Some people claim that the most
important gadget on a bus travel is one of those inflatable pillows.
Some others a blanket. In my case it's a multi-tool. Due to being partly retarded and not having asked for a two month visa from the start, I had to leave
the highlands in a rush, go to the coast, get an extension and
come back. That meant a 10 hour bus ride followed by 15 easy km of
cycling to Hoi An. I went to the bus station, got me a ticket, paid
an extra ticket for my bicycle-something quite irritating but no way
of avoiding it- and got on a 15 seater minibus with another 20
people, loads of boxes, my bicycle squeezed under the seats and right
when I thought there wasn't any space left, a motorbike. The driver thought that the louder the music, the better we'd sleep
and no matter how much I protested he wouldn't turn it down. To my
disbelief, soon everybody was sleeping except me. I took out my
multi-tool, unscrewed the speaker right next to me, unplugged it,
screwed it back in, problem solved. It still wasn't an easy sleep.
The ride was bumpy and the driver wanted to brake a speed world
record or something.
The payoff was great though. I reached
Hoi An at 4.30 in the morning. Got to cycle around the ancient town
when there were no tourists around, got a few glimpses of the locals
waking up, some doing their morning gymnastics, some going to their
jobs, the market getting ready for the day, fishermen returning from
the sea to sell their catch and most importantly the empty colourful
alleys with the old houses. Hoi An had been the most important port
in the area for many centuries, until its decline sometime in the
18th century. It miraculously survived wars and natural
disasters that didn't spare the surrounding area and walking around
is almost like entering a time machine. I spent 3 mostly rainy days
strolling casually around the city bizarrely not taking a single
photo, so the only ones you'll see are from that first morning.
Hoi An is famous for its tailors and is THE place to have a suit made. I entertained the idea of getting a 4 piece and having it sent back home but changed my mind, guess I'm not a suit guy. Got to hang out with Dimitris a bit, a Greek I had met in Saigon. Fed up with what's happening back home, he decided to find a house close to Hoi An and live here. I can't blame him. Inevitably half of our conversations revolved around the crisis. Context aside, it was nice to speak in Greek for a while.
Hoi An is famous for its tailors and is THE place to have a suit made. I entertained the idea of getting a 4 piece and having it sent back home but changed my mind, guess I'm not a suit guy. Got to hang out with Dimitris a bit, a Greek I had met in Saigon. Fed up with what's happening back home, he decided to find a house close to Hoi An and live here. I can't blame him. Inevitably half of our conversations revolved around the crisis. Context aside, it was nice to speak in Greek for a while.
At some point I rented a motorbike and
headed for My Son, the most important religious site of the Champa kingdom. After visiting the Angkor temples in Cambodia, My Son looked
like the poor cousin at best with the additional disadvantage of
having been bombed mercilessly by the Americans during the war,
turning some of the temples into craters in a matter of a few days.
Cham people's main religion was Hinduism-they later converted to
Islam- with Vishnu, Brahma and the rest of the gang being the
prevalent depictions in the sculptures and reliefs. What puzzled me
the most were the linga-yoni sculptures, symbols of the connection of
the phallus(linga) with the vargina(yoni), or, to quote the scholars
"the indivisible two-in-oneness of male and female, the passive
space and active time from which all life originates".
Apparently, most of the lingas were gone, leaving the yonis all by
themselves. I imagined a world full of yonis and for a few seconds it
seemed like paradise.
A lonely yoni. |
A crater, where once stood a magnificent temple. |
Right by the site entrance was the
obligatory traditional cham music show. Aesthetics notwithstanding,
the players seemed to enjoy themselves-more than most of the audience
anyway- in spite of doing the same thing three times a day, the
highlight being the wind instrument player who finished the show with
a breathless 1 minute high pitched crescendo using only the
mouthpiece, reminding me of Yorgos Magas, an excellent Greek clarinet
player who does the same thing during most of his shows.
On my way to Da Nang, where I'd get a
bus back to the highlands, I stopped by the marble mountains, a site
that's advertised as a “must see” and basically being a bunch of
marble(what else?) hills with dozens of shops selling marble-anything
around them. I rode around them, watched some modern sculpting with
electric grinders, didn't even bother going up the hill to see a
pagoda and left. Excuse the pun, not that marbelous after all.
