Every program I have led for No Barriers Youth has been energy-intensive, but I was a wreck this time when I returned to Hanoi. It was a successful trip and the students and teachers from the Foshay Learning Center in Los Angeles were lovely. The problem was that I got distractingly ill midway through the experience, which really affected my stamina and job performance. The symptoms were suspiciously similar to the illness Matt had suffered through nearly two weeks prior in Kunming, which seems like too long of an interval for me to have caught it from him, but who knows.
 
It took a few days for me to recover to a mostly functioning state of existence, but even longer to receive an extension of my Vietnam visa. The Vietnamese consulate in Kunming would not issue a 90-day multi-entry visa, which I needed for my No Barriers commitment in China. I had to settle for a 30-day multi-entry visa while Matt got a 90-day single-entry one. Oh, the bureaucracy! We would later learn that this was only the beginning of my Vietnam visa ordeal.
 
In the meanwhile, we stayed with Tim and Carlina, great Warm Showers hosts who had kept my bicycle and gear while I was away. They had a lovely apartment near Tay Ho and they generously cooked up yummy pasta dinners for us and showed us the best places to eat in their neighborhood. Despite being in good company, we were getting anxious to leave Hanoi and see more of Vietnam. 
 
Once we had picked up my passport from the visa agency, we hit the road heading west into the hills. We hadn't cycled any significant distance consistently since Matt's rim cracked in Nujiang Valley six weeks before, so it was no wonder that it felt like we were starting the cycle tour from scratch yet again. I had lost my usual heat tolerance after spending too much time in air conditioning and my mental and physical energy levels were still in a delicate state of flux. Combining that with steep shadeless hills on the way to one of the hottest regions of Vietnam at the hottest time of the year made for a couple of rough days of slow progress getting to Mai Chau for me. In contrast, Matt was unusually positive and upbeat, grateful for the return of even my cranky companionship after I had abandoned him for eleven days.
 
By the time we were coasting down the other side of the final hill before Mai Chau, my mood had improved enough to sufficiently appreciate the verdant beauty of the valley from a scenic overlook along the road. Though it was far from wild, the attraction lay in the bright green rice paddies spanning the perfectly flat valley floor interspersed with clusters of villages. Homestays are the mainstay of Mai Chau's tourism and we chose one overlooking what else but rice paddies at the edge of Ban Poom village. Having heard that Mai Chau is "really touristy", we were expecting something a bit more obnoxious, but what we found was laid back, peaceful village bliss. Perhaps it's different on the weekends.
 
As we slowly rode through the neighboring village of Ban Lac, we were invited to join a group of men for a cup of coffee. They were so thrilled that we accepted that the oldest one, wearing a white wifebeater, kissed both of us on the cheeks and insisted on paying. Now that is what I call a good caffeine buzz! After coffee, we explored the network of little roads and trails leading off through the rice fields to other White Thai villages. Venturing further up a side valley, we stumbled upon a large brick production site where laborers threw bricks from a wheelbarrow onto a conveyor belt headed in to a tremendous barn-like shelter. 
 
Later, we met up with a spirited traveler named Donna over beers with the intent of watching a sunset that never materialized. She is an English woman with a passion for cultural costumes expressed through her wittily-titled blog Haute Culture Fashion. Our homestay host cooked up, or more accurately, fried up a dinner of spring rolls, ground pork wrapped in betel leaves, chicken legs, and even a few caterpillars if we dared. We did. Matt thought his tasted like a French fry, but I got a distinctive rancid rubber flavor.
 
We could have easily relaxed at Mai Chau for a few days, but having just gotten on the road again, we thought it better to keep moving. And since I was truly feeling better, there was really no excuse. We said goodbye to the stilted house we had called home for a night and headed south in to Pu Luong Nature Reserve. It was brutally hot, made worse by the fact that each incline consistently blocked the gentle breeze that we could occasionally feel at the top of each rise. It was a clear choice between going as slowly as possible with lots of breaks in the shade or dealing with the risks of heat exhaustion. We tried to keep the sweat out of our eyes long enough to appreciate the beauty of the undeveloped valley we were riding through, but in the heat of the day it was honestly pretty hard to care.
 
