Up, Down And About...

Tangla La Pass, NE Kashmir, Indian Himalayas,5360m above sea level . According to the sign, this is “the second highest motorable pass in the world”. My brain froze to an extend that I decided to lift my 50kg ride, thus turning it into “the highest bicycle on the second highest motorable pass in the world”.

Koh Yang, Thailand, 10m below the surface. A testament that silliness follows me no matter what depth or altitude I'm in.

For the next two months I'll be doing my dive master course in Koh Lipe and will try to act (mostly) responsibly. If the distractions are not too great (highly improbable) I'll even try to blog a bit.

Happy New Year!

Flip Flops No More

Here's the deal: This blog's main purpose is to keep an as detailed as possible record of my cycling routes, most of them being well off the beaten track and finding any up to date info on the net is close to impossible. I planned to do a long post about my 3 weeks of “backpacking” holidays in Laos with Dimitris and Stefania, two friends from back home but decided not to, simply because a series of very fortunate events has brought me to China, and its great firewall has proven to be quite a pain in the ass effectively blocking the access to my blog in the beginning, and now that I finally found a way, it's slow enough to make me think twice before starting the posting process. But fear not my fellow readers, soon everything(blog-wise) will be back to normal and freedom of speech will shine.

Though tempted I am to write about the astonishing beauty and great mountains of Yunnan, I'll try not to disrupt the time-space continuum. The next 2-3 posts will be about the eastern trails of Laos, with a taste of western failures and Thai pleasures.

One thing is certain: High altitude, Yaks, snow and flip flops don't mix well...

Respect

If there is one thing in over-abundance in Laos apart from sticky rice, that's signs regarding the dress code. In most of the backpacker-heavy towns it is expected that foreigners will keep their bodies covered, much like the locals do. Why is it then that I see so many shirtless men and bikini-clad women walking around as if it's their party, their rules? Is it the booze, or plain imbecility?

Then there is the other type, the one walking around like vagrants with torn clothes that haven't been washed for millenia, the one that makes you wonder: Is 1$/kg too much to spend for laundry? Or maybe 5$ for a new t-shirt? What the fuck are you carrying in those huge backpacks, isn't there room for an extra pair of clothes? Oh, I get it, you need to show that you've been out in the wild for long, you're a weathered traveler, full of memories and stories to tell. Well my friend, go home. You stink.

We keep expecting for the locals to respect us, not to try and rip us off, but we forget that this is a two-way process and that respect can only be earned and not granted. Go to the last village on top of the mountain, the one without electricity or water, where people live off rice and roots and observe how's everybody dressed, simple as that.

Ok, rant off, everything back to normal...

Gear

Alright, lets get this out of the way. I'm riding a Ghost gcs 2000. I've had it for 5 years now, first time on a long tour-first time for me as well. I came to Asia without any particular plan, just an idea of a final destination(prone to change) and more or less the countries I'd be visiting on my way(changed twice already). What I didn't know was the type of roads I'd be riding in. For too many reasons I've done mostly dirtroads/trails, the most important being that I find them more demanding and thrilling. My bike seems to agree with me most of the days. It's been hit, dropped, gone to places no bike should ever go, crashed to rocks, fallen in rivers, fought with mud, shoved in, behind, under and over buses and its aluminium frame-save for a few scratches-is still smiling.

Front and back Shimano diskbrakes. I can go as fast as I want on steep muddy descents knowing that they won't fail. What I didn't think of before I left was to switch to cables instead of fluid, but so far I didn't have any issues. You learn as you go.

The Shimano Alivio rear derailer was a bad choice as well, too low profile for this type of riding. It's been hit so many times that the arm is bent beyond repair-still functioning but I might consider replacing it for a shorter one soon.

Front suspension. Life saver, can't imagine riding without it. I lock it when riding on tarmac but that's just 1500 out of 8000km so far. Got some rust, had too many river crossings/humid days. I always thought it was inox, seems not.

Tyres: Panaracer on/off. Good compromise, lightweight, good grip on dirtroads. A bit puncture-prone.

