How to not get to Dalat. . .by way of My Tho.

Written from a nice little town called Bao Loc about 110 km Southwest of Dalat.  Weather here is almost cool.  Wow.  We're getting up in the hills.  Dalat would be cold in the morning no doubt.

I think it's unfair that I've only recently been compelled to debunk my own reputation for intrepid adventuring, not to mention effective way-finding.  Wouldn't you think once would be enough for one trrip?  But no.

We left Saigon southbound by my standard method yesterday morning. . .I studied the map and the guidebook and put the two together and made a list.  You can buy a Saigon map any time you want one in the tourist district. . .the ladies selling cigarettes and gum have them for about a dollar.  Get one.  They're really good. The solution is to first figure out where you're trying to go. . .obviously you don't want the southbound exit if you're headed north. . or east or west.  All roads around here lead into Saigon.  The guide book is best for this, its city and district maps pretty clearly identify just which city street will eventually either become the highway you need or at least dump you onto it. . .or under it in some cases.  Once you understand where you're going, mark it on the $1 city map (which may have the same sort of notations, but they might be somewhat less helpful as for example "to the western provinces").  On the other hand, your $1 map will show bridges (by name, very helpful since they're all labeled on the ground) and such things as traffic circles without a statue as distinct from those with a statue. . .or some other sort of monument.  That's excellent information since the streets otherwise tend to look an  awful lot alike.  If you know your intersection has a traffic circle with a statue, you've just narrowed down the search a whole lot.  The list reads something like this:

• From Spring House Hotel (highly recommended, even at a ruinous $18), turn right and proceed to and turn left onto Nguyen Thai Hoc.   
• Continue to a statue in the intersection (short ways) bend left onto Khach Mang Thang 8.  
• At the next traffic circle do 90 degree left onto Dai Lo 3 Thang 2. 
• Continue to an obvious major intersection turn right onto Le Dai Hanh, continue a good distance
• Turn left on Huong Lo 2, which might also be called Thoai Ngoc Hau. Continue until you find the hwy.

That takes about an hour in morning traffic (pretty easy traffic really) and it went almost flawlessly.  I over ran that left onto Huong Lo 2 (which was in fact called Thoai Ngoc Hau at that point and only morphed later into Huong Lo 2).  I got suspicious in about six blocks so stopped and studied the map.  Yup.  Too far, but there was an extremely easy diagonal correction available right there, so it didn't even involve any backtracking.  

At the highway I made the left turn toward the south and the delta where the first city of any consequence would be My Tho, which you say "Me-Tawww", with a slight upward lilt to the "Me" and the "Tawww" a good bit lower.  There are other towns elsewhere with very similar names, so try to get it right if you really need someone to understand.  Anyway, I got the turn right and merged to the left into the most unpleasant sort of traffic.  Mind you, it could have been worse.. .raining for example, or dealing with a spluttering bike. . .both of which I've tried on this route, but still, on a scale from one to minus ten this must be right there. . .or maybe eleven.  It's a securely divided highway, so you don't have incursions from the opposite lane (okay, that makes it maybe a -9.5). . .but there's tremendous mass of trucks and buses using the two real lanes and the bikes are cordoned off in about half a lane WHICH THEY HAVE TO SHARE WITH THE SHORT RUN CITY BUSES!!  Now, that makes perfect sense for the buses and their riders. . .how else to pick up and drop off from the curb??  But they take up most of the width of our lane, and they're constantly dodging into the curb to do their business.  They have really loud turn signal horns (weird sound, like nothing else on the road).  Otherwise most of the bikes would be squished and we'd all be dead.  And that's only part of the problem.  The dust and grit is unbelievable, since almost every truck tracked in mud from the countryside. . .okay, maybe only half the trucks.  Lots of dust anyway. . .and horns and engines (with and without mufflers) and horrible horns. . .separate issue from ordinary truck horns, these are meant to wound or kill. 

I feel for the truck drivers too, but on a bike you are constantly in very close proximity to many other riders, a few feet ahead and behind usually, but side to side, you often overlap a bit, as when somebody else's handle bar passes under your elbow as he swerves to avoid someone  else on the far side. . .but as a normal thing you can easily reach out and touch the people on either side of you.  

And the traffic moves at different speeds. . .the buses are always starting and stopping and roaring off, but I'm talking about the bikes.  A guy who's late with a delivery of whatever he's piled high with may tear past like the dog was chasing him, while an old gentleman on a French moped might continue along in the middle of the lane at half the speed everyone else is making. . .not to mention kids on bikes or electric scooters.  Of course there are people veering off to one side or the other as their "exits" come up or they decide in desperation to ride with the trucks in the real lanes (not recommended in general, but there are times. . .)  Mercifully, I suppose, the actual speeds are pretty low.  If we were moving much over 35 kmh it would likely be bloody mayhem, though now and then we do better than that for a while, and I guess that feels like progress when it happens.

You needed to know all that. . .it bears directly on what follows.  I saw a sign.  Different from seeing the light, but it had a profound effect anyway.  It happened about 30 minutes into the "freeway" riding and it convinced me (consider my state of mind at that point) it convinced me. ..that I'd gone the wrong way.  I've done this before in my life. . .thought I'd made a mistake but was  wrong, I hadn't.  But, convinced as I was, I did the terrifying things necessary to do a U turn in that bit of the world and started off the other way.  North, as you've no doubt figured out, away from our destination in the Delta, but IN MY MIND (no giggling darn it) I'd fixed the problem. But things just didn't seem right, even if I was (as I was sure I was) finally going the right way (even though it was the wrong way. . .are you still with me?  We're coming to the crux of the matter.)  

You have to understand that I don't really like cities, even if I find the energy level in Saigon fascinating for a day or two. . .and I really don't like anything at all about the traffic on the highways in and out of Saigon.  I was not, to be blunt, having any fun at all.  Furthermore (I do make excuses and rationalize things at times) I am down to only 14 days until flyaway and my intended route home to Hanoi should take about 9 days.  That's cutting it as thin as I ever want to do it. . .SO to recap the position of things. . .I'm headed North on the interstate and have been for most of an hour but I think I'm headed South and I've just made up my mind to turn around and head for home, or, as a first step, north toward Dalat, the next want-to-see area on the road home.  So I did another death defying u-turn.

The kilometer marker with the inscription "My Tho 42 kn" came up about half an hour later.  My mind was unprintable for  a minute or so.  But I know when I'm whipped.  We continued to My Tho and had a lovely time.  Actually, there was enough day left to make the trip all the way to Can Tho (Kun-TUHhhh), a place I know I like, beautiful river town really and I'd like to see the new bridges. There are two MAJOR bridges and one small one all on one alignment. . .should be finished by now and it's no doubt a magnificent sight!

But it seemed silly to me (considering my sudden interest in heading north) to run another hundred and some km away from home, and I'd never spent the night in My Tho. . .which turned out to be a delightful place in a very quiet sort of way.  It's sort of a dead end now, about 10 km off the main highway going on into the delta

and it's less important since the new bridge to Ben Tre was finished and the big fleet of little red and white ferry boats that used to connect the two towns disappeared into history.  Now it sits there and catches fish and grows rice and administers its province and in general minds its own business.  You're clearly in the Delta here, you've left the North and the Central provinces with their hills and waterfalls far far behind.  This is the land of the Mekong River in all its very many channels.  The fruit is tastier, the vegetables greener, the rice fields flatter. . .well, really flat anyway, and the people are just about amphibious.  At least the kids are.  I spent a good half hour watching one bunch of boys jumping off the top of a 4 pile dolphin driven with coconut trees for piles.  The wrinkly trunks of the palm trees gave the kids just enough of a toe hold to let them scramble up to the top and dive (jump?) off. 

And I had to stand in a beautifully groomed waterfront park, landscaped and tiled and filled with bright and happy people on their Saturday evening off. . .people walking their dogs and their kids and their grandparents and sitting and eating peanuts and squid (but no ice cream darn it) and I had to eat little treats as I strolled along the river bank and  watched the world go by.  It was nothing to write home about I guess, but it sure made a pleasant evening.  There was a great internet connection in the hotel, they found me a room only one floor up with a view out over the market from my window, everything worked and the ice water was cold.  No fireworks, just a fine evening.  In no particular order, here are a few My Tho Photos:

Yes. . .I'm ready, go for it!!

The Riverfront park in My Tho

The new Ben Tre Bridge. . .farewell to the ferry boats, they were cute. . .but slow and you had to wait in line and. . .

So I got up this morning thinking I had two full days to make Dalat, including the horrendous Saigon traffic. I'll spare you the details.  It was just as bad coming as it had been going with one interesting difference.  I intended to follow the bright red double line of the map that shows Hwy 1A  running right around the City, bending gradually from northbound through the compass points until it's aimed East toward Bien Hoa, 20 km or so away.  What actually happened is that we came to a Y without a highway sign of any sort, just one road coming in (the one we were on) and two, apparently identical roads continuing on, one to the left a little, the other to the right a little.  We went right and in the course of a mile or so the four-lane divided highway became a four lane urban street.  It carried its median a ways, then dropped that too.  