As dusk was settling in, we began scoping camp spots and asking villagers along the ridge line road for leads on a place to sleep. We were consistently directed to a rough dirt road plunging to the valley bottom, so we decided to go for it, really really hoping that it would work out. The loose gravel turned to a narrow paved footpath, or what we assumed would only be a footpath. After letting some young drunk guys pass by on their motorbikes, we dismounted and walked our bikes down the steep curving path, not trusting our cantilever brakes to sufficiently control our speed. The path dropped us in to Kho Muong village on the valley floor. We were quickly directed to a homestay, but we were quickly turned off by the quantity of empty beer cans surrounding the host and his insistence that we sit down and begin drinking immediately. 
 
Knowing that homestays have been set up throughout Pu Luong as a community-based eco-tourism initiative, we set off in search of a better option and couldn't have ended up with a nicer family, finding them completely by chance. Similar to the previous night in Mai Chau, they set up a mattress on the floor encased in a mosquito net in the middle of a huge room clearly intended for groups. The paneless windows in the stilted house overlooked a pond with fireflies twinkling above it. We joined the family in the kitchen, which soon filled with about twenty neighbors, most of them women. The reason for the gathering was unclear, as was whether it was a special or regular occurrence. Shots of ruou (Vietnamese rice wine) were poured, but the mood was neither particularly festive nor somber. We later learned from the teen daughter and her translation app that her mother was suffering from fibroids and local Muong custom dictates that people should visit often to keep the ill company and bring good luck to their recovery. 
 
Having arrived at dark the day before, it was no question that we would stay another day to explore the secluded area. We walked through the village and out to a limestone cave with large pillars inside seemingly formed by rockfall from the cave’s ceiling. Locally known as the Bat Cave, we saw more cave crickets than bats, as well as a memorable cave cricket predator that like a centipede with extremely long legs.

For the rest of the day, we relaxed in the shade under our host family’s house, sharing a pot of coffee with the father Nom, and chatting with him in the limited way we could carry on conversation. It also happened to be my 34th birthday, so I was happy add this place to the diverse list of global locations where I have turned a year older.
We had been dreading our departure from Kho Muong village since first walking our bikes down the crazy path. We had assumed we would be pushing them up as well, but did not expect that both of us would have to push one bike together! We would push one bike for a section and park it, then walk back down for the second bike, leapfrogging our way out of the valley bottom like this for over an hour. When we returned to the gravel road, we rode down and out of Pu Luong Nature Reserve, passing some more picturesque villages and greenery-scenery on the way.

Our route for the next five days took us through “everyday rural Vietnam” filled with flat agricultural valleys, climbing forested hills in between them, and small towns where we would find a random guesthouse to spend the night. We succumbed to what I call with disdain “alarm clock cycle touring,” where a rude noise awakes one from blissful slumber as though pedal pushing were a job with a strict work schedule. We learned from the Vietnamese who voluntarily rise before the first light of day that the benefit of a few hours of cooler morning temperatures was worth it. What we didn’t succeed in adopting was the long afternoon nap that gives the Latin American siesta a run for its money. Businesses shut, nary a person on the street, everyone dead to the world in hammocks or wooden platform day beds, mid-day cycling felt like riding through a hellishly hot ghost town.

Our favored antidote to the heat was frequent stops at the ubiquitous nuoc mia stands, always with a shady seating area. Stalks of sugar cane were pressed on demand through motorized rollers, then the light green juice was poured over ice in a hefty glass mug. A pinch of salt and a squeeze of lime made the surprisingly not-too-sweet beverage perfectly refreshing and energizing. As a member of the grass family, sugarcane has a high concentration of vitamins, minerals, and polyphenols, so we had no qualms about drinking a couple of glasses per day.

An ongoing fascination with water buffalos broke up the monotony of rice, rice, and more rice fields lining the road. And then there was the joyful distraction of the “hello zone”, stretching at least a quarter of a mile from either side of the road. Oftentimes, we could hear a faint hello, but not even be able to locate the source. Almost everyone greeted us, young and old, and usually repetitively. One hello would not suffice. The standard was “Hellowhat’syourname?” to which we learned responding with our name didn’t seem to matter and asking “What’s your name?” didn’t seem to register. We were always amused to get an “I love you” and even more entertained by the random “F--- you” too, always yelled by teen boys, not too surprisingly.