 

Saddle: Brooks flyer, basically a b17 with suspensions. Got it right before I left and didn't have time to break it in. After 8000km it's nearly there, every day a bit more comfortable. I decided recently to give padding a go, lets see where cycling around in tights gets me. I'm sure that the suspension has saved my back from serious injury a million times.

Zefal aluminium racks. With all this bumpy riding I've been doing, the clips of the panniers eat their way through the racks. Next time it's steel. The front one required a bit of ingenuity to install without blocking the suspension.

Panniers:

Front: Vaude Discover Pro. Love the lid pocket, something that somehow has escaped most of the other manufacturers. The material used to be waterproof but is clearly not meant for this type of riding. They've been scratched and torn repeatedly and look like they've been through much more than they actually have.

Rear: Vaude Karakorum. The only reason I bought them was because they come with a backpack that zips on top. Turned out a bad investment because a)I don't need a 5^th bag while riding so the backpack is always wrapped inside one of the paniers defeating its purpose, b)The side zipper is a huge misfire, requiring some effort to shove everything in up to the top. Since the very beginning I've been meaning to cut an opening on top and sew some velcro but never got to it. c)Low quality. They are already torn in a couple of places-nothing some mending, rubber glue and tie-wraps won't fix- and the zippers don't seem that heavy duty. The waterproof cover does its job but is a bit of a hassle.

Front left:

The all-important, day to day bag. Multi-tool, opinel knife(lost it recently, a sad day), ipod(hardly ever use it when on the road), compass, maps, head/tail lights, book of the day/week/month, notepad with lots of indecipherable scribbles, wind/rain jacket, snacks(don't trust myself with buying anything the day before, I tend to eat them all the same night), electrolytes(Royal-D is the brand you want to look for, found in most pharmacies in Cambodia, Laos and Thailand), passport. Sleeping bag goes to the bottom.

Front right:

Cooking bag. My trusty old MSR Whisperlite stove. Never failed me in almost a decade or reckless usage, been feeding it with any flamable liquid I find along the way, had to clean it twice in its lifetime. Pot, chopsticks, spoons, a “spork”, my little vietnamese coffee machine, two Lufthansa cups(Greek-German friendship, remember?), the dreaded instant noodles and depending the ride will add some veggies to make the soup a bit more interesting.

Spare parts. Been a work in progress for a long time, now it's got everything needed. Spare tube and tire, a shimano key for the cassette-only a few of these seem to exist in se Asia giving every repair shop the right to bang your wheel to oblivion until their “other key” fits. 5-10 spokes, puncture repair kit, bicycle tool, toothbrush and cloth to clean the chain, chain rings, rivets and lube, shifter cables, spare bolts and tighteners for the racks, rubber and super glue and lots of little unnamed thingies that will serve their purpose over time.

Rear right:

“US Army” hammock with mosquito net, saved me many a night in the wild and is the only thing I regularly take out of the bag. A strong but heavy lock. A handlebar bag I only use on side trips, same goes for the backpack. Raincover for the rear panniers. First aid kit, mostly use it to give away medicine. An extra book might end up here as well, together with 1-2 extra pairs of sunglasses, my t-shirt's colour and the environment dictating which one I'll wear.

Rear left:

The other all-important bag. Enough clothes to last me 5 days, can push it to 7 if there are no ladies around. A sharong and towel, the former very useful when staying in villages and have to wash in the river. Toiletries(bare minimum), a little bag of wonders, eg. Mini speaker for the ipod, all sorts of cables/transformers, sewing kit, tape, batteries, markers for the maps. An HP netbook. It might not have the horsepower I'm used to but does the job just fine. I'm shooting raw and do anything from hdr to panoramas, even edited videos in Vegas, I might have to wait sometimes but time is all I got...

This pannier, together with the front left will come with me in my room when in guesthouses, the rest stay below.

My latest addition, a map/flip flop/fruit/other stuff box. Had to cut a few holes here and there to fit the pannier clips, waterproofed them with pieces of tube and glue to 97%, soon to be 100.

