Ryan wakes up early for once and heads to volleyball. I decline to do some yoga but am woken back up telling me that there aren’t enough people to play and I have to go. I walk the ten minutes to play and it’s about as good as I imagined. I guess we could use the ball touches before we embarass ourselves in front of Olympians. We grab some breakfast at a place filled with ex pats working on laptops and the waitress is overly impressed at me knowing how to say “noodles with beef” in Vietnamese, which makes me sad about tourism. Off to Hoi An we go.

Fairy Tale Town

Hoi An resembles a town in an old fairy tale or a Zelda game. Filled with a ton of shops all identical to each other, like someone designed one and just copy and pasted. It’s all restaurants, souvenir shops and tailors. This is the town to get a suit made for under a hundred dollars and in twenty four hours. As enticing as that sounds, we opt out of lugging suits around on our bikes. We roam the streets and look at all of the tourist spots from the outside. Hoi An missed the memo on tourists wanting pictures of things. The good pictures of the outside are free, but the walk through the things costs money. Easy enough. We sign up for a cooking class and opt for some rest before getting up early for the class.

The course begins with a walk through a market and a talk through each of the ingredients, much like our class in Thailand. We take the ingredients on a ferry and ride forty five minutes to the kitchen. When we arrived, we were shown how to grind rice milk which would be used for the batter. Each of us get a burner and are run through making spring rolls, banh xeo (Vietnamese pancakes), beef noodle salad and Pho. Ryan got to learn the vegetarian versions of each and his soup broth was actually a bit tastier. At the end, we all received recipe books and chopsticks to take home. We were given Vietnamese straw hats to wear and put in boats to row back to the van. The woman in the other boat suggested a race, but Ryan and I were in the same boat, so that victory was guaranteed.

After the cooking class, we roamed the streets a bit and each grabbed a knockoff Nike DriFit tshirt for three dollars. I regret not grabbing another because it has proven perfect for the Vietnam heat. From there we took our bikes to a mechanic suggested to us by the man we bought the bikes from in Hanoi. When we arrived, he saw the sticker on our bikes and told us that was his brother. He tightened all of the things we needed and checked our bikes for free. When we offered to buy him food or beer, he hugged us and said goodbye.

From Bad to Worse

My bike was running well. After the cooking class, our next destination was Qui Nhon. This was about a eight hour ride, so we figured we could knock off two or three hours and finish the ride in the morning. Vietnam is filled with random hotels that all basically contain a double sized bed, a bathroom and a tv for about nine dollars a night, so finding a place to crash for the night is always easy. As usual, we took a route that kept us off of the highways and this time it took us down a picturesque dirt road. The bumps in this road were actually remniscent of our time riding in the mountains of Laos.

The roads in Vietnam pale in comparison to the treacherous roads we tackled in Laos. However, our motorbikes are also much less capable than the ones we had in Laos. Not to mention that my luck has been pretty much non existent since leaving the life of paradise that was my week on Koh Phangan. What all of this is basically preparing me to say is this: things kept getting worse. I found a line where the bumps seemed manageable and drove at a slow speed. Upon clearing a large hole, I felt my bag against my back. The bags are secured with three bungees, so their ability to move at all is pretty much non existent. I stopped my bike to see if my bungees had snapped and could feel that they were all in place. I lifted on the bag and the entire rack moved. The rack was bolted to the rack piece of the bike and that had snapped on both sides. I began to laugh out loud as I threw my bag where Ryan’s feet go on his bike and strapped my broken rack to the back of Ryan’s bike. I could see that my rack had previously been welded and the rack broke on the weld lines. Vietnamese children were pointing and laughing. Oh well, Ryan gets to carry my stuff until the next town so we can find someone to weld.