The few times we stopped when people greeted us, it really caught them off guard. They didn’t know what to do. However, one time we circled back to a group of women sitting on the side of the road in the shade of a karst outcrop. For some reason, I was inspired to take their photo if they agreed to it. Before I could even get that far, we were instructed to park our bikes and take a rest with them. They poured tea and pushed pomelo, mango, and starfruit on us. Many smiles were exchanged. Then one woman phoned her daughter with excellent English to come from the village nearby. We chatted with her for quite a while and learned that the women were sitting there to watch over their cattle grazing in the field on the other side of the road. As if on cue, her mother got up and ran off toward the cows, having heard the rumor that one of hers was giving birth. The spontaneous roadside fruit party was one of those simple moments that served as an invaluable reminder of why we travel by bicycle, and it came at a time when we were (re)questioning whether the self-imposed difficulty was really worth it.

We arrived to Phong Nha-Khe Bang National Park at the tail end of a downpour we had been cycling in for eight miles. As soon as we dried off in a hotel room, the sun came out so we got oriented to the area while walking around Phong Nha town. Phong Nha has grown in popularity as a tourism destination in the last few years. While the main attraction is an elaborate limestone cave system boasting the largest (known) caves in the world, visitors are also attracted to the rural countryside surrounding the park. We were no different and explored both aspects.
The following day we toured Phong Nha cave, taking a motorboat from the town upstream to the mouth of the river cave. The driver cut the engine and a team of two pulled oars at the front and back of the sizeable boat into the cave. We traveled about a kilometer inside, but the cave extends much further than that. The key formations were lit up and made for an intriguing sight. Some flat areas just inside the broad entrance of the cave served as shelter and a makeshift hospital during the American-Vietnam War. We also climbed up to Tien Son, a dry cave with a meandering boardwalk through the tremendous, but delicate, formations. The unusually large caves and advanced stalactites and stalagmites have been forming for 400 million years in the oldest karst mountains in Asia, so it’s no surprise the park has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Before leaving Phong Nha, we whiled away an afternoon at the perfectly peaceful Wild Boar Eco Farm. The farm is self-sustaining with its namesake product, in addition to peanuts and small plots of other crops. However, the young owner Cuong saw the potential for an eco-tourism venture, perhaps inspired by a now overly-popular neighbor known as The Pub with Cold Beer. The premise of both places is to provide a spot for backpackers to day-drink in the countryside with the added excitement of butchering a local chicken for a tasty lunch. After passing by the Pub, we were so glad that we continued up the rough dirt track to seek out the immensely more charming Wild Boar Eco-Farm, tucked away on a property with an amazing view overlooking a lazy river.

Hammocks with beers were immediately in order, but soon we were hungry. We ordered chicken, priced by the kilo. Cuong drove off on his motorbike and was gone for a long time. Just as we were joking that he would return with a cooked chicken from the Pub with Cold Beer, he came back with a live one-kilo chicken tucked under his arm. We met the poor gal briefly, then watched Cuong through the entire preparation process including slitting the throat and collecting the blood, defeathering in hot water, cutting and splaying out the body for charcoal grilling. Meanwhile, his wife cooked up morning glory with garlic and a peanut dipping sauce with nuts from their farm. It was a genuine farm-to-table experience, slow food that actually lived up the concept’s hype, and was absolutely delicious to the last bite.
​
I rounded out the afternoon with an innertube float in the river just as a light rain shower began, then we got to talking with Cuong about his business. Understandably, he wants to grow his limited customer base, expand his menu, and build a guesthouse. We tried to emphasize that his place’s current appeal is in its simplicity and the value of its authenticity. Even with significant language barriers, we got the sense that Cuong’s genuineness will prevail over profit. We trust that he will not intentionally try to make it into something that it’s not meant to be. But places don’t always change on purpose, sometimes they just “get discovered,” a character-shifting force beyond any individual’s control. And if that happens, at least we can remember it as it was before it was gone. Despite the temptation to ask Cuong if we could camp out at his farm for a week, we readied ourselves to keep moving on from Phong Nha.