I use a Panasonic Lumix LX-5. It's the closest thing to a DSLR I could find but in a cyclist-friendy form factor. Its zoom throw is a bit of a let-down and the jpeg processing sucks balls. I don't care much about the later since I shoot raw, but the former is one of the reasons I hardly ever shoot any portrets. I find its quality both sensor and lens-wise outstanding-though it loses sharpness in the edges when fully open. The aspect ratio switch is a brilliant idea, saving the hassle in post processing.I attach it in the handlebar and been practicing the descent-at-65km/h-and-shoot-a-photo-without-falling-technique for some time now.

Here we go again...

New country, new language. No more Latin characters either, making all signs indecipherable, and the task of learning twice as hard. Once again the indistinguishable to my ear tonal changes give a word as many as 5 different meanings, a small but crucial example being the word koi, which can mean both I and dick depending how it's stressed-still can't hear the difference. I decided not to leave a legacy behind me, people recalling the mad Greek cyclist who talked about dicks all the time, and not use the word ever, making my conversations less egocentric. The extremely polite officer at the border post snatched my 35 dollars for the visa, taught me my first 10 words-double the daily number I've imposed myself to- and off I went.

Contrary to the other side of the border and the shitty road leading to it, the road here was a two lane fine gravel soon to be tarmac, making my descent to Namnga, the village I'd be spending the night in, pleasant and easy. A sign that won the prize for funniest translation of the month informed me that the project's cost is “USD FORTY THREE MILLION ONLY”.

The second sign was a laugh riot .Give me another month of uncontrolled burning with vistas reminiscent of post-apocalyptic nightmares, and I'm switching to heavy drugs.

Entering the village I asked a young man if there were any guesthouses around and got directions in perfect English. Apparently he studied for a year in Sweden and now works for the ministry of agriculture in Vientiane and also teaches English. His sister was getting married the following day and I was promptly invited to the wedding.

Laotians might be accused of being lazy but they certainly are early birds. By 6 everybody is up and the loud music coming from every other house ensures that even heavy sleeping foreigners will find it hard staying in bed for more. Around 9 the first part of the ceremony started. The groom walked to the brides house, one of his close friends holding an umbrella for him. Everybody clapped their hands and laughed joyfully, the rice wine doing the rounds. Whenever offered, one has to drink two shots, one for the bride and one for the groom. After the third time and as double vision came, I silently protested that maybe it was too early to no avail.

Members of the extended family preparing the very yummy sticky rice for the wedding party. But more on that later...

As is customary, the groom has to knock on the bride's door and wait. The elders will open and ask him questions like “Who are you? What do you want?”. He answers, and if they are satisfied he can enter. Lots of laughter and commotion ensued-unfortunately I didn't get anything- and then everybody got in.

Shoes off! A very typical custom in SE Asia, shoes stay out of the house. The groom was the only one who kept them.

No exceptions. The bearer of a Johnny black that will be offered to guests in the wedding party afterward and finish me off, removes his shoes.

The bride's father, a very modest and well traveled man held a ceremony that felt very informal at times. People came and went, talked here and there, but always in a very joyful manner. The fact that the house served as the village's drugstore and the lack of monks didn't help either- the later not a prerequisite as I found out later.

 

At some point the couple held the table with the offerings in front of them and everybody behind them touched the one in front, reminding me of a similar but completely silly scene in Avatar. Me and my cinematic references...

The ceremony finished with everybody tying white blessing strings to the couple's wrists-sometimes too tight it seemed-which quickly escalated to a tying frenzy in any wrist available, mine included. 

The previous day trucks had unloaded hundreds of plastic chairs, tables and tents, and were set up next to the market, around a-surprise- powerful sound system. Lunch would officially start at 11.30 and tradition kept the two families standing by the entrance for at least 40 minutes to greet the guests. According to Kahmtan, about 1000 people would come from dozens of villages around the area.

I sat with Kahmtan's friends, half of them teachers, the other half working for the ministry of agriculture, and was happy to see that a)there was no rice wine around and b)plenty of food on the table. Two shots of johnny a few minutes ago had almost finished me and was craving for some food. Little did I know, the guys had 20 bottles of beerlao next to them and were eager to empty them. Two things worth noting here, beerlao is among the finest beers I've drank in my life and I always look for it but it is of no value when I'm having it among locals because custom has it that there is only one glass going around, each one drinking fast so as not to keep the rest waiting. The designated “filler” will just keep filling and passing it along. Resistance is futile and drunkenness to oblivion guaranteed.