*WARNING : Mom’s please skip this paragraph *
Shortly after the bag breaking, we hit a narrow bridge over a wide river with people walking across it. Someone was slowly moving their motorbike down the bridge. Ryan and I agreed to push on. The bridge was about as wide as my shoulder, with some barrier poles every few feet. There was a gap between the poles and the bridge, which looked like enough for a motorbike to fall through on either side. As I began to move forward, I remembered how hard the motorbikes are to control at slow speed. The pieces of bridge were not all in line, so you had to navigate bumps as well. This anxiety inducing bridge went on for what seemed like forever. As I reached the part of the bridge that raises for boats, the barrier poles disappeared and there were some screw like poles rising up from the bridge about shoulder width apart. My handle bar clips one of the poles and I shoot a hand out to stop from shooting off into the river. I park the bike and walk back down the bridge to a visibly shaken Ryan. He also almost slipped off the bridge, but with both of our bags. I help pull his extra wide bike through the screw poles and we get off of that nightmare bridge.

We roam the city looking for someone to weld my rack. Not only is finding someone who can weld a difficult task, but getting them to understand what I need is a second difficult task. We find someone who can weld but not until the morning. We hit a few more mechanics who wave us on. We find one that is actively welding and ask. They make a confused face at me and then shake their head yes,. The woman walks away and comes back with a new rack. Duh. We don’t need to weld it, we can just replace it. Making practical solutions under duress is not a strong suit. She motions that it does not have a rack like mine and I tell her it is okay. She puts a hole in the new rack and adds the full back rack. All of this for a few dollars. Easy peasy, we head another hour while the sun is up and find a hotel to sleep in.

We find a hotel on the highway and drop off our stuff. We walk down the highway in the dark to find some dinners and everyone looks at us like we’re zoo animals again. We decide we won’t find anywhere to serve us and hit a minimart. A twelve pack of ChocoPies, two bags of chips and two one point five liter bottles all for three American dollars. The hotel room has Netflix on the television, a rarity in Vietnamese hotels. We smash chocopies and binge watch movies for a few hours. All is right in the world.

The Myrtle Beach of Vietnam

The ride to Qui Nhon was supposed to take us fifteen hours of mountain roads from Hoi An, but we opted to do half mountain roads and half horrible highway to drop it down to eight hours. We finish the few hours of beautiful mountain roads and soaking in the views and hit the highway. The highway is hot and boring and trucks flight past as you ride the shoulder. This part of the highway was especially bad because the terrain was flat on either side with mountains surrounding. This caused the winding to come in hard across the highway. Driving down this highway required you to lean into the wind, the same way you would if you were turning. Not only is this terrifying as you feel your tires slide around, but when trucks pass you, they block the wind and create their own draft. This requires a lot of focus and induces a good amount of anxiety.

I usually ride in front because my bike is more likely to die and I don’t trust Ryan to pay attention and stop in a reasonable amount of time. I’m a little more neurotic so I check my mirrors all the time. Usually unnecessary but this day, I happened to be looking back at Ryan as the whole front cover of his bike popped off on the highway and exploded on the ground. He grabbed it and we taped it back on. Standard Ryan luck, everything still works but the headlight cover was broken. On we go.

We underestimated the riding time and ran into the night time. We raced the sun to get out of the mountains before it got too dark. By the time it got dark this time, we were in a somewhat civilized area. Shortly after, we hit a stretch of well lit highway and then brightly lit hotels and monuments. We turn off the main road and find our American Rock and Roll hostel. We are welcomed with a beer, which neither of us particularly want, but the gesture is nice enough. We grab some way too big burgers and head out.

We walk down the main road to check out the monuments and city square. We find a large carnival and walk past to find paths filled with small children riding bicycles with bluetooth speakers attached. As we continue, we find a large square filled to the brim with children and teenagers riding motorized vehicles. We keep walking to find that there are a myriad of riding options and they all seem to be free. We chuckle about the lawsuit that would ensue if something similar existed in the states and continued down the street. Outside of the hostel, we were the only Westerners. This was confirmed by the fact that every restaurant we passed, every head in the building whipped around to look at us. We have enough of being zoo animals and head to sleep.

We head up a mountain for a beautiful view of the city and the coast and then head back to the hostel to escape the heat. We get oil changes and go looking for haircuts. We find a barbershop and they are ecstatic to have us.