Plan B.  Stop.  Figure out where you are and where you're trying to go.  Make a list. . .Actually, there were only three critical turns and we only missed the last one.  The first one was at a T. . .that was easy, and the next one was at the very next traffic circle and was a simple 90 degree right.  The third should have been the continuation of the highway and it should have been really obvious, but we never saw it.   Really though, the trip through the city on the one very long leg after the first two turns was  quite pleasant.  I had many many blocks to run and no navigation to do, so I was free to look all around (as long as I kept the bike out of trouble).  There is plenty of traffic on Saigon streets, but this WAS  a Sunday morning and it was mostly just a fine ride.  I guess if you had some idea where you were going riding in the City wouldn't be all that bad.  

So when I was sure we'd far over run the intended turn onto Hwy 1A (we were actually on Hwy 13, headed for our normal northbound route at that point.  So we stopped again, made another list, got it verified by two gentlemen who were handy and amused (or bemused. . .I suppose my ears and trunk were showing).  Anyway, I followed my nose, made a couple of lucky guesses, took the right down ramp one time that mattered and sure enough, we ended up where we wanted to be.  Or at least on the right road.  

Fifteen or twenty km later, after the morning can of Red Cow and a whole pot of cold tea at a highway-side chaise lounge sit down sort of place, we found the left turn onto Hwy 20 and everything changed.  Really, we'd been all day on the big one, Hwy 1A, four lanes and two big shoulders and lots of traffic and then right through the heart of Saigon. . .then we turned left and in a few hundred feet there was a complete phase shift in the universe.  The crystal turned from dark to clear, the road became two lanes and hardly any shoulder, there were rubber trees in the thousands on both sides of the road and we were all but all alone.  My goodness.  And it just got better the rest of the day.  When we first started seeing the Dalat kilometer markers the distance to run was up in the 220 km to go range and it was already after one in the afternoon. . .there was no way to make it before dark, though it was fun to count the kilometers as they ticked off and check the distance against the sun and the clock.  

But we really didn't care.  There are a number of little towns before Dalat that will have hotels just as nice, and this is a wonderful road to ride.  The mountains got steeper and the turns got tighter and the air got COOLER.  I hadn't realized how hot we've been the past week or so, but the cool air in the shadows here in the mountains was so delightfully fresh and fine. . .it even made my shirt feel thin.  And this is a road we've never ridden before, so every curve brings something new, every climb is a new test, every cliff a new delight.  The giant boulders on the edge of one little town inspired someone to build a fine little pagoda and fill it with kids going to school.  They set a large white Buddha on top of the largest boulder, fifty feet or more above the ground, with a Quan Yin in a separate shrine below.  A choir of 40 women and two monks sat on the tile floor in the great hall and sang and occasionally sounded a gong.  Like Gregorian chant, even without understanding the words, it was hypnotic and lovely.  They continued their chant unbroken as they filed out the door and around the corner into the cloister.  The children of course never stopped giggling and posing for photos.  Here are some "Highway 20" photos, about 150 km worth. . .

A string of typical Southland chaise-lounge drinks shops. . .they'll fresh squeeze sugar cane juice for you and put it on ice. . .just lovely, but not quite the right thing for diabetics.

A few of them looked at me while I stood back from the door trying to be really small, but mostly they kept up a lovely "Gregorian Chang" sort of song and occasionally sounded a big gong.

The kids in the Pagoda. . .perhaps local kids for class, but a lot of pagodas raise orphans and poor children.  

Curves, climbs and descents. . .joyful riding and not much traffic.  The roadway is a little bumpy, but no big chuck holes!

This is tea and coffee country now.  Was a lot of jungle when I was young.  H'mm.

And so we came to this little town a hundred km short of Dalat, which we may never see now.  The turn off for Hwy 27 to Buon Ma Thuot is twenty-some km before Dalat, and really, it was only the mountains and this road I wanted to see.  We may just continue on to Buon Ma Thuot and thence up the Hwy 14 "Ho Chi Minh Road" and back to Hue to say last goodbyes (for this trip at least).  Thence onward to the North, perhaps by new roads again.  But that's getting way ahead of ourselves.  

Sometimes you have to make choices. . .Nha Trang to Saigon

Written in Saigon, 11/30/2012 (a Friday evening)
Weather here is quite warm in the afternoon, but cools to just pleasantly warm by early evening.  There's a full moon tonight in an otherwise unbothered sky, with a good breeze moving the air through the city.  You could make excuses to be out under that moon for quite a while if you wanted.

There is a time in life for writing about life and there is, I submit, a time when it is better to forget about the writing (no matter how important it might seem) and simply go out and live.  So I've written a bit the past few days, an email or two needed answers and I've scribbled in my diary of course. . .but mostly for the past few days life has been on the road and pestering the locals, especially if they have anything to do with building boats, or offloading fishing boats or selling ice or pretty much of anything on the waterfront.

The route from Nha Trang to Ho Chi Minh City could be very straightforward, but it doesn't have to be.  Just as well. . .and it could probably be done in one long day by a determined long distance rider, though perhaps not.  You might get to within 40 km of the city in a day and then have to admit you'd never make it through the traffic jam on the approaches to the city in time to make it all in one day.  But that's entirely beside the point.  Our route this time was straightforward enough, just not direct.  From Nha Trang, it was a pretty easy day's run down Highway 1 and the beautiful beach road through the sand dunes to Mui Ne, just north of Phan Thiet.

The not really new any more road along the beach and the sand dunes north of Mui Ne.  I have a long and affectionate relationship with this road. . .it's a lovely 40 kilometers.

I was mostly wanting distance, so there was one stop for a small can of Red Cow on ice when I got sleepy in the early afternoon, then another, wonderful stop in the town of Ca Na (say the "a" sound as in "apple", flat accent) where I finally found the boat harbor I knew had to be there (one new vocabulary word this year has made a huge difference. . ."cang" means "PORT".  Oh good grief.  Thus on down Highway 1 to the town of Thai Hoa, where we left Hwy 1 for a bit and made the sea and sand dune run on into Mui Ne.  When they first opened the road (I actually rode it full length BEFORE it was open and got centerline stripe paint on the seat of my bike when I gave the stripe painter a ride back to camp. . .but that's an old story now.)

There were a few chores in Mui Ne, and I tried to fall in love (not "three a week" like some young men, but now and then it does happen. . .we'll get to that in a bit) and (besides falling in love) made an interesting mistake. . .though no real harm done. . .we'll get to that too.   After a heart rending farewell to my new love (it was a short affair) we moved on to Phan Thiet and continued my absolutely unblemished record of getting thoroughly lost in that dad blamed town.  I'd buy the city fathers the road signs out of my own pocket if they'd just put a few up, honest!!  Excuse me, I get a little worked up over Phan Thiet and the fact that you can't get there from here, or rather you can't get through there from Mui Ne.  There's only one cotton picking road out of town anyway, so why not put up a sign to let poor innocent strangers find it??? Thank goodness the people are so sweet about giving directions.

Anyway, having made it past Phan Thiet we had to rejoin Highway 1 for a short while, about 50 km I think, until the town of Thon 1B.  Maybe it's not really a town with a name like that, but it's a settled spot.  There's a sign there that you'd think would read "Ham Tan" or maybe "Hwy 55" or some such from looking at the road atlas, but no, it comes right out and says "La Gi", which is where you're trying to get. . .so all you have to do is be awake when you drive past the sign so you can double back and run down Highway 55.  And then we get to La Gi.  It's a fishing town with a few outlying resorts down the beach and some interesting variations in its fishing fleet.

The back side of the Harbor at La Gi.  This is not too hard to find, but can be impossible to get home from.  Odd.

 I visited once before (acting on a not very anonymous tip that I'd be glad I did), and found that the town is located at an energy vortex that apparently bends the streets around so that no matter what you're trying to find (like a left-behind day pack) you really can't backtrack without a local guide.  So I approached it with a certain reserve, rather like a once-bitten fellow, somewhat shy on the second go round.  As it turned out, like the disappearing bookstore in the backstreet in Berkeley (the one that the dragons from Dungeons and Dragons inhabit) like that shop, there's a secret to La Gi.  Okay, I'll spill it right now, we already have a lot of things hanging.  On your way back from the boat harbor (either side, and it does matter), you simply have to find the Chua ("pagoda" in English) and turn right on the green light.  Otherwise you twist into an alternate reality and disappear into the coastal plain and may never return unless you can get directions from a local djinn.  Er. . .I need to check my bedtime fiction, it seems to be getting into my day-life recently.  Anyway, since it was the tallest and easiest to find and nearest the road back out of town (which also disappears at times) I selected the best hotel in town.  $11 the night.  With AC, and a specially set up fan (since I don't really like AC at night) and WIFI and hot running water and a toilet that actually works well. . .I think that checks all the boxes.  Oh and also a window overlooking a middle school.  Shucks, that was worth the $11.  The kids are really cute in the mornings.

I seem to have gotten side tracked in La Gi, let's get back to the route.  From La Gi we stay on Hwy 55, though first we have to find its continuation. . .as I said, it  apparently isn't completely stationary, or maybe you can only see it when you're in the correct frame of mind (pure of heart? No, I guess not. . .) But we did find it after the bike got her bath (fooling around in the sand around La Gi made her feel itchy and she was complaining about her chain and one thing and another, so she got a for real washing from a man who took it seriously. . .).  This year (and this day, to be specific) we remembered my day pack (she keeps asking me if I have it every time we leave somewhere. . .didn't approve of the night ride I guess), so unlike the last time through, we had no excuse to come back, not even a new love.  And so the 80 km to Ba Ria, almost all on a lovely small rural road (the aforementioned Hwy 55), which morphs into a suburban monster a mile or two out of town.  Actually, it morphs into a small and manageable suburban monster road before Ba Ria, but ever so gradually grows and matures into a FULL FLEDGED HORRIFIC CITY TRAFFIC MONSTER way before Bien Hoa. . .and almost all the way into Saigon.