A bit of dancing was in order, giving me hope that I would sweat out the excessive alcohol. Little did I know that dance here is similar to Cambodia, more of walking rhythmically in a circle, followed by delicate hand movements. It's fun, but will not make a drunk man feel better.

Kahmtan doing his moves...

By 4pm most of the guests were either very drunk and gone, or just gone. The few of us still standing moved to the parent's house for some more eating and drinking-mostly the later. A couple of hours later, when the whole thing had degenerated to incoherent mumblings and weak-from exhaustion-laughter, I decided it was time to crawl to bed. The fact that the rest of the guys were in a much worse condition than I was didn't seem to deter them. I've gone soft...

No, I'm not drunk...

Next day's ride, under any other circumstances would have been a breeze. 40 easy km on my way to Mung Khoa where I'd catch a bus to Luang Prabang and meet with two friends from back home, thus starting a 3 week no cycling holiday. Alas, a massive hangover prevented me from enjoying the ride, and made me wish I was somewhere-anywhere else, doing anything other than cycling. 6 litres of water and two aspirines later the pain was over.

Laos feels like a slightly upgraded version of Cambodia, the main difference being electricity. Equally remote places in the neighboring country wouldn't have any. By slightly, I mean that still there's plenty of villages without. The overwhelming majority of the rural population are subsistence farmers and live with the absolute bare essentials. Rice, boiled vegetables and river fish is the norm, once in a while affording to buy-or trade- a chicken or some buffalo/cow meat. Wooden houses on stilts are once again in fashion, as are half dressed children playing among cows, chicken and pigs, all eager to shout “falang, falang”-foreigner!- when they spot me, thus making the rest of the village aware of me and eliminating the possibilities of a relaxed pass-through.

Laos should be named “Country of the 1000 rivers” or something. Since I got here, not a single day has passed without having to cross some. Apart from providing food-though excessive fishing has decreased the populations to alarming degrees in many provinces- they also serve for transportation. One can literally cross the country up, down and sideways on a boat...

A friend, waiting for the bus.

...but I opted for a dusty, crammed bus for the first leg of the trip.

And one with thankfully law-abiding citizens for the second!

Burn Baby, Burn: Sapa, And The Way To The Border

Here's 3 photos that will give you no idea whatsoever of what's Hanoi like, but I only spent 2 nights there. It's not as buzzing as Saigon but it's got a much more oriental feeling and deserves at least a week or two. Even when one's away from the old town, there's street food sellers everywhere, sometimes the stalls being only a meter or two apart, rice dumplings, pork skewers and pho soup being the most common ones with everything else following, but when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING, from kitchen utensils to coffee beads, duck heads, shoes, electronics, clothes, bamboo furniture, bamboo anything, rice, more rice, there's merchandise everywhere on the streets, on the stalls, on the shops behind them, the whole town seemingly a giant market. Then there is all the technicians and artisans doing their craft right there on the pavement, sometimes blocking the way in small alleys with all their tools spread out, repairing every imaginable piece of motors, fridges, TVs, you name it, things that are well beyond repair but always seem to come back to life. Whatever hole or microspace is left, is a Bia Hoi joint, where every local who respects him/herself will sit at some point in the day and have a cold beer. Then there is the vast spaces around the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum-went there but it was closed for, well I don't know, fluid change maybe?- big parks surrounding huge concrete buildings with strict communist lines, endless 4-5 lane avenues leading to other districts, some upper-class, but most as poor as the rest of the city.

The Ho Chi Minh mausoleum

A still functioning telephone in the only reliable bicycle shop I found. If you need one, it's located in Le Duan avenue between Trang Thi and Kham Thien, on your right side as you head south. It's a very small shop and you might miss it, but the guy's got quite a lot of gear crammed in there and knows how to properly true a wheel.

Mekong Delta anyone? Spelling mistake of the week.