July 29-August 1
Hanoi

Casey was on her way to China to lead a trip for No Barriers Youth and I was hanging in Hanoi for the following ten days on my own. Now I had not truly been on my own in a very long time; many of you know that Casey and I do just about everything together. Other years when she left for these trips I was with friends or family, rather than by myself in a new city. So what was I going to do? Well... Casey (and I) made a long list of things for me to work on and research, of course, but I also wanted to fit in a mini cycle trip to Cat Ba Island.

The first few days in Hanoi were spent on the computer in my hotel room with no window, only venturing out for food and coffee. These forays were through the quaint yet extremely hectic Old Quarter. The banh mi sandwiches and the Vietnamese coffees with sweetened condensed milk were what got me through those days (not to mention countless bowls of pho).

August 2
78 miles to Haiphong

The morning I was to leave Hanoi for Cat Ba Island I hit snooze and woke up much later than I wanted to. I ate breakfast while watching the rain come down. I almost decided to cancel my plans entirely, but I had already paid for a hotel room on the island. I nearly opted to take a bus instead, but the hotel manager would not let me keep my bike in their storage room. Already with no good options, I realized I had also set in motion another reason why I should leave. I had lost the key to the safe in my room and the manager was very unhappy with me. She frowned and muttered, "This is real bad." I braced myself for the worst, but she then only charged me 50,000 Vietnamese dong, a little over $2. I paid and left quickly, never to return, because I worried she would find out that it will cost her much more than that. And I don't want to be around when she does. So off I went, only getting lost a few times heading out of Hanoi. 

I got on a road along a river and through small villages and rice fields, as well as bananas and other crops. It was pretty cool to have little to no traffic after being in Hanoi for so long. The road itself was nice for most of it, that is until it became more pothole than road. I stopped for lunch at a hole in the wall pho restaurant with good food and a nice lady who came over to chat with me. I also watched them preparing a dog to eat. They were burning it on the sidewalk, I think to get the fur off. 

After lunch and a few more hours on the side roads, I was back on the highway and this sucked. There was a shoulder but it was crowded with motorbikes and there were lots of big trucks zooming by, splashing, spraying and scaring me. Did I mention that it was still raining? I tried twice to get off the highway but both times had to turn around because of dirt roads turned to mud. Finally, I got off the highway and on side roads the rest of the way into Haiphong. I arrived around 6:30 after 75 miles in the rain. When I was planning this ride and made a route, it was only 60 miles, not too long of a day. When I used the ForeverMap app, which I use for most of my planning because it routes off the main roads onto nice side roads, it was then 70 miles, a bit longer of a day. Then it became 75 miles because I got lost a few times, almost two hours longer than I had planned! It became quite a long ride for my first time back on my bike in a month. 

I cycled pretty much all day without stopping. It was too rainy for photos and there was no food to eat so I just kept going. It was really weird not trying to keep up with Casey or waiting for her and not having someone to talk to as I rode. Traveling by myself was both rewarding and lonely. I was the only one who had to deal with my bad decisions. I wasn't affecting anyone else. Decisions were faster because I had no one to talk to, only myself. You should have heard those conversations. I didn't have Casey's wisdom to help out so I just did what felt right in the moment, which I would then regret a few moments later. And then sometimes I would be happy with the decision later on. I was lonely though, having no one to share the adventure with. Sure, I talked to my folks and Casey but it was not the same. At the same time, I did like being alone sometimes. It was very different. 

In town, I could not find the hotel I was aiming for, so I rode by two others to scope them out. They said no before I could even ask for a room! Were they really full? Do they hate bikes? Or do they just hate wet bikes? I cycled around for a while until I found one that was both cheap and welcoming to me with my bike. After getting myself un-waterlogged, I went to a local brewery for a dark tasteless beer and super dry fried rice. Unfortunately, it wasn't a great place. Back in the room, I chatted with Casey before heading to bed. My knee hurt on and off throughout the day, and I wasn't so happy about that. 