Not having learned my lesson, I took a
similar minibus back to Pleiku. This time the owners out-smarted me,
using rivets instead of screws for the speakers. I wondered if it's
worth buying a battery operated drill for similar occasions. Once
again, all 20 of us got in together with enough merchandise to feed
and dress a village plus the inevitable motorbike. The driver had a
very twisted sense of humour and played the same Vietnamese love song
cd over and over again for the whole night, adding it to the small
collection of albums that I know the song order by heart. Suffice to
say, I didn't sleep much.
I arrived at Pleiku at 5 in the
morning, right when people went out on the streets to do their
morning gymnastics. Before you start thinking that Vietnamese are
crazy about their fitness, let me enlighten you. The state has
installed speakers in all villages and the outskirts of big cities.
At 5.30 sharp the national anthem will wake up even the most heavy
sleeping comrade. News about provincial and national politics and new
directives will follow and then a couple of patriotic songs will
cheer everybody up. Then a soothing feminine voice reminiscent to the
telescreen voice in “1984” will close the program with
excercises, counting 123, 123, 123... After a couple of villages I
learned that the further away I stay from the main road where the
speakers are located, the better the chances of not waking up.
I think it took me around 5 hours to do
the relatively easy 50km to Kon Tum, the first stop on my way up. Not
having slept more than 2 hours meant plenty of stops to doze off, eat
and drink. I was entering an area with many different ethnic groups,
so the following day I set off to a couple of Jarai villages to the
west. As I was walking around a cemetery, a young man invited me to
his house and for the first time I sat with both men and women to
drink rice wine. They didn't speak English so it was hand signs
mostly. Both women managed to get drunk quickly, followed by one of
the guys who collapsed on a nearby bed and watched music clips with
half dressed girls. Between them they spoke their language and
switched to Vietnamese when talking to me, as if I'd understand
anything. I feel like a bad student in this country, I gave up too
quickly and have learned only the bare essentials.
A Jarai communal house |
When it comes to the burial of the
dead, the Jarai have a very interesting tradition. In order to honour
the spirit of the deceased, they'll have a day long feast together
with an animal sacrifice. If they can't afford it, the feast will be
postponed until it's possible, sometimes for years. The graves are
adorned with everything from
bicycles to TVs and motorbike parts, as well as wooden statues
representing people that played a part in their life. One of them
looked like an American soldier, I guess the deceased had fought in
the war.
Once again, I decided to try a
secondary road on my way north, one that seemed to end after 100km or
so, but I'd grown used to bad maps and felt optimistic. After asking
around and getting equally negative reports, for some weird reason I
still felt optimistic.
I left Kon Tum, did 55km on the main
and in Dak To I turned towards Tu Mo Rong, hoping that a)I'd get to
see a couple of nice villages on the way, and b)the road trail, or
whatever, would go all the way up to Dak Glei, a town further north.
As for the villages, everything went according to plan. Small and
scenic, with their odd Jarai communal houses in the middle and friendly
if somewhat clumsy people-one of them decided to have a ride on my
bicycle and dropped half of his energy drink over my paniers, giving
them an aufuly sweet bubblegummy odour for the following days.
Coffee heaven |
Yet another war monument |
As for the road? Nada. After a 650m
climb and a nice descent through the forest, I reached Tu Mo Rong,
possibly the ugliest town on earth. For some truly inexplicable
reason it was decided that here, in the middle of nowhere, 90km away
from Kon Tum with no road up north, an administrative town must be
built. Huge ugly concrete buildings-one of them was the court, the
rest I've no idea- with only a couple of trees spared around them and
dozens of buldozers and trucks destroying what's left made the bleak
scenery. Below the 4 lane road were a couple or restaurants with a
few rooms in the back, their sole role being to provide the workers
with food and shelter. One of them was kind enough to let me use a
spare bed in his room. He also happened to be a topographer and
reassured me that there was no way of crossing the pass up north. I
decided that next day I'd head back and stick to the main.
I've met an alarmingly big number of
men in both Cambodia and Vietnam, whose English vocabulary consisted
only of the phrase “I love you, number one” and always wondered
why. In Tu Mo Rong I had my best karaoke night to date for too many
reasons, one of them being that I found the phrase's origins. After
doing my worst at trying to read and sing Vietnamese, the guys went
through a collection of more than 3000 songs and found the sole one
that had a chorus in English and guess what, it was “I love you,
number one”. We ended up playing it in repeat, the microphone doing
the rounds and me contemplating a chorus-singing career in Vietnam.
Next day, after the inevitable
backtracking I got to Plei Can and entered the Ho Chi Minh trail as
is wrongly called by travelers, that a) is not a trail but a well
paved two lane highway, and b) only some parts of it run where the
old trail was, since most of it was on the Lao side of the border.