Before leaving for the northern highlands I took a deep breath and decided to visit Ha Long bay, one of the most famous destinations in SE Asia and certainly the most touristic in Vietnam. In a nutshell, it's a bunch of limestone islets-about 2000 to be exact-most of them no more than 100 metres wide covering a vast area along the bay. I opted for a one-day get on a bus, get to Ha Long, get on the boat, cruise for 4 hours, back on the bus and return to Hanoi, leaving the 2-day, sleeping on the boat crap for the romantics. The day was misty and added some mystery to the journey, the massive rocks appearing one after the other as we cruised along. I got to admit, I haven't felt such serenity for a long time, probably because there were no outboard engined boats around, but most importantly no roads, therefore no motorbikes honking! Add some good company, an Australian couple and a German with whom I had a heated discussion about the Greek-German friendship, and the day passed pleasantly and painlessly-save for one minibus braking down and having to fit twice as many people in the other one, but what the heck, it's all part of the game.

A cave with kitsch lighting in one of the islands

My company for the ride.

The way back.

If there is one thing I'll remember Sapa for, it's the chocolate tart I found on a pastry shop. I'd got a mild food poisoning a few days before but it was so irresistible that every morning I had the same ritual: Chocolate tart, a cup of excellent coffee, then rush to the toilet, ensuring that my stomach didn't get better till I got out of there, and everything I ate went quickly out instead of staying in making me lose 2-3 kilos in a matter of days.

No photos of the tart, but here's a lovely mouse eating its way through one of the pastry shop's other delights!

Amidst the touristic over-development happening all across the country, Sapa has somehow come out relatively unscathed considering the large numbers of tourists it receives annually and still retains its traditional character mixed with the inevitable guesthouses and a tourist-only street plus a few ugly resorts thankfully well away from the town centre.

Situated in a valley at 1500m of altitude, surrounded by mountains and villages of many different ethnic minority groups, its central market serves as a hub for all the villagers to come and buy or sell their goods. Early morning and late in the afternoon, hundreds of women and children-men work in the fields, market is always a woman's affair- walk the mile back and forth with their baskets strapped in their backs.

Vietnam's other name is noise. Everywhere. Trucks honk their way through villages, motorbikes honk just about all the time, people tend to talk loud especially early in the morning, and early here is 5.30, maximum 6. There is construction work going on in every place imaginable, heck, even the cicadas in the forest sound like lathes. I chose a guesthouse away from the main square, a room on the 4^th floor. Opened the curtains and faced this construction site...

Testament to the non-existent health and safety regulations around here. I've seen babies hold machetes twice their size and can't help myself but laugh with western society's sometimes ludicrous concerns.

The area is famous for its rice terraces. Planting season is a few months away so most of them were brown and not that picturesque, still quite beautiful to look at.

I spent two days either cycling or trekking around the area, trying to get as far from Sapa as possible and visit some of the villages. On the second day I met Bao, a Hmong woman on her way to her village who works as a guide in the area. We walked together for the next 3 hours-or better said, I tried to keep up as she climbed like a goat here and there while talking in an equally fast pace. I asked her if people wear their traditional clothes only for tourist's sake, a valid question considering how often it happens in other countries-sometimes even forced by the goverment. She said that they always wear them, they are all very proud of their origins and traditions. There's 8 different ethnic groups in the region, marriages do occur between different ones, but not that often. Harvesting only once a year combined with harsh winters ensure that most are poor, medication is scarce and illnesses plenty. Tourism provides income for some families, either through guided treks or making and selling items to the tourists. In her very joyful manner, she told me more than twice how much she beats her husband when he comes home drunk and then has him sleep outside. After that, our conversation was monopolised by Bao's belief that men are not serious creatures, something I didn't try to disprove... If you happen to be in Sapa and need a guide, give her a call at 01685358529, I guarantee you'll have a great time and learn a lot about the area.

Vidal Sassoon award winner.

The ride from Sapa to the Laos border started with an ascent to the 2000m pass next to Fansipan, Vietnam's highest mountain and one I lament not climbing, offering some spectacular views on the surrounding mountains and the valley ahead. The day was great, partly cloudy and cool enough to ensure an easy 500m ascend, followed by an even greater 25km descent to 600m. That's what I love about ascends, there is always the promise of a roller coaster ride in the other side, hehe. After that I entered the valley following Nam Na river and after 200km gets to Dien Bien Phu, a big nondescript border town that will only be remembered because around here the French were finally defeated, putting an end to the first Indochina war. 

