jellybean boom

“The dream was marvellous but the terror was great; we must treasure the dream whatever the terror; for the dream has shown that misery comes at last to the healthy man, the end of life is sorrow.”

I hate going to touristy places. The touts, the other tourists who behave like tourists, the pickpockets, and everybody else who wants to take every penny off your body. I can’t go to Bangkok without getting invited to ride a tuktuk or see the tiger show for a ridiculous amount of money. I can’t go to Bali without the same nonsense. I can’t go to anywhere that tourists frequent without facing this, over and over again.

So I decided, with two of my friends, to ride across Vietnam on a rickety, well worn Honda Future X motorcycle. 

The first day was a mess, scrambling to test our motorbikes, falling here and there, Alvin breaking his finger, smashing into a taxi. We parked our bikes, had a beer, slept at 11pm, woke at 3am. At 4am we were riding for our lives out of Hanoi.

All we had was a map purchased for 4 dollars. On a map, everything looks perfect. On a shitty map, everything is just lines. We didn’t know to go on the flyover, the roundabout, the Y fork, the triple fork or anything. By sheer luck, courage and foolishness, we made it out of Hanoi at 5.30am.

The hardest part of our ride began then. We cleared the paved open highways leading out of Hanoi by 11am, and hell set in. Nobody will ever understand what we went through. We rode on rocks, on dirt, in mud, in the rain. The lashing wind and rain that struck our faces like bullets. Soaked, wet, hurting, and travelling at a mind-numbing 40kmph, we were way behind time. We rode through the mountains, into two lane roads the size of a one lane road. Roads that had no barriers or railings. We witnessed big puddles of dried blood on the road surface, and we even saw a group of people standing next to a cliff, looking down at their lost friend and motorbike. One woman squatted on the floor, covering her face in grief. We rode on.

Along the way, numerous accidents occurred. Yilong crashed five times, so many that I can’t even recall how they happened. He fell asleep, he accelerated too much, he skidded to avoid oncoming traffic. Alvin rode off the road into a drain to avoid being crushed by an 18 wheeler. He got hit in his head but thank goodness for the shitty 5 dollar helmet. It worked.

7.30pm, in pitch darkness, we arrived at the city of Lao Cai. Without a fucking clue where to stay, we lit a cigarette each and flipped our veritable Lonely Planet book. Long story short, we got cheated and stayed at the hotel that claimed to be the one we were looking for, but was evidently not.

7am, we woke up, spat on the floor, the beds, the pillows and rode off. Three angry men.

Our rides continued through the mountains, from Lao Cai to Sa Pa where we stayed a night, and then from Sa Pa to Lai Chau, a city of non-English speakers. But we got by, through a mixture of handsigns, scribbled drawings on napkins and even our smattering of Vietnamese, which inevitably improved through the days. At the end of the trip, I could count to 3, say the words “person”, “motorbike” and “petrol”, and order four different types of noodles. Yilong claimed to have attained the ability to actually understand Vietnamese, which in retrospect, had some truth in it. He would walk to a local, nod his head for 5 minutes, come back and actually give us the correct directions.

From Lai Chau, we rode to Dien Bien Phu. A city made famous by the battle that took place there, we visited every attraction it had to offer. It was then that I truly had an epiphany. Vietnam isn’t just a place off the beaten track, or a place to prove yourself. It is a place filled with history, and people who just want to make a living, and people who are kind hearted and willing to help as much as they could. Every time we asked for help, we were never turned down. Villagers offered to put us up, when it was dark and we had 50km to go. Conmen, in Hanoi, Lao Cai and even Dien Bien, were aplenty. But Vietnam had everything. Vietnam is life. We’ll be back.

—-

In retrospect I ask myself why we did this trip. It was crazy, and hardly ever done. Every guidebook we read recommended taking a train for the first 350km stretch. The roads were rough, death rates were incredible, and even the locals told us to take the train. True to their words, we crashed nine times in total, suffering a broken finger, torn knee ligaments and other minor injuries.

Was it to prove something to ourselves? Did we have a death wish? To be honest, I don’t know. I was sick of life, and sick of you being like this, and sick of everything in this country. Sick of juvenile politics, and people blaming the government and foreigners for everything, and being the proverbial frog in the well. The world is bigger than our little red dot. It’s bigger than everything we pander and moan about.

And now I’m back. I watch people tottering about their daily lives, complaining about nothings, worrying about the smallest things. What a change, what foolishness.

early-mid may: hanoi, vietnam

mid may-end july: mexico city, mexico

early august-mid august: bali, indonesia

mid august-forever: toronto, canada

shut the fuck up noone cares - i should trademark this acronym stfunc

we waited and waited. we went bintan just so you could rest. 50cm vis. bottomless bottoms. currents so strong you can’t move an inch.

NOW WE ARE BACK.

for out of the ground we were taken for the dust we are

and to the dust we shall return.

WADDUPPP BINTAN! like swimming in pea soup, no clue wheres the ground or whats above you, cant see your hand, cant read your dive com, cant read your compass, no fucking clue where is everyone. god such a glorious place

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you’d better run, better run, outrun my gun.

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you’d better run, better run, faster than my bullet.