Then a funny thing happens (I've seen it before).  You've spent 20 km inching forward breathing nearly pure diesel fumes (mixed only with some minor amounts of dust, since nobody is moving fast enough to raise any more. . .) and only moving now and then when some minor seam opens ahead of you for a second (longer than that and it's gone. . .somebody else got it) and you gain a little.  Then, crossing some magic line, the traffic politely divides into a column of smoothly moving cars and trucks in two lanes on your left and you and the hundreds of motorbikes you've been sharing paint with for the past hour flow quietly into a completely separate (and barricaded to keep it that way) lane all to yourselves and the entrance into the city itself is something a child could do.  Of course, no child would have lived through the approach, but that's another matter.

So we arrived in Saigon in plenty of time for our chores (it was just past two in the afternoon when I lugged the luggage (THAT'S why they call it that.  . .who'd have thought it??) and the day's challenges really began.

But we need to skip back to Nha Trang for a moment.  I tried to leave the hotel and the young lady at the desk wanted to know if I would go to the airport at Cam Ranh.  I said no, I didn't think so, I was going on to Mui Ne.  She said, yes, you can go to Mui Ne in about six hours but you should go to the airport in Cam Ranh.  I said "why"?  She said "Because" and hesitated, and then said "Why NOT?  It's very beautiful!".  Well, I'd scouted the road out of town the night before and found a new escape route and now it dawned on me the full text of the sign at the turn was "Sam Bay Cam Ranh". . .and I hadn't bothered with the "Sam Bay" (say it "Sum Buy") part. . .but that's "airport" to the rest of us I'll bet.  Some one check me on that. . .but May Bay is an airplane, so if Sam means er. . .well, it's not "cang" which means water-port.  H'mm.  Anyway, it was gorgeous, a brand new four lane cliff top expressway, overlooking the blue blue sea, divided almost every inch of the way, with breaks in the divider only where it was safe to build a scenic viewpoint with enough line of sight for traffic to have a chance. . .but no traffic!  So, leaving Nha Trang, by all means go to the Cam Ranh airport, just turn off about 8 km short and move back over to Hwy 1 and carry on.  Oh.  If you can, arrange for a pair of artistic local boats to round the rocky point at the scenic view point for you while you're there.

The view from the first scenic viewpoint on the new road from Nha Trang to the Cam Ranh Airport.

Here's a wider view.  The coast from Quy Nhon all the way to Mui Ne (at least) is really just splendid, and you can even see it now and then!

And the two stops. . .once for a can of Red Cow as I mentioned. . .in the same little roadside restaurant in the desert where the Mountain Hmong people have been transplanted (I still can't imagine, mountain people from the rainy cold highlands transplanted en masse to the Baja California type lowland coastal desert). . .in the same restaurant, as I said, where I stopped last trip and didn't ask if the Hmong crossbows on the wall were for sale.  Madame recognized me before I had my helmet off (the beard I think, or maybe the smile?) and was ready to feed me a full lunch again, but furnished the necessary Red Cow instead when asked.  The crossbow and 2 full quivers of darts would be $300,000 VND.  $15 USD.  I didn't buy it.  Maybe I'll have to run back through there. . .I've always wanted one, and that one is really nice.

It's an unusually well made Hmong crossbow.  They're actively in use for hunting small game, but many of them are pretty poorly done.  The feathers are actually folded palm leaves.

But the big deal for the day was the boat harbor in Ca Na.  You've seen a photo of a boulder strewn hillside in Ca Na before (page back through last year's ride if you can't remember it), but not the boat harbor.  The building in that photo is a Nuoc Mam shop. . .factory and sales outlet combined. . .and it's only one of maybe thirty of them in this little burg in the middle of the desert.  So think of what you need to make nuoc mam. . .cheap fish, and lots of it. . .cheap salt and lots of it. . .warm sunshine (to get the fermentation going) and barrels for the fish to rot in.  That's it.  So there had to be salt ponds and a fishing boat harbor.  You can keep the salt ponds when you find them, they're all the same. . .but the harbor is mine!  Wonderful!  You wouldn't believe the size of the fleet, hundreds and hundreds of boats, and they're grand!!  They're all very much alike, 17 meters long, 5 broad, and 2 deep (draft, not fairbody depth).  I  got that by asking by the way.  My experiments with my new tape measure have not been well received by my audience.  I think maybe the law likes to measure boats with a steel tape when they're figuring out taxes. . .or something like that.  Anyway, there were two immediately obvious boat yards and one of them provided a near perfect sequence set up.  There was one of the typical boats just getting started. . .keel laid, keelson bolted on and sprung into place, the stem (a big hunk of wood) braced off and bolted on and  all the bottom frame members bolted onto the keel or keelson.  Period!!  Absolutely conclusive.  Then there were two boats each a little further along, so the sequence of construction is very clear up through completely planked up.  I'll put together a full fledged article for the website next month at home. . .but here's a taste:

The earliest stages of construction of the dominant style of fishing boat in Viet Nam. The full length one-piece keel was laid on blocking to keep it straight and level, then a lighter keelson bolted onto the keel to carry the stern up and make the space for the rudder and propeller.  The lower frame members were pre-notched for limbers and bolted to either the keelson or keel.  And the boat is ready to build. . .that's the foundation.  On the right you can see another boat perhaps a few weeks further along, with the side frames added and planking well under way.

More exciting perhaps, these men were doing superb work with gorgeous materials.  There is a big band saw slicing long pieces of tree into absolutely beautiful timber.  The workmanship on the boats is truly first class. . .with the right coat of paint we'd he talking "workboat yacht quality" or better.  It was really impressive and people were only too friendly.  What a fine stop.  I almost went looking for a hotel to see if I could do some more tomorrow. . .but the bike kicked up over that so we moved on.

This is what they're building.  Oh.  And no blueprints anywhere around.  

Mui Ne, you may already know, lies at the end of almost 40km of desert road through white and red sand dunes, past rocky headlands and sweeping bays. . .and the town itself is set on a prominent point that provides shelter from the prevailing wind for a large fleet of fishing boats, basically of three types, which I've already documented to pieces.  It also provides a gorgeous dramatic view of the enclosed bay with the fleet all anchored there and I've photographed it until it flinches when I pull out a camera.  So has every other tourist that's ever ridden the tourist highway down the coast. . .but I keep trying.  I have one photo that will do for the cover of the book if we ever get there, but you never know, I might get the tide and the light even better someday.  Not this time though.

Mui Ne Anchorage.  Probably the most photographed spot on the Vietnamese Coast.  It's hard to get it really right.

But I mentioned the small matter of a love story.  You now how it is, guy strolls through town, wanders past an innocent looking sort of place, looks through an open doorway and sees something that makes his heart stop.  He stops (with a stopped heart, what did you expect, a sprint??) he stares (maybe open mouthed, or maybe with stars in his eyes, depends on the movie eh?)  Anyway, some tiny spark of recognition and instant affection flies across the distance between and he straightens up, adjusts his tie (or whatever), brushes the hair out of his eyes (if he has any) and casually (you have to be cool at a time like that) saunters across the road.  I was right. She was really cute.

REALLY CUTE, and really in very good shape. . .easy to fall in love!

 Shiny black, with the chrome on her 35 year old wheels still bright and clean, hardly any rust on her chromed handle bars, her seat (so nicely shaped) obviously newer than the rest of her. . .and her motor. . .h'mm.  sort of in pieces all over the floor.  I don't think you'll have seen one of these if you haven't been to Asia.  I've only seen them here that I can think of, and only rarely. . .she's a mid 70's vintage Honda CD50.  Wow.  Not only that, but the mechanic who has her torn down has a 100cc top end to replace the 50cc's she was built with, so she'll be the cutest little giant killer you ever saw in a week or two when he's done.   I was thoroughly smitten.  (was?? can you say "AM"??)  I'll be needing something dainty and easy to  manage in and out of parking garages in my next incarnation working in downtown Seattle, and they don't get much more petite or maneuverable than that.

But it is not to be I fear.  Wiser heads will prevail.  Our stars are not crossed.  Once she's been modified to that extent I'd either have to become a Honda surgeon to keep her running, or manage to get a work visa for one from Viet Nam, not to mention the supply train of 40 year old Honda parts.  There has to be an easier way to get a really cute ride. . .but. . .I'll never forget her, how she looked over shoulder and smiled at me. . .oh gosh.  And all those new CC's.  Oh my.