Most of the road is sealed tarmac, with maybe 50km of unsealed or gravel but enough roadworks around them to guarantee that the whole stretch will be ready soon. There's plenty of ascends along the way, but nothing too serious, the road always stays close to the river. I'm sure that a couple of months ago it would have been a good ride, but when I was there the whole place was on fire. There was so much burning going on that for 3 days and all the way to the other side of the border the air was thick, hot, brown-grey and the visibility low. I've seen so much of it during the past 3 months that I wonder what's going to be left in these countries in a decade, but then again, being a European I shouldn't talk, we've done this and worse to our land long ago.

Roadworks and delays along the way. No rush.

Chu, a Vietnamese cyclist I met along the way. He kept filming and repeating, "Hello Petros, hello Chu"

Burn, burn, then burn some more.

The mountain road from Dien Bien Phu to the border was shockingly bad, a dusty pothole extravaganza. So much for the Vietnam-Laos friendship!

So, what's the verdict? A month and a half is not nearly enough to understand the people of a country, as I said recently I just scratch the surface, the language being the biggest barrier. Much has been said between travellers, especially the ones that don't stay only here but visit the neighbouring countries, mostly negative. After having spent 3 months in Cambodia and another 2 in Laos(yes my fellow readers, the blog is seriously lagging behind) I find the differences sometimes striking.

Vietnamese are much more extrovert, sometimes too much, but I've come to realise that it's more in-your-face frankness than rudeness. In the beginning I was offended when mocked for riding a bicycle and not a motorbike-something I've had to a lesser extend in the other countries as well- but then I understood that bicycles represent times people want to forget when there was no food on the table, and I don't expect anyone to understand why a European-wealthy by definition-chooses this way of travel. In the same time, I got help when needed it, been admired for wanting to explore the country and offered hospitality on the spot. I've been invited to dinners, parties, slept at houses, was never allowed to pay, sometimes had to fight for it.

The sound advise I got from James and regrettably didn't follow, was to buy a wedding ring and wear it. I've been offered so many daughters, friends, cousins, asked if I'm married and why not, that it's as close to harassement as it gets.

As I wrote in a previous post, when it comes to mass tourism they have a long way to go. The rip-offs in most major cities and destinations are irritating and not likely to stop soon. You either accept it and live with it or move on to the next country. Many a time I tried to explain to a vendor why it sucks doing it but decided to stop wasting my energy. What got me furious was the extra ticket for the bicycle on the few necessary bus rides I had to take. I understand having to pay a bit more, but twice the price for something that when placed correctly occupies less space than a backpack? Whatever.

When it comes to nature, the country is a cycling paradise. It might lack the remoteness of Cambodia or Laos, but some of the most memorable ones I've done so far were here. After 3000km I covered only a 5th of the country and hope I'll be back some day, the rest of the HCM highway and the northeastern part of the country being the two regions I wish I had time to explore now.

The usual stats, facts and high quality maps. Time to get a gps maybe?

Total distance: 310km

After hearing many negative comments I skipped the Hanoi to Lao Cai ride and got on a bus.

Lao Cai to Sapa: 32km. That's a long ascent, almost from sea level up to 1500m. Many villages on the way, gets pretty scenic after the first 10km or so.

Sapa to Lai Chau: 61km. I had a relatively late start and stayed at this hideous administrative town. Nothing to do there and nothing to see. If you can push it to Phong Tho, it's a better option but an additional(easy) 30km.

Lai Chau to Ta Phin: 62km. There is a long ascent on the last stretch. Ta Phin is a small and cute village with 3 guesthouses-have a ride through it before deciding, I stayed in the last all-wood one, got some great food there. Don't, I repeat, don't stay in Muong Lai, it's ugly as hell.

Ta Phin to Dien Bien Phu: 120km. A long day, but not that strenuous. The last long stretch is flat and easy.
Dien Bien Phu to border: 35km. Crappy, crappy road. The border post is at 1100m of altitude. The last 20km are uphill and there is not a single village along the way.