They offer us a price of fifty thousand dong as the woman in the shop runs up yelling “One hundred, Vietnam!”. We give them the “We know you’re overcharging us for being white” face and they agree to fifty. We sit down and then pretend to cut our hair while other people in the shop take pictures. The guy cutting my hair seems to be the owner and is doing a lot of flourishes, clipping the scissors and tapping things. Ryan’s guy gives him exactly what he wants, my guy basically ignores the picture I showed him. Following the haircut, he asks if I want my cheeks straight razored. I mistakenly agree. A female employee begins straight razoring my cheeks. She begins grabbing my biceps and saying “Massage?”. I laugh and say no. She continues to ask adding “Please”, “Boom boom” and “sucking boom boom” to the proposition. Nope. I am ready for this to be over. After about five minutes, the owner returns.

He returns with a handful of metal tools and a light. He turns my head and puts one of the tools in my ear. He begins pulling out earwax. This is likely the cleanest my ears will ever be. Afterwards, he razors inside. This is too close to my eardrum, I can hear it. Not a fan. Then one of the other employees begins using a deep massager from the eighties on my head, arms and legs. There is a reason they switched from hard plastic to rubber. It was brutal and he was going over the bones in my hands. Fearing that the language barrier would cause more issues, I just dealt with it instead of saying anything. After the haircut, the owner offered a massage from another female employee. Nope. He offers one to Ryan, Ryan loves massages. I say no for him and walk out.

We head to the beach to pepper. The wind is wild and we fly wildly around picking up the ball. We are the only Westerners on the beach so we have an audience. We run some diving drills. A local walks up and motions that he wants to play. We don’t know how to convey no to him, so he peppers with us. He can bump in a desired direction, so it’s good enough. He gets tired and leaves and we continue. Another younger local comes up and speaks decent English. He is in jeans and tells us he hasn’t played in a while. This is never a good sign. We begin and he has much less control than the first local. He was sending the ball wildly around, which makes good practice for diving after unpredictable balls. He alternates between getting tired and watching and sending us running for balls. After a bit, we decide it’s time for dinner and head home.

Oh, The Places You’ll Go

Our ride from Qui Nhon to Nha Trang was some of my favorite riding we have done so far. The coastal road near Vung Ro Bay had ocean to one side and mountain on the other. I personally think it is much better than Hai Van Pass, but Top Gear didn’t go there so nobody knows about it. We grabbed some pictures and a snack near the lighthouse of the bay and took off. We rode all the way down the Hon Gom Peninsula to get some cool shots of the view and then finished the ride to Nha Trang. Otherwise, the riding was uneventful, but here’s some pictures.

Nha Trang is just a touristy coast city with a beach. As with all the developed beach towns in the Southern part of Southeast Asia, it is filled with Russians. Again, all the signs are in Russian. Everything is expensive and touristy. We grab a ton of Indian food and Ryan heads home to do some work. I head to the mall to see Captain Marvel. Six dollars American for a movie ticket, cup of Coke Zero, bag of M&Ms and a small blizzard. Life is not bad.

The following day we hear about police traps confiscating foreigners motorbikes in tourist areas of Southern Vietnam and change our plan of going to Mui Ne, where the most famous trap is. As we learn this, we grab breakfast and see someone have their bike confiscated with our own eyes. Time to get out of dodge.

Stressed Out

The ride from Nha Trang to Dalat offers a pass more treacherous than Hai Van Pass and I am excited. My bike is not as excited. We have come to the conclusion that some part of my fuel system is dirty and that is what is causing the issues. It breaks down again. I begin the cycle of moving it and letting it sit and trying to get it started that has worked the previous few times it has broken down. We are sitting in the sun in the middle of the highway. A local comes and tries to get me to follow him to a shop, he is not grasping that the bike won’t start. Again, he uses his foot to transport me a few kilometers to a shop. I try to explain to him that the fuel system needs cleaned, but he runs the bike and exclaims that the spark plug needs replaced. I replaced it a while ago but he seems confident. He also replaces the spark plug cover that is cracked. He then takes us to another shop and adds transmission oil, which the bike had none of. We are still in the middle of nowhere, so at the end, he offers me some exorbitant prices and I haggled a bit. I knock off a small bit, but still end up paying way more than I would if I wasn’t stranded in the middle of nowhere. We see a gas station but decide to wait for the next one.