Dishwasher catching up the back log while I had breakfast. . .Mui Ne

Oh.  The mistake, other than falling in love. . .I finally asked at the little guest house at the very best overlook out over the moorage and YES, they had a room, and not only a room, BUT A ROOM WITH A VIEW! To be specific, the window of my room (of course it was my room. . .small, old, rather oddly furnished, what did that matter?? I took it without a thought) that window, as I was saying, looked straight out into the harbor, out across all those hundreds of gorgeous boats, out past them to the open sweep of the sea beyond the headland, the wind darkened white capped sea, the magic sea peopled with. . .uh.  Yes, I suppose I'm getting carried away again.  Besides it was cheap,  $7.50 the night, with a fan and a towel.  They did not mention (and I forgot to ask) that the young men who really are out to make a mark in the fishing industry locally like to get an early start, say, oh, maybe something like 02:28 in the morning (that's just before 02:30 in case you've never been up then).  The boats around here are all diesel powered now, and they all use the same brand of muffler.  None.  And I had the best, most romantic, incredible view of their invisible boats making their invisible racket for about an hour as, one after another, they got under way.  I got up at 4:30 and wrote for a while.  Couldn't get back to sleep.

So that was Mui Ne.  And we discussed getting through Phan Thiet.  We did the obligatory stop on the bridge to check the two known boat yards.  The one I've figured out how to get into had several boats up for overhaul and bottom paint though nothing I still need, but the yard I've never been able to find (I mean, you can LOOK right at it from the bridge, but you need to be a sparrow to get there from the road I swear). . .that one. . .had three of the ocean going passenger and freight boats up for painting too.  I'd have liked to photograph them from close up, I've never seen them out of the water before. . .but no.  No wings.  No can fly.  How in heck do they get anything in there??  By water?  Maybe so. . .maybe so.

As close as I could get. . .Phan Thiet, ocean-going freight and passenger carriers that run a regular service to offshore islands. . . big sturdy looking boats, but very plain accommodation.

Then there was the problem with the psychic energy vortex or whatever it is in La Gi yesterday.  I plotted this out pretty carefully, marked down that hotel well, then (with my luggage all still strapped on the bike, so that we'd all be lost together if it happened again) and made a pass down the road a ways, enough to feel like it was a good test, and rode straight back to the hotel.  Done.  We checked in and settled in AND I TOOK THE LUGGAGE OFF THE BIKE.   That usually makes me into a very careful man. . .you can't imagine how much fun it would be to be lost in a new town with all my good stuff in a hotel whose name I've just forgotten and which I cannot now find, and no, I've never done that.  Ha.

So my first pass was through the main side of the harbor, where the fish market is and the ice house and sure enough, it was where I left it.  Good start. Then out of the harbor complex and back to the road, through the narrow (and quite nice) fishing town streets to the arterial I'd left behind (a very slightly bigger street, and still pretty small) and soon I crossed the bridge at the tail of the harbor and recognized (oh yes?) the turnoff to the back side (north side?) of the harbor and turned down it.  It's not really a street, rather a sand and rock lane. . .alley? running down the back side of the harbor with small temporary looking houses on the landward side.  Suits the little horse just fine, though I wouldn't bring anything bigger.

And then it ended.  It wasn't supposed to end, so I was a little surprised and stopped and stared at the way ahead.  Which didn't go.  Subconsciously I must have heard the giggling behind me sooner than my main brain picked up on it, but eventually I got it.  Somebody was amused behind me.  Actually, a whole porch full of people were amused.  They were being amused quietly, I admit, holding it in, not guffawing or anything rude like that, basically trying to be quiet while their sides split.  Now, I'd bought a little plastic bag of boiled peanuts (boiled??) and had them stuck on my handle bar.  The porch full was snacking on something and drinking beer.  They beckoned me to join them.  I did, plopping my soggy bag of peanuts down next to their platter of coconut peanut brittle (oh yes! and ask me about ginger peanut brittle some time).  That was a good move.  Half an hour later I got away and found the right turnoff a bit further down the lane and ended up where I'd hoped to and that's another story.

People don't come a lot sweeter than these. . .and I provide pretty good free entertainment.

Well, it's not as fun as a porch full of people maybe, but it'll give you an idea of my lifestyle as a PhD candidate in Boat Ethnology (if there is such a thing, i'm it).  First I stopped and took advantage of some of the subject vessels moored near shore along the sea wall for some easy photos, then moved to the nearby boat yard where two large local fishing vessels were up for bottom work and a third was trying to get that way, with much bellowing of engines and pulling of lines and shouting of orders.  They got it done, though they stopped for a bit to grab lunch after they got the boat actually centered up on the launching cradle on the railway.  Meanwhile, I hired a boatman (poor choice this time, he just couldn't or wouldn't do it my way and he wasn't taking photos either drat him), so I bailed out of that partnership and went it alone back on the beach, all very professional and objective and so forth.

He rowed very well with those bare feet (they all do in La Gi Harbor) but he would not row where I wanted to go.  Sigh.

The ox cart bringing the 50 foot long chunk of heavy tropical hardwood down the sandy trail to the building ways was interesting.  Fifteen men (no, I didn't count, but that's close) alternately raised or lowered one end of the big stick by brute weight to clear assorted obstacles, while the bull (verified) plodded down the beach and over the winch wires (they had it dogged off for lunch, but still. . .).  Quite a show, and it was the only sort of truck you'd have gotten down there, or back out.  They're not fast, but it's pretty hard to stop one of those red oxen.  Beautiful creatures by the way, with big brown eyes (always have been a sucker for big brown eyes. . .).

They aren't as much fun to watch as the ponies with their dump-carts, but they're amazingly sweet tempered (unlike some of their bosses) and really strong.  Not fast. . .we're not worried about fast here

The energy vortex and the alternate reality?  Yes.  Well, we got really lost, I mean, out in the country-where'd-they-put-the danged-town kind of lost.  The worst part of that sort of lost is that moment when you realize you're being delighted by seeing the same things because you were lost there a half hour ago.  At that point you know it's time to consult locals.   I've already told you the secret to that particular energy warp, just remember the stoplight by the Chua and you're golden.  In a more general sort of way I'd suggest you always (make that ALWAYS) take a business card ("carte visite". . .say it "carta vizz-EAT") from the front desk when you leave.  If they don't have one you're staying in a really small hotel.  Good luck.

The run from La Gi after the bike wash was just plain lovely until the traffic jam trying to get into the City.  I knew it would be like that, and I'm not even sure it was as bad as I've seen.  Half of the country is trying to get into or out of Saigon. . .even if they're still in Hanoi really (and the other half is trying to get out).  Saigon is where the money is.  End of story.

I always study maps and guidebooks before trying to get into or through Saigon and I've found there's a certain Zen like state you enter when you pull over to the side of the road and spread a map and a guide book out on the handle bars.  The world whirls around you, sometimes close enough to flutter your map, and local help may (just "may" it's not a sure thing) stop to see if they can help.  But one way or another, all the fuss goes away and you can study the map and the street and the compass. . .works pretty well, just don't be in a big rush.  Getting out of town I usually make up a list of street names, turn directions, bridges and traffic circles (they show well on the $1.00 tourist map you can buy from almost anywhere. . .why doesn't Phan Thiet. . .oh never mind).

The arrival scene at my hotel in Saigon is something out of a movie.  This is the absolute center of Saigon's backpacker tourist zone and all the bus tours drop off and pick up their loads here.  In the afternoon and evening the buses that left Hanoi yesterday are offloading the survivors (yes, they're nice, really nice sleeper buses, but 24 hours??? Oh wow.  The place is a madhouse, mostly all the time.  I pull in, dusty or muddy depending on the day, squeeze through the incredible volume of motorbikes, cars and buses  up fairly close to the curb, and catch the attention of the security guard who is also the doorman for the hotel.  He acknowledges with his permanent smile (I think he really likes his work) and sets a guard on the bike, I climb the stairs, there IS one room left and I grab it.  It would make good movie footage if you had a handsome star and maybe he wasn't quite so road-worn.

In the quiet of early morning you can hardly believe the afternoon pandemonium, but just wait!!

The only reason we stopped in Saigon was to meet the people who make the beautiful boat models that have a link on the website.  They've been fun correspondents and I wanted to make personal contact this trip.  Yes.  Well. . .the older gentleman with the geriatric motorbike I ended up hiring was sure he knew the address. . .I had it written out in long form, street name and number, district and ward. . .and I had the map. I mean, we did make it eventually, I can't complain.  The local motorbike taxi men have a union agreement that they'll always help a fellow union member.  We cashed in on that something tremendous. . .stopped over and over again (and kept getting sent back more or less where we'd been the stop before) and finally, after asking the same group of coffee shop customers the same questions for the fourth (no, i'm serious) time, we drove up to one last xe om sitting on the right hand side of the street (say it "Seh Ohm". . .means the "hug vehicle" literally. ..motorbike taxi) and went through our whole rigamarole again.  He pointed across the street and there it was.

Fun things happen at stoplights when you're riding behind a Xe Om. . .hands available for cameras and  concentration available for negotiations with mothers. . .This was a 35 second light and I didn't even start the negotiations right off. . .almost made all the wandering around worth while.  The kid, by the way, shows all the signs of proper parental concern, the dust mask to keep the lungs clear, sun glasses to keep the bugs out of the eyes, a helmet. . .this kid is set!

My people weren't there.  Hadn't gotten my email I suppose.  So I met Miss Minh with her excellent English and looked at the fabulous models they have on display.  If you've seen a really gorgeous model of a Chris Craft or a clipper ship or an old sailing yacht, something just too pretty to believe, and accurate. . .they probably made it.  They ship about 600 "pieces" a month from a little workshop out North of Bien Hoa.  We spent I suppose an hour or more getting there and fifteen minutes getting back to the big market by the hotel.  It was still light.  My driver was frazzled and felt he had half again the agreed price coming (it had been a HUGE effort to find the place I admit).  I gave in with reasonably good grace and he was gone in a heart beat.  I'll bet he thinks twice before he looks at my notebook again.