August 3
16 miles plus boat and bus to Cat Ba island

I was going to wake up early so I could catch the first ferry but I was so tired that it did not happen. I got to the ferry dock in the pouring rain. The first boat company said "no bikes." The second company said it would be the same cost for my bike as me! The third company wanted a lot but I was able to talk him down a bit, but then he said the road was real bad for biking so he did not recommend I go this route. He suggested yet another company and gave me back my money. This shocked me more than getting denied, an honest man who was not just trying to make a quick buck on a tourist. It was very refreshing. So I could have cycled straight to the other dock as he suggested, but it was about 10 or so miles and it was still raining so hard. Finally, the fourth company said no problem for the bike and the price was lower than the others. I guess sometimes persistence really does pay off, but before this point I almost gave up and headed back to Hanoi. This had become such a hassle that I was already dreading getting back from the island, but I decided to go anyway.

This was one of the decisions that I regretted in the moment but would later look back on as a success. The bus ride to the ferry was along a muddy road with heavy truck and bus traffic, which I would have to ride back on. I loaded the ferry easily, but as I got off the boat and approached the bus to Cat Ba town (included in my ticket price) the driver said 'No!' to my bike and drove off. So what could I do but get a pack of cookies for breakfast since I had not eaten yet and ride the 15 hilly miles in the rain to town? It wasn't a huge deal, but I paid for the bus just like all the others who got on. Actually, I payed more because of the additional bike fee. At least the ride was not so bad even though my knee did hurt, and did I mention it was raining? In fact, I think the ride would have been amazing if I could have seen anything. Parts of the road were so flooded that my feet were under water while pedaling.

I got some amazing smiles, looks of wonder, thumbs ups, and shouts of encouragement as I rode. I wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or what. Whatever the reason though, it always made me smile back no matter what mood I was in. If you ever pass a cycle tourer in your car, don't honk right next to them even if it's just to say hi. It can be a shock and hurt the ears. Wave out the window or give a shout of encouragement instead. It helps a lot. Or even better, if you have a spare water bottle or some fruit, stop and share it with them.

The only easy part of the day turned out to be checking into my hotel. They gave me no problems about the bike and I had a great view from my room on the fourth floor with a floor to ceiling window overlooking the bay. Sure, the ceiling leaks a bit and there are plenty of ants, but it only cost $9. I spent a few hours walking around town, mostly made up of eateries and hotels, but the local market was cool. The streets were flooded above the ankles in a lot of places. I ate some pho and a pastry and headed to the room to rest. By then I was a walking zombie. 

August 4
17 miles around Cat Ba Island

What a surprise, I woke up to yet more rain so I was lazy about getting ready to sightsee that day, but luckily it soon stopped raining. Breakfast next door had great coffee, a good pancake and eggs. It was a nice ride up to Cat Ba National Park. I hiked on the only open trail since the rest were closed due to wet weather, fallen trees, and bad trail conditions. It was a great hike up through a rainforest. Of course, I didn't see any big animals, but I did see crabs, lizards, skinks, birds, and some cool vegetation as well. There were nice but overcast views from the top. I took my time on way down, stopping to check out a small cage of sad-looking monkeys. Supposedly it was a temporary location for them after being rescued. Passing by a 'zoo' featuring deer, I went into the visitor center to see the animal display room but it was all locked up in a decrepit building. Through the window, the taxidermy looked pretty scary, maybe some of the worst I have seen.

On the way back to town, I stopped at Hospital Cave. This was an interesting cave with a bunker built inside of it. It was used during the American/Vietnam war as a shelter and hospital. It reminded me of being in Battery Townsley back in the Marin Headlands. Then I went to a harbor area near Cat Ba town with awesome karst formations and a floating fishing village. That evening, I found a bia hoi joint with good local beer and asked for pho for dinner. At first they did not want to serve me, but after asking nicely again, a guy got on his motorbike with an empty bowl and came back with it full! I don't know where he went to get it, but it was good.