The treacherous mountain starts immediately and as we get into the clouds, the bike breaks down again. I am not pleased. Actually, I am the opposite of pleased. I get it going again and it is crawling. If we can make it to downhill, I am okay. The road continues uphill at a good incline for twenty nine kilometers. We are far above the clouds. I am very displeased.

We finally make it to the downhill part and my bike runs out of gas, or dies, or both. I am not sure. We find some gas at a nearby shop and I get it going. We finish the ride to Dalat and grab some dinner.

We sign up for a tour at our hostel, which we haven’t done since probably Thailand, and I find a mechanic to take my bike before the tour. I wake up at 7am to take it to the mechanic and am waved off by three mechanics. I finally find one by the hostel that will do the fuel system cleaning for much cheaper than the guy who didn’t fix anything. I head back to go on the tour.

Tourist Time

I paid a bit more to rent one of their bikes while mine is in the shop and Ryan takes his. The bike I get has some weak brakes and no mirrors. I miss my broken bike. We head off in a group and the guides show us some cool views.

We are taken to a small village called chicken village and see some locals working. I don’t take pictures of locals when I am traveling because it seems invasive. Tour guides always offer this, but it’s not for me. Some local kids come and playfully mock our English before we head off.

We got to see how mushrooms are grown in the villages, as well as how rice noodles are made. Then we headed to the famous waterfalls of Dalat. They are good for some pictures but you can’t go in the water so it’s not ideal.

Next stop, we see how incense are made. I am amazing by the precise work done by hand. Each bundle is made into a hexagon by hand, and it is oddly satisfying. One more and we see how silk is made. There are baskets filled with cocoons and machines for boiling them and pulling the silk threads. We are told each cocoon contains about a kilometer of silk thread.

The Elephant falls make our next stop. We walk down some paths that are surrounded by some wacky railings that almost make it more dangerous. Tourists make horrible decisions on when to pass others and when to stop and make it even more dangerous. The water is dirt brown, so swimming is definitely out. We grab pictures and head to the pagoda next door to check out some work they are doing on a very large statue.

Rice wine and weasel coffee fill our next destination. We see the entire process of rice wine being made and get to try some. The liquid is almost hot, which really brings out the alcohol taste. We then see tons of containers of rice wine filled with snakes and other animals, which apparently can make it more potent. We try some weasel coffee, which is made by feeding weasels coffee beans and then using the beans they poop out. Gross, but supposedly it is very popular coffee. We try it, and I think it tastes like poop. In its defense, I think all coffee tastes like poop, but I wanted to be able to say I tried it. I toss a bunch of condensed milk in and then it’s perfect. Across the street, we find a restaurant serving cricket. We see the insane number of crickets they have and the guide orders two plates. With just toothpicks and vietnamese sweet and sour sauce, we make the crickets disappear and wash it down with rice wine.

It starts to rain, but we endure to hit a flower garden and see some more views. This concludes our day as tourists so we head home. The hostel holds a family dinner of Vietnamese noodle soup and I head to the gym next door. Vietnamese gyms are usually filled to the brim and there is a general sense of chaos with everyone just using things and leaving them wherever. Workout done, time to socialize.

We head to the Maze Bar, a five story bar that is filled with a maze. Each floor is filled with tunnels and stairs randomly leading you around. The front part of each floor contains a bar area, so we hop in and I lose Ryan almost immediately. We end up finding people from the hostel and hanging out with them. They tell us they are going to another bar to get a free shot for staying at our hostel and we agree to join. This bar is standard party backpacker haven. Drunk Westerners sucking Nitrous Oxide out of balloons. We ask a few and none of them seem to know why it makes them feel the way it does. For the uninformed, it is the same as Whip-Its in the states. None of them know they are inducing brain damage. Awesome. We head home.

We stay in Dalat two more days before heading to the coast and then Ho Chi Minh City to sell our bikes and head back to Thailand!