They're just gorgeous models.  The blue sloop is almost as tall as I am.  

Which brings us back to choices.  I was sitting here at this lovely little writing desk (it's rattan with a woven top covered with a tight fitting sheet of glass held in place by a picture frame of peeled bamboo. . .and it's the right height and the chair works with it) sitting here, about ten paragraphs back, when I realized just where I was and what was no doubt going on out on the street and that I hadn't had any lunch and. . .so I chose to go out and be in Saigon.  There's a wonderful city park right across the street from the hotels. . .it takes up what, three city blocks.  Trees, paths, flowers, and places to practice specific sports and do specific exercises on public (cast iron) exercise machines.

Look closely. . .he's just whacked the thing and it's headed back where it came from, with deadly accuracy.  It's like ballet!  Mere mortals just kick the thing back and forth, but these people (some are ladies) are extraordinary!

The fellows playing "kick-the-feathered-thing" were doing their Olympic class show.. .the rules let ordinary people just kick the danged thing.  These people, who perform every night, I'm told, won't return a volley unless they can do it with a backwards kick. . .over the shoulder. . .unreal.  And the skaters. . .oh my goodness.  They have a little space on the pavement marked with white spots about 30" apart, upon which they set plastic cups upside down and then they skate forth and back at blazing speed (or agonizingly slowly with twirls and cross steps and. . .)  with their feet cutting unimaginably precise patterns through the cups.  They knock one over now and then and it is so lovely to see them skate by at speed, feet spread to straddle the row, snatching up the stray and plopping it down precisely on the spot it left, whirling as they do it.  They're amazing.  I had to go back to the room and grab the camera with its movie function I'd never tried before. . .how lovely.

Well.  I wrote until midnight last night.  It's 7:00 now and I've been at it again for an hour and a half and I want to do about 8 hours on the bike today (I'll not tell you where, and perhaps, just maybe, I'll actually get there.. . .it's a long day and a route I don't know well at all.)  So it's time to add a few photos and maybe a video. . .and get out of Saigon.  You should be here.

What About Nha Trang?

Written from La Gi, two days later, on Thursday 11/29/2012

If a fellow spends two days in Nha Trang, he must have something to say about it.  Let me think a minute.  Somewhere I've already ranted about the new harbor front promenade that has replaced the old fish market on the northern bank of the northern river mouth harbor, not to mention the dredging of the sand bar that used to provide such a spectacular morning informal fish market.  For a time that was probably the best fish-boat show on the whole coast.  A hundred or more boats would roll in off the South China Sea, their crews bleary eyed from working all night and ready to sell whatever and get some sleep, while the bumboatmen and the fish wives were wide eyed and ready to buy it all and carry it ashore and sort it and ice it and pack it away on bicycles and motorbikes ever so quickly, and all of that in plain sight from the comfort of the new bridge across the harbor mouth.  You could stand on the offshore sidewalk and watch the boats converging from all the Eastern points of the compass, lining up in the rock-bound fairway and under the bridge, then you could scoot across 4 lanes of traffic to the inshore side of the bridge and watch the bumboats swarm around them as they slowed in the harbor.  Some over eager skippers, unwilling to wait to transload into a shore boat, would simply run their boats aground on the sandbar and hand the catch overboard in bright plastic baskets.  Either way it was a delight to watch, furious activity, acts of daring do by bumboatmen and fishermen alike and excellent boat handling all around.  Well.  They have just a little more waterfront promenade now and a few more coffee shops to line it.  It's not like Nha Trang didn't already have THREE WHOLE KILOMETERS of the finest sort of white sand beach, every inch of it groomed and landscaped and lined by a waterfront promenade. . .nope, they really needed that extra 400 meters.  Dang.  But what the heck, they do a nice job of it and if you didn't know what was gone. . .you wouldn't miss it!
Actually, a lot of the boats still tie up there below the Cham Temple complex, they just don't put on the performance for tourists every morning.  I suppose to be fair I should admit that where you had to hire a boat and take a boat ride (if you could find a boat to hire) to get a good look at the fleet, now you can ride your bike along the new promenades and park anywhere along the way and stop and have a good look.  So much for picky complaints.

You can still take good   boat photos from the new waterfront promenade, it's only the chaos of the old fish market that's gone.

The most spectacular thing about Nha Trang other than its God Given white sand beach and beautiful blue water (it really is that blue and beautiful) is how fast it's changing otherwise.  There are new hotels replacing old hotels all over the place.  Little old funky hotels are being torn down and new ones ten times as tall are going up.  The tower cranes make good landmarks as you run up and down the miles of confusingly similar hotels and shops. The landscape architects tried to help, with interesting variations on how they prune the trees. . .my hotel was near a stand of flat topped pines, easy to tell from the pyramid shaped pines down the way.  Oh, and it was located between the ongoing hotel demolition site (to the North) and the new hotel construction site with the yellow tower crane (to the South).  It was in a cul de sac with five other little hotels just off the waterfront drive (and much quieter than a hotel right on the Ave), so I was careful to line out very prominent landmarks to find my way back.

A few hotels. . .the view out one side of my room in Nha Trang.  This is only a very small sample, but it gives you an idea.   

The standards are high and the prices are low, and the whole world comes here to play in the sun. Half the signs are in English and a great many are in Russian (keep in mind that when the US was embargoing Viet Nam the Soviet Union was the country's biggest friend, culturally, politically and economically, so a LOT of Russians know about Viet Nam as a holiday place!!).  The interesting difference is that the Russians I've met can speak English and I can't speak Russian.  H'mm.   So anyway. . .the place is really clean, up to date, well set up for visitors of any sort and is just plain nice.  You can get by on $20 a day, room, board and entertainment (that would be me, the last of the big spenders) or you can be treated like royalty and do all sorts of exciting and unlikely things for a bit more.    There's even an amazing tramway that flies you up and over the harbor to an offshore island where. . .I'm told. . .there is lots to do. . .er. . .a big hotel, many restaurants, and video games???   The fellow who was directing traffic (no, I could not park my bike right there, but I could practice English with him if I wanted) was a great potential tour guide, and really very sweet about sending me off to the parking lot instead of letting me leave the bike right in the middle of things.

I wasn't kidding about the cable cars. . .they go ACROSS THE HARBOR to an offshore island.  Ships go underneath without even looking up!  It costs $25 to ride, an astronomical price for most Vietnamese people, but a great many take the ride.  It's very popular.  Pretty amazing one way or another.

But the best part of Nha Trang may be all the rest of it.  It's really quite a large city and has a lot going on away from the waterfront tourist zone.  It's not really EASY to find your way around, but with a little attention to the compass, the mountains and the street names (if you have a good enough map or a good enough memory) then you can find your way pretty well, and it's small enough that aimless wandering will eventually bring you back to someplace you know.  Maybe.

I did finally find where they sent the fish market, across the southern river (the town lies between two river mouths, one of them right in town where it was easy to find, the other one south of town and not quite so obvious to a casual visitor.  However. . .if you follow the signs for the new road to the airport in Cam Ranh (and you should, it's a gorgeous cliff-top freeway winding along above the sea like something from the best of Southern California). . .if you follow the signs, as I was saying, you cross the southern river on a fine new bridge and if you turn left (I seem always to be making sudden left turns) you find yourself in the new harbor. The place is quite the change.  It's organized, sanitized, straight up and down and square left and right.  Well, almost.  There's a long concrete dock where boats lie to discharge fish and take on ice, a correspondingly long covered sorting and icing shed, so that fish come straight off the boat, get trundled or slid as the case may be under cover out of the sun, covered with ice if they're to lie there long, and then shuffled on out the other side of the shed where the trucks wait with their doors open.  All the while the big blocks of ice keep coming.  There are big ice chippers everywhere, blowing ice down into fish boats or into piles to be shoveled into trucks or onto piles of fish. . .a very very busy place.  You leave the place feeling like you really WOULD like to eat a fish that had been there.  Some fishing harbors tend to leave a strangely contrary feeling in your gut.

Offloading sharks and rays at the new fish market pier.  The pier goes on for a thousand feet or more, all very proper and modern.  Darn.

And I found at least one small yard and the walled off and security gated back side of a large shipyard and boatyard.  The small yard at least was a lot of fun.  It's wedged in beside the bridge abutment of the new bridge, with almost room to build a boat if you're good at organizing space.  So they're building a matched pair of large boats and rebuilding the whole front end of a middle sized one.  What would you expect. They're also doing really nice work, excellent fit and finish, attention to detail, and they're having a lot of fun doing it.  Of course, I, with my beard, my belly and my camera stumbling around the crowded little place probably provided more light entertainment than they get in an ordinary day.

This is what you call proper space utilization.  I'm not sure the scaffolding comes up to OSHA standards, but it held my weight and only bounced. . .a little.  These people are building really good boats. . .excellent timber, beautifully fitted and fastened.  Rather odd framing I admit, but it obviously works.

