night, so that altogether it took us 11hrs to travel about 300km (which is comparable to how long it takes to drive the same distance)(this fact made us wonder just how bad the roads were going to be...)  

3 weeks down

So I haven't made a huge amount of progress over the past two weeks. Mostly because I decided to pull down my first wall attempt and start all over again (OCD?? I don't know what you are talking about...)

(The stick at the corner is part of a very complicated and technologically advanced wall leveling system) 

And for Grandad Clement - after expecting to wait months for the cycad bulbs to start growing, they have surprised me and all sprung into life bar one :-)

There comes a time in every girl's life...

When what she really needs is one of these:

So she can turn big ones of these:

Into little ones like these:

Which apart from being a very excellent method of stress management, also creates usable chunks of stone to build stuff out of.

So here's the progress at the end of week one. Stairs done :-)