Used extensively by the Vietminh and the Vietkong during the first
and second Indochina wars, it facilitated the movement of troops and
equipment from the north of the country all the way down to Kon Tum
below the demilitarised zone, well into the south side of the
country. Apparently the Americans did their best to destroy it
throwing millions of tons of bombs, but all they succeeded in was
converting half of Laos eastern side into an unexploded bomb zone,
the price of which Lao people still pay. You can read the fascinating
story on what NSA called “one of the great achievements of military
engineering of the 20th century”
here.
Nowadays, the Ho Chi Minh highway is
the perfect alternative to the country's main artery connecting the
two sides, the dreaded 1A highway. There is hardly any traffic, the
tarmac is top-notch and the scenery among the best I've seen in this
part of the world so far. Triple canopy jungle on both sides, cycling
next to Dac Pko river for most of the ride and mountains as far as
the eye can see, made sure I refrained from trying to find my usual
trails for the extra excitement. Most importantly, no slash and burn
practices meant clear sky and fresh air. Stupid me, I thought that
following a river equals flat ride, but it's nothing like it. Lots of
hills and at least one steep ascend kept my daily average to around
60km. The small towns of Dak Glei, Kham Duc and Thanh My were nothing
to write home about, but all offered some basic accommodation,
Dak Glei having at least 5 guesthouses thanks to a French gold mining
company operating nearby.
A football game on the wrong side of the river. |
Yet another broken-down bus. |
One thing you can't miss in Vietnam: Power lines. |
Gold diggers. |
Findings of the day. |
Imbecility strikes twice of course,
once with the whole visa affair that sent me to Hoi An and back, and
then when I realised I didn't have enough money for the last leg of
the trip. Next day I'd planned to stay in a village much smaller than
Thanh My, so no chances of finding an ATM there either. I didn't feel
that adventurous. I felt sad leaving Ho Chi Minh highway so soon, but
there was no other way than to head to the coast.
The road to the coast: Pineapple-land |
Da Nang is yet another big city with no
character and I was in no way ready for it. I kept going towards Hue,
a more appealing alternative, from where I'd be getting a bus to
Hanoi skipping about 700km of the country. I'd be meeting two friends
from back home in Laos after two weeks and preferred to spend them up
north, no time to do everything.
The two cities are just 80km apart, but
the Anamite mountain range between them successfully blocks the cold
climate of the north from reaching the more temperate south. While
you're swimming in Da Nang, temperature might be 10 degrees lower in
rainy Hue. There is another catch, bicycles are not allowed in the
tunnel that cuts straight through. As if 100km were not enough
already I'd have to climb a mountain. It turned out to be a breeze.
The climb is just 500m high, the view to the sea and the mountain
range quite pretty, and since everybody's using the tunnel, no
traffic at all. At dusk, as I was reaching the pass, the mist came
and I did the next 5km engulfed by it. Magic. Not surprisingly, the
pass's name, Hai Van, means ocean cloud. I stayed 10km down the
road-there's about 50 guesthouses to choose from- and next day did
the utterly boring and completely uneventful 60km to Hue.
Not much to say about Hue, stayed there
only for a day. It does look charming and certainly more interesting
architecture-wise compared to the rest of the country deserving a few
more days, but not this time. Here's a few photos of the imperial
city built during the Nguyen dynasty that ruled Vietnam for 150 years
or so. The Americans were wise enough to bomb it to smithereens
during the war and only a few parts of it remain. The weather was
shit, so the photos are a bit washed out.
A tied Elephant struggling to reach its food.Grrr... |
"Please don't seat on the throne or palanquin when you have not bought ticket for wear loyal clothes". Wrong and funny in every possible way.
The long journey to Hanoi meant one
thing for me: Sleeping bus. Three rows of bunk beds, or better said,
reclining seats, long enough for locals but barely enough for me, not
that I'm that tall mind you. Kept thinking of Dan, a friend who's as
tall as it gets and wondered how he'd manage.
When cycling, I'd often see a bus
coming my way, motorbikes strapped on top, tires screeching on a
turn, and wonder if it's gonna flip sweeping me along the way or if
a motorbike will get detached, most likely decapitating me. Being
inside isn't much different. I'm pretty sure we broke the sound
barrier but my seatbelt made sure I slept on my bed and not the
aisle.