Short summary:  Nha Trang is a superb place to be for beach fun of any sort (Question: How do you play volleyball in the sun and the sand? Answer:  Enthusiastically!)  Get your scuba certification here (water like that to dive in? Oh my), ride the cable tram, bake in the sun, swim in the easy waves, watch the pretty girls/handsome guys (your choice) go by, practice motorbike riding in medium traffic (nothing like Hanoi or Saigon, but busy enough to be good practice). . .and come here to meet people from anywhere, eat haute cuisine or great street food (or are they much the same thing, just with or without the napkins?) and choose restaurants from anywhere you can think of.  Okay, no Ethiopian places yet. . .so there's a niche market  you could jump into.  Or go shopping for almost anything you don't need (pearls? opals? silks? a T-shirt that says. . .anything you can imagine, how about a sarong or a sari? a Swiss watch from China?  or a Swiss watch from Switzerland. . .).  My gosh.  I had no idea.

Or you could hang out in the little boat yard and find out how to build a fishboat.

From Hue South to Nha Trang, with a few stops. . .

Written from Nha Trang, 11/27/2012, where the weather is fine and fair and quite hot in the afternoon.

The great adventurers all seemed to chronicle their journeys by "a day's travel", that is, they might say something like "the edge of the world lies there, just one day's travel past. . .and there they would give the name of some godforsaken place they'd been.  It's a universal unit of measure that works as well for Englishmen with their dog sleds heading for the South Pole or Italians slogging across Asia looking for silk.  It is a measure that eludes me on this trip.  Depending on the vagaries of the surface of the road, the curiosity of the rider, the attractiveness of the scenery, the misery of the weather and the functioning of a small motorbike, somewhere between 200 kilometers (120 miles) and 400 kilometers (a whole lot of miles!!) you come to the point of calling it a day's travel and you find a hotel.  Not terribly precise.

However, taking all those variables together, you find that we've had pretty good traveling, but we haven't gotten all that far, so "a day's travel" has shrunk a bit.

By and large the road has been in pretty good shape. . .with a minor exception or two.  I've managed to keep my attention on traveling a good part of the time, but some little side roads and boat moorages just demand to be seen, so I've no doubt cut down the progress a little that way.  The bike has run like a sweetheart, can't blame anything on her and the weather has cooperated wonderfully. This is the end of November, but we are south of Hai Van Pass now, so well into the warm and sunny South.  In fact, it's been hot enough in the afternoons to burn the backs of my hands and my ankles when I rode without socks and gloves.  It's nice to ride without socks so you can readily enter pagodas or people's houses. . .with socks on it's a good deal more bother.  However, the bike makes me pick my feet up and my pants legs hike up a bit and without socks or really good sun screen. . .voila. . .cooked ankles on the western side!  The gloves just look funny.  They were originally knitted for the use of people who unload fish for a living. . .white cotton, inclined to ravel out. . .especially where I cut the finger tips off so I can handle the horn and switches and such.   Dorky basically, but they keep the sun off and I'll wear them hereafter.  Promise..  So it must be the scenery that's held us back.

As far as scenery goes, I started right off by getting dessert before dinner when I left Hue.  There was a good excuse. . .I had one last photo to deliver 10 km down the island from Thuan An.  Then of course it made no sense to back track to Hue, 20 km when it's only another forty-some back to the highway a long ways south of the City.  I just added on the 12 km to get to the island and the 11 km to get back to the highway, so really, the 41 km length of the island was all distance made good on the course.  Don't check my math, we made it one way or another.  The island is a little slow, I admit, it isn't highway cruising, poking down the narrow island lane (I still think it's fun to call it Hwy 49B, even if it's only 12' wide), but it IS one of my favorite rides and it made a wonderful start for the day.  There was a problem of course, dropping off one photo I ended up with four more to take back later. . .an old man (handsome old dog, if a bit wrinkly), a beautiful young lady, and the umbrella seller and her daughter, back asking pretty please for an update.  I originally took their photographs in the midst of an afternoon rainstorm while I bought an umbrella from the front porch shop mom runs.  As I consider the matter, I may be the only itinerant portrait photographer in all of Viet Nam.  H'mm.  I lose fifty cents on each portrait, but make it up on the volume. . .

I'll have to go back to deliver it.

Once you leave the island, you're still 11 wonderful kilometers from the highway, so enjoy it.  The mountain runs almost clear to the water along this stretch and the little road winds along and up and down the flank of the hillside above the narrow strip of coastal farmland, so you get some quick uphill and down climbs and some excellent curves, fun riding with wonderful views on a sunny day.

On the mainland hillside above the Inland Sea, there are 11 km to run

Down this sort of road. . .

Finally back to the highway, you might get to stop and wait for the train to arrive.  Here we use the "train is about due now so I'm closing the barrier" method of preventing squished motorbikes and buffalo carts.  It was a short wait for me this time, but some of the people seemed a little over eager to get going. . .they might have been waiting a while.  After you make the left turn onto the highway headed south, you only have 30 or 40 km to run and you come to probably the prettiest little bay on Hwy 1. . .Lang Co  (watch me carefully here and see what I have to say about Dai Lanh in a day or two).  I've stopped and photographed every sort of angle to the bay and the simple fact is it's just a small body of water behind an ocean barrier sand bar with mountains at each end.  You can't really take a picture of it.  I mean. . .I guess. . .that nothing I've done has done it justice.  You top over the last bit of the low pass before the bay and get a first view.  A little closer the bay takes shape, a large oval of flat water (and very shallow. . .think clams and crabs. . .yes).  Then, closer still and down at the pool's own level you catch the reflection of the mountains and the sky and all the time you keep rolling, past the restaurants strung out along the bay, their dining decks built on spindly legs over the water, and then you're into the town and unless you slip off onto a back road the bay is lost to sight.  And in town, if you don't turn uphill into a hotel-resort's entry drive, you won't catch sight of the sea.  (They don't run you off if you DO go look, and I'm sure they'd rent you a lovely beachside room if you asked, even if you arrive on a dirty motorbike.)  This time there was a bus blocking the really lovely view from above the bridge out of town, so I just kept on going over the mountain to the South and stopped a few miles away to see if that gave the right perspective.  Nope.  You'll just have to go see it yourselves.  Worse news yet. . .it was too early in the day to stop for lunch, so no fresh shrimp or clams or crab for me. . .I rode right by some of the best open air seafood restaurants on the whole  route.  Darn.

Climbing up Hai Van Pass and looking back at Lang Co.  A feast of fine things!

And then there was the glorious climb up over Hai Van Pass, the great divider!  It stands at the far southern end of the mountain range that bounds the river of frigid air flowing through the Himalayas from out of central China all winter.  To the north of the pass is cold and dreary three full months of the year as that cold northwest wind rolls down the Red River valley and spreads out over the delta. . .lifting the warm moist air from the South China Sea up and holding it there, dripping and drizzling through the northern Winter.  Beyond the pass lie Da Nang, Hoi An and all the sunny south land, bright and beautiful through that same winter.  There's a tunnel now that runs for a long ways under the mountains and carries all the heavy traffic away from the steep and winding road up the pass.  Nowadays only fuel tankers (not allowed in the tunnel), tourist buses (wouldn't want to miss the views or the souvenir sellers at the summit) and the motorbikes use the old road. I don't know why we don't get to go through the tunnel, but I wouldn't trade the pass for a dark and dismal tunnel anyway.  So, what used to be a death-defying challenge to the murderous pig trucks and their kin is now a (mostly) fabulous climb up the side of the mountain with the sea spread out below you and views north and south that go on forever as you double back and forth over and over again gaining altitude. (He said "mostly". . .there are still the tankers and they behave about like any other truck.  . .and the tourist buses have a wide reputation for eating motorbikes for supper. . .but COMPARED. . .it's lovely now.)

Even on a sunny day there will probably be a little cloud layer right in the summit and you'll have a few minutes of cold and damp before the long sweet run down the far side, into the south.  This early in the year it was still nice and warm on the northern slopes, so I didn't have the winter time thrill of stopping halfway down the mountain to take off rain pants and sweaters and extra layers.

All of this mind you was before lunch!

And then there was Da Nang.  At least I didn't get lost trying to get through the city this time.  It's gotten a lot easier with the new direct-exit from downtown that runs along the rail line South (a dandy hint you're headed the right general direction . .right next to the RR to Saigon? What was your question?)  You only have to be looking in the right place once to see the excellent highway sign and the rest is easy.  I guess the flip side of that is that you only have to miss one sign and continue on forever on the wrong road.  H'mm.  Anyway, by contrast, the first half dozen times I tried to get through Da Nang I managed to wind up lost and asking directions every time.    Don't ask, I don't know.  Cities just do that to me.  Da Nang is a big, fine, modern city with famous beaches, the old American Air Force and Navy bases (now turned generally to better or other uses), a brand new beautiful suspension bridge that puzzles me a little. . .it lifts you up over the river mouth and the southern part of downtown, but I haven't figured out how to get up on it or what it connects to what.  No doubt it's not just for looks though.  Or maybe it is. . .it's lovely.  But I've never wanted to spend the night or explore much beyond the river mouth harbor.  Cities do that to me as well.  And so we rolled on through the day.

