Now that I've removed my guilt with that paragraph (without promising to do better in the future...), let me wish you all a Happy New Year!
Last week I finally made it to Vietnam with the family; I had been curious about this country for over a decade as I used to work with Vietnamese refugees in Canada. Besides spending three days in the bustling city of Ho Chi Minh (Formerly Saigon), we enjoyed the pristine beaches on the small island of Phu Quoc.
One morning I rented a bike to explore the island up north (and to fulfill my mission to bike everywhere I travel). Leaving at 11 am I planned to put in about 30 km since the roads were all gravel past the village of Duongdong and very dusty. Each time a vehicle passed by I would be engulfed by a cloud of red dust.
The map I had with me and the signage on the roads left much to be desired, and I missed a turn after about 10 km. My absolute lack of Vietnamese didn't help either; several villagers studied my map and I think we miscommunicated on where I really wanted to go. Except for a few local ladies and students, no one traveled by bicycle; all main transportation was by motorcycle. The red gravel roads became more hilly and the soft sand in some places made it hard to make real progress.
Fortunately I had replenished myself with more water from some friendly kids at a local grocery, because by now there were no houses and huts in sight anymore.
Finally after 30+ km I arrived to my surprise at the north coast at the village of Bai Tom. My legs were feeling tired and I felt discouraged about having missed that turn to the west coast beaches. On the map I located another route to the west while waiting for a local lady to peel a Asian grapefruit for me (柚子 in Chinese). I left the trees and came to an open space with the straight road ahead for about 3 km.
After this deserted stretch came a difficult terrain; hilly sandy roads again. I grew very tired and longed to make it back to the hotel. The slopes became too much and I dismounted more and more frequently to walk the bike up. My legs then began to protest; no more, no more. I didn't know what to do with myself; out of energy and nearly out of water. To make things worse, it was now 30 degrees (C) and I began to feel depleted. There were no huts in sight and only every fifteen minutes or so a Vietnamese would pass on a motorcycle but I felt too incapable to communicate and perhaps too proud to throw in the towel like this. I had no mobile phone with me (the Blackberry didn't work in Vietnam) and I had to tell my wife not to expect me back in the next few hours. I stopped and prayed.
With renewed strength I finally reached a very poor fishing village; this had to be the road along the coast, I thought. A couple friendly boys rode along for a few kms and I proceeded through a narrow road past sheet metal shacks built on poles. Then suddenly I hit a dead end and a young man explained that I could not cross over: There was no bridge over the river to continue along the west coast. His little daughter's smile with a Christmas outfit softened my feelings of despair, and I was yet determined to find a way to get across.
Leaving the village I came upon a few shops with a dock along the ocean. I asked the local villager if any of these fishermen could take me across the river and a bit further down the coast. He asked a few boys wearing AC Milan and Ajax football shirts and their first offer was US$100. I replied with disbelief that this was outrageous (at least I think that my gestures made this clear), but in the end the lowest was US$30 and my I was faced with the horrible decision to pay or bike all the way north again to Bai Tom village , about 12 km in the heat and difficult terrain. Before I could really rationalize clearly in my head, I was already on my bike, trying to shut out the possible consequences of exhaustion. It was when I was well under way that I realized I had forgotten to buy more water; I was now forced to ration every drop even though I was sweating profusely.
Somehow I made it through the windy and sandy roads and I began to dread the three km stretch in the open. I passed a foreign tourist on a motorbike and warned him that there was no exit but he was merely interested in the beach up ahead. And then only a few hundred meters on the stretch the unexpected happened: my rear tire went flat. The tourist was long gone and this sudden feeling of despair came over me that I might not see my family before the sun would go down. Would it be safe? How would I get home? I now began to feel as if I was in an episode of Nick Middleton's "Extremes." The heat became more intense, but my prayer was answered when a local man and woman on a motorbike stopped. I gestured if I could use his mobile and he helped me dial the hotel. Unfortunately the line was busy and when we finally got through I to leave a message for my wife, the receptionist asked to speak to the man but the line was broken. I felt frustrated as I couldn't communicate with the man and woman, thanked them ("cam on," the only word I knew) and started walking with my bike again.