I'm including two high quality state of
the art maps, one of the whole ride plus a more detailed one for the
Kon Tum Province. The Jarai village with the cemetery is about 13km
west of Kon Tum on your way to Ho Ya Li lake. The cemetery is not on
plain view from the main road, you need to get in the village on your
right side and wander around a bit. Bear in mind that this is a
relatively remote area of the country, you might get up to 20km
stretches without food stalls so plan accordingly.
Total distance: 505km
Kon Tum to Tu Mo Rong: 77km No reason
whatsoever to go there. The ride is worth it but the place sucks big
time, I'm just including it for historical reasons. Your best bet as
far as accommodation is concerned, is Plei Can at 63km from Kon Tum.
It's an easy ride with only a few hills on the way.
Plei Can to Dak Glei: 50km. The scenery
is magnificent, take your time. Don't even consider pushing it to
Kham Duc on the same day, there is a long ascent waiting for you. The
road follows Dac Pko river so don't expect any big surprises
elevation-wise.
Dak Glei to Kham Duc: 55km. As I said,
it's a long way up. It will not be a long day but the next town with
accommodation is another 60km away.
Kham Duc to Thanh My: 60km.
Thanh My to Lang Co:115km. It sounds a
bit too much to have to climb the Hai Van pass after a 90km ride, but
if you don't feel like staying in Da Nang it's the only option.
Lang Co to Hue:60km. Dead-easy and not
that interesting as long as it's not windy. Or rainy.
I love the journey that you're on and how you take us with you. I think this is a book in the making. Great to hear that you're doing well. I can only imagine how this is changing you. Can't wait to see you in person and catch up. Dan sends his love.
ReplyDeletexoxo
Stavroula
Λοιπόν σε περίπτωση που πέσεις πάνω σε πορεία θέλω να 'σαι αλληλέγγυος. Εδώ μερικά συνθήματα που ίσως σε βοηθήσουν να ξεπεράσεις τις δυσκολίες του πρώτου σου βέγκαν Πάσχα.
ReplyDeleteΠΡΟΤΕΙΝΟΜΕΝΑ ΣΥΝΘΗΜΑΤΑ ΓΙΑ ΤΙΣ ΒΡΑΔΙΝΕΣ ΠΟΡΕΙΕΣ:
- Εμπρός, πιστέ, μη σκύβεις το κεφάλι / ο μόνος δρόμος είναι κερί και μανουάλι.
- Προσευχή, νηστεία τα όπλα των πιστών / πόλεμο στον πόλεμο των αθεϊστών.
- Χριστέ, ζεις / εσύ μας οδηγείς.
- Το πάθος για την Παναγιά / είναι δυνατότερο απ' όλα τα κελιά.
- Λε-λε-λευτεριά / σε Ιησού και Βαραββά.
- Εμπρός, Χριστέ, μη σκύβεις το κεφάλι / ο μόνος δρόμος είναι Ανάσταση και πάλι.
- Ιούδα, κουφάλα / έρχεται κρεμάλα.
- Ούτε στο σταυρό ούτε στις φυλακές / ο Ιησούς Χριστός δε λύγισε ποτές
- Ρωμαίοι, λέρες / ακόμα λίγες μέρες.
- Η σταύρωση δεν είναι εικόνα στις ειδήσεις / στο Γολγοθά γεννιούνται οι συνειδήσεις.
- Ο πιστός δεν ξεχνά / τον Ιούδα τον κρεμά.
- Δεν κάναμε ακόμα το τελευταίο ντου / αυτές οι νύχτες είναι του Ιησού.
- Βενζίνη και μπουκάλι / στου Ιούδα το κεφάλι.
- Η αλληλεγγύη κάνει τον κόσμο μας ωραίο / Λευτεριά στο σύντροφο Ιησού τον Ναζωραίο.
- Ένας στο σταυρό / χιλιάδες στο ναό.
- Πίσω, Φαρισαίοι / Εμπρός, σύντροφοι.
- Με στουπί και με βενζίνη / ο Ιούδας δε θα σβήνει.
- Η Ανάσταση ανήκε στον Εσταυρωμένο / κι όχι στον Ιούδα τον προσκυνημένο.
- Δώστε στο Θωμά έναν τρίφυλλο μπάφο / να δει το Ναζωραίο να βγαίνει από τον τάφο.
Once again, beautiful pictures, Hoi An is at it's best at night.
ReplyDeleteI miss the 3D pictures.
Oh, and empty you mailbox!
Take care and good luck!
Nothing to warrant 3D so far, be patient dear...
DeleteMailbox sorted.