For most tourists on this route the next stop is always Hoi An, and most of them love the place.  Well. . .years ago there would have been no hesitation about stopping in Hoi An.  The first two years I visited I wrote rave reviews each time, it was a magical place then, though already the change was starting.  One Tet Night (Vietnamese New Year, and easily the most important holiday of the year) I spent in a funny little hotel there, just a few blocks from the town pier, the river, and the wonderful market.  I spent that new year's eve wandering up and down the candle lit streets, watching a fleet of paper boats, at least a thousand of them, carry their single-candle cargoes drifting across the harbor. . .gentle people offering me fruit and candy from the sidewalk altars by their front doors, later sitting in a peaceful little hotel with people from China, Australia, Europe and Viet Nam, all of us talking about  home and other new years and the interesting things we'd seen.  It was a marvelous night and I'll remember it well for years.  But too much has changed in Hoi An these days.  They've torn down  a grand shipyard to make room for a hotel, but haven't built the hotel yet.  They've torn out whole old neighborhoods out along the beach and are building condominiums as well as hotels.  My old gentle hotel in the old quarter has gone upscale  It's a multi star sort of place now and didn't have room for me anyway last time I was there.  Grumble Gripe Complain.  The old architecture is still there around town, the old Japanese, Chinese and French buildings from ages ago are protected by their UNESCO World Heritage status, and so is the French Patisserie and the French restaurant across the street.  Still there, sort of. . .but they had to do something to serve all the new tourists from the new hotels, and the upstairs billiards bar with its superb really FRENCH baguettes. . .is now air conditioned seating for the restaurant downstairs.  Sigh.  Hoi An. I miss you.

So we carried on into the evening to Quang Ngai.  I've never stayed there before.  Heck, I've never been into the town.  When the highway was rebuilt, before my time, they ran it just west of town so there's no inconvenience at all, you drive right on pas on your way somewhere else.  I'd never seen the place and had no memory of passing it, though I've been there many times.  Well.  To begin with I blew it about the river.  I mean, a river shows on the map, flowing by the city and on into the sea not too far away.  I was expecting a river.  You know, water, boats, docks, that sort of thing.  I got sand.  Oh, there's a little water going by, enough to float a good sized fleet of little sand loading pumps that are moored in what little water there is.  They have small diesel powered centrifugal pumps on deck and a discharge pipe goose-necked up to pump directly into the hold of a sand barge.  And there are sand barges, ugly steel things (okay, they have a nice curve to their rudders and their bows turn up rather nicely, but still, rusty, steel, square boxes. . .with pretty ends I guess).  But they haul sand I'm sure.  Nothing was working when I went by, so I've nothing to report in that regard.

Quang Ngai itself, on the other hand, was quite a surprise.  It's a Province Capital, sort of like a super County Seat in America. . .with government offices and the businesses that follow along.  It's lively and modern and full of fun people doing interesting things, full of bright shops selling any sort of thing you might want, including a lot of high end luxury goods.  A really flat flat screen TV is ideal in a small Vietnamese home. . .takes up almost no space and er, keeps the kids busy?  Oh. Well anyway, there were not two or three but a great many shops filled with them (have you ever seen thirty soccer games going at once and all of them at least 32" across??

Quang Ngai at Night--the light just turned green!

What a sight!  I ended up with a very nice hotel room and a good supper from a rice-dinner shop, the sort where you get a plate full of rice and then get to point at goodies in the sidewalk stand to top it off (pork, chicken, fried fish, dried fish with chile, duck eggs, morning glory greens, lots of goodies). . .for a dollar or sometimes two.  Oh.  And che.  Not just one che seller that I had to hunt for, but che being sold everywhere. . .good che, all the right flavors, including "just fruit", with and without coconut milk and toasted coconut.  By the time you'd walked two blocks you realized it was going to be serious hard work making up your mind about dessert.  Dear me.

And here I watched a battle royal between two Thai lightweight fighters.  They were a small part of the goldfish shop, sitting in a row on the shelf with a poker card between each jar and its neighbor.  I admired them long enough the proprietor arranged a proper display. . .selected two jars for complimentary colored fins and placed them on a stool top at eye level for me.  Wow.

Short summary:  as a boat watching stop, give Quang Ngai a miss.  If you want to watch people, on the other hand or shop for flat screen TV's or gold necklaces or chandeliers (no kidding), have at it, and the accommodations are excellent in all regards.  Put it on your list.  Photograph the sand barges for me please, I didn't do it. (ugly. . .they're ugly. . .I have my standards).

That was Saturday all day.  Sunday morning we were up and around in good time and on the road.  I was flexible in my mind. . .there were a number of possibilities for a destination for the night, not including the destination we finally reached. . .but that's part of the fun.  I'd thought we might get to Tuy Hoa and was pleased with that idea, it's another of those places I've been by any number of times without bothering to spend any time or look around.  From the map it was pretty obviously a fishing port of some significance and might have a boatyard. . .so a worthwhile destination.  Didn't get there.  To begin with we slowed down considerably around Quy nhon.  The road into Quy Nhon from the highway is another pleasant little side road, though a lot busier than the Island.  One of its largest pleasures is the row of little open air restaurants grilling pork and chicken on open fires on the shoulder of the road about halfway into town.  Chemical warfare.  No one who passes that way at lunch time goes away hungry!  On my first stop there I resisted almost all the way past the whole string of them, but caved in in time for the last one.  Very good in memory (and two cute kids to try to photograph). . .and it's still that good today.  There's a knack to eating this particular sort of thing. . .not all that hard to do poorly, but if you act helpless you can get the lady next door to show you. . .and then keep you supplied as you go.  Basically you're served a plate of meat cut into little slices or chunks (depending on which meat you chose).  Then there are the accessory items. . .a plate of the rice paper wrappers we make "spring rolls" out of, a plate of crunchy fried noodles wrapped in fried "spring roll" papers, a plate of herbs, leaves and grasses. . .er. . .you know what I mean. . .a large variety of flavors, all of them green except the shredded carrot.  The short version:  crush up the crunchy fried noodle things onto the dampened rice paper.  Add meat.  Delicately pick out precisely the right blend of all the greens.  Roll tightly.  Dip in sweet (and hot if you can stand it) sauce, and eat.  Repeat until you run out of something vital.  Wash down with mineral water if you're not drinking beer that time of day.  Try to get a photo of the kids. . .and get back on the road.

Quy Nhon is another place that has really changed a great deal in my time.  I'm not so bitter about it here as I am at Hoi An.  In short, what the City has done is bulldoze a dreadful waterfront slum neighborhood, a stinking unsanitary fishermen's and boat builder's shantytown really, and built a beautiful waterfront park that stretches the whole width of the city's sea front.  It's quite nice.  If you'd never seen the life in the shantytown or watched the men launching large fishing vessels down the beach at low tide on their temporary trolley, you'd just love the place.  It's a beautiful bay and makes a fine sandy bathing beach, and the investment has run into town like a river, building five star hotels (and lesser hotels too, thank goodness) and good seafood restaurants and. . .but the boat builders have gone somewhere else entirely and I haven't found them again.  The shanty town, goshawful as it was, was fascinating and the people were lovely.  It was there that I met a grandma at her own funeral. . .I just stopped to listen to the strange funeral music for a while, a screaming oboe helped out by a 2-string fiddle (which can have quite a nice sound) and a battery of percussion devices, gong, drum and wood whacking device that makes a funny "Tok, Tok, Tok" sort of sound when you whack it.  Anyway,a gentleman I assume was her eldest son, a fishing skipper, took me by the arm and into the small front room of the house where Grandma's coffin was lying, with her farewell altar all laid out at its feet, with her portrait and her fruit and wine and incense burning.  She had been a fine looking old woman, and well loved no doubt.  Then they fed me tea and an orange and sent me on my way.  But really, it's a very lovely waterfront park now.  I just hope all the people found their way to new and better homes.

However, I've documented the boats in Quy Nhon to the point nobody wants to talk about it any more so I contented myself with a quick visit to the fish market pier, which seems to be finished now. . .though the new container port and pier nearby is still growing as we speak.  That's been a long project, going on three years now and it's still not clear just how it will be configured.  No doubt they have it figured out and it's not my project anyway.

Okay, just one Quy Nhon harbor photo this trip. . .

The new road along the cliffs and seaside leaving Quy Nhon is still one of the best buys on this tour.  There's no excuse in the world for going straight back to the main highway with its traffic, noise and complete lack of seascapes.  So, simply continue down the new waterfront promenade on toward the South.  It's a little odd that there isn't any good signage, so if you carry on right to the end of the waterfront drive you'll have to double back a little bit, but there's only one place the road can be, so keep looking up toward the hillside and shortly you'll find the start where the road climbs steeply out of town.  The views ahead and behind just keep getting better as you go.

South of Quy Nhon

There's a major bridge where the entirely new segment of road meets an older segment and you veer off to the left.  Coincidentally, there's a lot of shrimp farming going on all around there and inshore fishing from small vessels.  The sailing boats are gone of course, but their motorized descendants are sweet lined double enders about 25' long. . .but there are also some really lovely little double ended rowing boats, the composite style of basket and wood boat that was once typical of the area.  They are still often woven from the split bamboo and waterproofed with buffalo dung and tree resin. . .I know, it sounds odd, but it's true and it works quite well, it just took me a while to figure it out and then I found all the French authors had written about it years ago.  Anyway, there's a new and modern variation.  The wooden upper structure is done the same as it's always been but the body of the boat is made from blue plastic barrels!  Segments are cut from the barrels to suit the shape of the boat, riveted together (like the shell of an armadillo) and married to the wooden upper works.  It works, and no buffalo dung!

So sweet! And she's made from old oil barrels. . .