Despite the bleak situation, I remained positive even though I had no idea how I could get back soon. I continued to pray to God to send help. Then another man on a motorbike came by and he offered to take me. Ah, salvation was at hand. He insisted that I carry my bike on my shoulders and then get on the back of the motorbike. It worked for the first few minutes but my joy was soon replaced with agony as my right hand's fingers were pressed against the brake cable and the bike became very heavy. The first place in Bai Tom could not fix my bike, but at least I was relieved that I could put the bike down. This delight was short-lived as in the process I suddenly felt excruciating pain when my right leg was pressed against the hot muffler pipe before I realized what was happening. Without having time to attend this burn, I told him that I could put the bike on the ground and hold the handlebars while moving. He was initially skeptical but then noticed it was working fine providing we kept a moderate speed. At the next bike repair shop, I thanked him and we agreed that I would pay for his gas. The tire had two punctures close to the valve and the owner fixed it with two patches. His wife was cleaning motorbikes for a few teenagers; inside the hut hung pictures of a Chinese deity and Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam's version of Mao Zedong.
I felt refreshed and full of hope again, the 30 km back would be a long and difficult road, but at this rate I could make it back before dark. A few hundreds meters down the road I bought and gulped down some tangerines, cookies and water. This turned out to be a blessing, because the same rear tire went suddenly flat again. Had I not stopped for ten minutes, I would have been much further from the bike repair shop.
Only slightly discouraged, I walked back again and this time he fixed the holes with one big patch. If it would only hold until I made it back to the bike rental shop...
On my way out I met a couple from either Singapore or Hong Kong who were also surprised to have ended up in Bai Tom village. They asked how they could help but I couldn't see how; even holding their motorbike wouldn't last more than a few kilometers.
With renewed energy ("like wings on eagles") I started my return again. I passed by the small local red cross building to get my leg burn checked out but noticed the people I had seen the first time I left Bai Tom where still there so I decided to keep going. (When I asking a student the way about an hour earlier, there was suddenly a commotion at a house next door and then one man covered with blood on his face and shirt had fled the scene on his motorbike, racing right past us. The student could hardly conceal his excitement, and when I passed the clinic the first time, a lot of people had gathered there, including one man swinging a wooden stick.)
After the first kilometer, my legs began to protest again, as if they were screaming out to stop. I began to do the math, 2 kilometers down, that's about 6%, only 94% to go. 91% to go; no, 90%. Stop thinking about the distance, you have no choice but to go on. When was the last time I had gone so far on a mountain bike? Around the Pudong Airport, about 75 km, but that was mostly on paved roads. My throat began to hurt, perhaps of the dust. Maybe the Singaporeans would pass by and we could still give it a try by me holding on to their back seat, I quietly hoped. My grip on my left handle bar became increasingly uncomfortable (The day before I had cut my hand on a coral while snorkeling), and the leg burn began to sting even more. To make matters worse, I had to escape a vicious dog that got too close for comfort. I began to feel like the burglars in the movie "Home Alone," beaten up in every way possible. Before I realized what had happened, the Singaporeans raced past me and waved.
15 km; halfway now. Fortunately the sun started to lose its intensity and there was much more shade now. The road also sloped more down than up now, but each time I saw a hill ahead of me, my heart would sink and I would dismount and walk up. This made the journey even longer, but the hope of getting back to my family soon encouraged me and the end was in sight. I began to think of the boundaries of human endurance; I had surprised myself that I was able to push myself over and over again. Mind over matter, although I had to admit that my mind could have done a better job preparing for this day; check for better maps, ask more (English-speaking) locals about the best route, and pack more liquids and food.
I then saw many school students in uniform on their bikes, including the girls in their "ao dai," Vietnam's traditional dress. The students looked like pure white butterflies from a distance,fluttering gracefully, and somehow they were kept clean from the red gravel dust below. The sight gave me another boost of energy as I now had to be close to Duongdong town. The red roads turned into pavement and I knew I had to hold on for a few more kilometers.
After I returned the bike rental ($3 for the whole day), I realized how dirt covered I was; on the walk to the hotel many well-dressed tourists looked at me as if I had just come out of a mine or perhaps a fight. I didn't mind; a bit of pride swelled up inside of me: I had pushed myself beyond what I thought was my physical limit. About 90 km in about six and a half hours in difficult conditions was something I had never done before. And a big bonus was that I had been blessed by meeting the local Vietnamese people; we could not exchange a word but plenty of meaningful interaction had taken place. I had gained a better understanding of how they live today and also where my former students in Canada had come from. For gaining mutual cultural understanding there's no need to push the limit but just to practice it!
2 comments:
Wow. Glad to hear it turned out okay. We think of Shanghai often. Enjoy the ride.
hey xiexie for linking my video.
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