And here's her older (traditional basket made) sister. . .a little bigger too.  Row with your feet!

Fifty years ago these would have carried sails, not a diesel.  They're still lovely, just deafening now.

As the day continued I assumed we'd make Tuy Hoa for the night and started to plan it that way.  Then the road went all to heck (I said there was one exception).  This was an unusual sort of road condition.  By and large the surface was still fine, mostly good pavement.  The problem was scattered potholes that were terribly deep and sometimes clustered together in gangs and sometimes quite large.  For a motorbike the risk was to actually hit one.  One was all it would have taken to wreck a bike moving at any speed, so there was no choice but to slow to a speed that allowed detection and avoidance.  The trucks felt they could skip the worst of them by weaving in and out and playing chicken on the highway but a few tried to carry on as though tires were immortal.  One didn't make it.  I came on the wreck I think some time after it happened, and without a full investigation I can't give you the details, but essentially a mid-sized freighter caught a big hole with one front wheel, which pulled him to the left somewhat and no doubt initiated rotation around his long axis.  The timing to the next hole must have been such that the springs of the truck had recovered from the initial rotation and reversed it, so that the second hole came at a perfect time to increase the rate of roll and the rest was history. . .even the big trucks should slow down for some chuck holes on this road.

So we didn't get to Tuy Hoa.  A little less than an hour before dark we were 30 km north of the city and driving through a small town with several small hotels.  It was a no brainer.  Riding in the dark on a road populated with truck-eating chuckholes was not a good bet.  The road, of course, might have gotten better, but what the heck, nobody was waiting for me in Tuy Hoa.  We stopped in Chi Thanh.  This is a little embarassing, I thought we'd been making better time than that would indicate, so I picked the next little town off the map and wrote up the diary as if that is where we were.  Wrong. And I wasn't very impressed.  There was no scenery really (though a quick ride out of town away from the highway showed the prospect of a small hill and valley countryside beyond. . .) and the services and amenities were. . .well. . .lacking.  I suppose there was at least one of anything you REALLY needed, so we didn't starve.  Oh come on, by walking a ways in the dark I found a delightful little che stand that would (and did) make both pure fruit che as well as a sweet dessert, cold and nice.  And there was a young man selling banh bao, steamed bun filled with pork and half of a hard boiled egg. . .so it was really one of my favorite suppers and not all that far to walk.  In a small town (heck, in many larger towns), walk in the street, the sidewalks can be dangerous in the dark. . .think missing sewer covers for example.  So I wrote an unflattering diary entry about the wrong town and went to bed half grumpy when the wifi wouldn't work well (wifi in a dinky town in the middle of nowhere in Viet Nam. . .in a Five Dollar Hotel?? good grief).

The bike loved the place though, the young men in the bike shop across from the hotel swarmed all over her, replaced the droopy left turn signal, tightened a few things that were hay wire and replaced the missing muffler nuts that were causing the odd rattling vibration in mid-second gear. . .for $2.25 USD at the current exchange rate.

And when I tried to leave in the  morning the front desk couple took me firmly in hand and showed me a faded photo-mural on one wall of the reception. . .a weird and beautiful rocky headland with surf breaking on it. . .an extraordinary formation really, columnar basalt all twisted and distorted. . .and large.   It was only 15 km from town down what turned out to be another really wonderful countryside road through small villages.  Ganh Da Dia it's called.  Da means Stone I know, maybe I can find a translation for the rest.  Probably something like "Magnificent Headland" or something similar. . .it even shows on my road atlas with the red star symbol for "point of interest".  Indeed.

Ganh Da Dia, near Chi Thanh

And the road to get there. . .

So we actually left Chi Thanh, having hiked around Ganh Da Dia a bit (hot already in the sunshine!) at 9:30.  Made Tuy Hoa easily before 10:30, so we'd have made it last night. . .and missed the Magnificent Stone Headland (that's not a final translation, but will do for now).  Tuy Hoa is a nice modern town these days, with a minor river mouth fishing port and a ship and boat yard out on the isolated southern bank of the river (I don't know how you get there, not the way I tried anyway).  We moved on.

This whole stretch of coast is mostly "quietly pretty", with occasional bursts of "really nice".  So we come to the cliff-side road that leads into Dai Lanh.  This is the narrowest little string bean of a town.  It's bounded on the uphill side by. . .er. . .the hill, which is pretty steep.  At the foot of the hill is the railroad and beyond the railroad a narrow bit of land to try to thread the highway through and still have room for some town before you come to the long gorgeous white sand beach that fills the bay.  The beach must be about 2 km long, a gentle arc, well sheltered by the headlands at each end, and the bay filled with fishing boats.  It's changed too of course in my time.  There's a new modern fishing boat pier jutting out from the shore at the northern end of town, a fine addition for the boat crews, who can land their catch directly into the trucks now rather than ferrying it ashore in their basket boats. . .a huge improvement no doubt.

The new fishing boat pier at Dai Lanh and the beach to the South.

It's cut the beach in two of course and displaced a few waterfront shanties, but by and large probably a fine thing.  And now there are four hotels, two on the waterfront (understated, old fashioned places, quite nice looking), one on the far side of the railroad tracks at the south end of town (the only one I've stayed at, perfectly nice, all on the ground floor, with a dense garden of bonsai and garden sculptures) and finally the tall skinny one squeezed in by the bridge at the north end of town, between the creek, the road and the railroad.  I've always eaten lunch in Dai Lanh when I pass through if it's anywhere near lunch time.  There are a number of candidates offering noodles, rice and seafood of one sort or another.  I've always eaten in one particular spot, shady, back a ways from the road, fans aimed at the tourists, and good fresh fish or squid to be counted on.  Squid this time, and two bottles of sparkly mineral water.  Very fine, although the price keeps going up.  Odd about that!

And so, in three days' travel we pulled into Nha Trang.  I'm beginning to think that the appearance of a motorbike with a young man trying to lead you to a hotel is simply not a bad thing.  I am inclined to reject that sort of help as a matter of course, but this is now the third time I've given in and had a look and been very pleased.  I've always stayed in the same hotel three blocks off the beach in Nha Trang and I've always been recognized and treated very well. . .so I really had no interest in the young man's offering, no matter that his sister runs the front desk.  He insisted and I couldn't really deny him without a certain amount of rudeness, so went to look.  H'mm.  Nice room.  Half a block from the beach.  Nice big window (a grill, no glass) Ten dollars a night (twice the price of Chi Thanh, but this is Nha Trang for goodness sake).  But I said "maybe" and rode over to my normal place.  Nobody knew me (a first) and the room was up 4 flights of stairs (nothing available on the elevator side) AND there was no view out the small window.  Good enough, I took the new place and have been very pleased indeed.

So what can you say about Nha Trang?  It's well known from Moscow to London and Buenos Aires and Sydney and New York and Delhi. . .It has to be the premier seaside resort in Viet Nam, which means it's probably the nicest and least expensive big resort city in the world.  I'm sure you can find a hotel here for stateside prices if you want, but my $10 per night sort of place is much more common, and thoroughly likable.  The beach runs for at least 3 km in a straight line, and all of it is groomed to perfection every night, raked clean and smooth for the morning swimmers.  The whole 3 km is beautifully landscaped with every sort of bush and tree, and most of them trimmed and tidy as can be.  The town has every possible service on offer and anything you might want or need to buy.  You can (and perhaps should) scuba dive and snorkel in crystal clear blue water (not all beach towns have water like this. . .no big rivers dump silt anywhere near here!!).  You can go on a "Booze Cruise" and come back sunburned and surrounded by drunks if you want, some of them really cute and not terribly over dressed. . .not that I would do such a thing when there are boats to be dealing with.

Nha Trang has a river mouth harbor fringed with rocky reefs and crossed by a really pretty little bridge that made a wonderful place to photograph the fishing fleet coming and going.  The fish market used to occupy a long low building along the waterfront on the north bank of the river just inside the bridge, and there used to be an informal fish market on a sandbar right under the bridge.  And now. . .oh dear. . .the sandbar has been dredged away, the fish market has been razed and replaced with. . .yet more waterfront park.  There are still several hundred boats stuffed into the river mouth, though now they lie in tidy ranks along the new esplanade, and the joyful buying and selling in the sunrise is over. . .or rather moved.  All this happened two years ago and it's taken me this long to figure out where all the action has gone. . .down the coast to the southern river mouth (no  reefs, incidentally) to the new fish market, all clean and modern and up to date, with easy access for the trucks to the sorting and icing shed, easy access to the ice house for the boats (no more delivering ice in desperately overloaded small boats, it comes in small trucks right alongside), altogether a major improvement for the fishermen, the fishwives and the truckers. . .but it's not the same eh?  And what are the tourists supposed to photograph in the mornings now?  They'll not be wandering around the new fish market I think. . .it's not quite that sort of place.

And that brings us to today.  Other people are loading bikes and moving on already, it's nearly 9:00 in the morning (I've been writing since 05:00 except for a quick run to the street for a very good omelette (two eggs, tomatoes, cucumber and cilantro with a crispy baguette on the side. . .with sweet iced milky coffee for. . .er. . .a dollar and a quarter.  Across the parking lot in a bricks and mortar place pretty young tourists were having the ten dollar version on white linen.  I can do without the linen and crystal for now.  I'll add a few photos and leave you.  There's still a lot of country to see this trip.