August 5
7 miles on Cat Ba Island

It was yet another slow morning because of yet more rain. After breakfast, I worked on stuff for a while then signed up for kayak tour with Asia Outdoors for the following day. Casey said to stop worrying about money, so I listened to her. When it stopped raining, I got on my bike and went exploring to some view points and then up a very steep hill to Cannon Fort. Walking around the fort was like walking around the Marin Headlands. The fort is built into the hillside will gun trenches and cannon holes and the have these creepy-cool mannequins around the gun and sitting at desks. I think they need these in the Headlands. It brings some life to the fort... I had the place to myself for most of the time while sitting at a viewpoint looking over the bay, until a very large group of French came by and overran the place.

It was also a nice ride back down the hill, except when I was going over the bridge to the fishing port I noticed that I had a flat. Ugh! Conveniently, I pulled into a bia hoi and ordered a beer before starting the repair. Then the big French group came by and ordered beers as well. Either they are following me or it's a small island. The tube turned out to be split along the valve and therefore unfixable. Ironically, I had to ask the group to watch my bike while I ran back to my room for a new tube. Luckily, I had one. So in the end I was able to fix the flat while enjoying some good fresh beer.

August 6
Cat Ba Island

I woke up early and had breakfast at my usual place. I don't usually go on tours if I can help it, but kayaking on my own amongst the karst seemed unwise. So... I got on a big boat with about twenty people, but also plenty of space on a nice sun deck. However--surprise, surprise--we could see the rain coming at us; it was going to pour. We passed by a floating fishing village and many cool karst pinnacles poking out of the water. I chatted with some French Canadians about climbing and traveling. Of course, we got in our kayaks from a floating restaurant just as the rain started. There was an odd number of kayakers, so I was paired with a guy who was part of a group of five young college Brits. Dumb and Dumber came to mind. My partner was not a good paddler since he was nervous and did not trust my steering.

It rained for most of the two-hour long morning kayak session, but not too hard. We kayaked around Lan Ha Bay, the less-visited but just as beautiful bay next to its famous counterpart Ha Long Bay. The paddle trip took us through the amazing karst scenery, a few archways and an open-roofed cavern. Back on the boat, lunch was served family style with three to four people at a table. There was plenty of food and it was pretty good as well. Egg was provided as my vegetarian substitute for the fish, which is unsustainably caught in the area. The sun came out and the sky cleared, so we chilled on the upper deck for awhile while taking in the amazing scenery. As we motored further out, Lan Ha Bay got even more beautiful. We kayaked for two more hours with a little time on a beach. We saw a monkey and lots of cool birds, maybe some hawks or eagles. I chatted with our guide Claire about work, travel, and environmental topics, especially after watching some fishermen fishing with dynamite! Overall, it was a very nice and enjoyable day. Was it worth the extra $7 over other tours? Probably. Was it worth the price over going by myself? Yeah, I was able to go further out in the bay and had some nice folks to talk to.

While eating dinner that evening, I got offered a pretty Vietnamese girl by a man passing by. I declined.

August 7
24 miles back to Hanoi

I packed up and headed out of town, taking the back way toward the national park. A local guy at Hospital Cave Cafe waved at me and yelled "Tea!". I almost just cycled by, but then I turned around after thinking to myself, "Well, this is why I travel by bike." He offered me Vietnamese tea and we sat and chatted for a while. He had very good English as well as speaking five other languages, all of which he learned by talking with tourists. He was in the Vietnamese army and fought in the Chinese war. He was a really nice guy. After a while, I got going again on a nice ride along the coastal road to the ferry docks. The first dock I came across was not the Hadeco ferry, but they tried to tell me that Hadeco would not take my bike so I should just go with them. Liars! I finally got them to point me in the right direction and just a little further down road was Hadeco. I paid 170,000 dong ($8.50) including my bike.

While waiting for the ferry, a group from the infamous Castaway Tour showed up. Most were super drunk and the remainder looked annoyed. One girl said she cut her trip short because it was so bad. I was thankful to get on a different ferry. Very thankful. Back in Haiphong, I went to the train station to get a ticket for later than night, then found the Haiphong Brewery. I was impressed with their amber and bought two bottles as a surprise for Casey when she gets back. I filled up on some street food at two different stalls before returning to the train station. It was nerve wracking and weird to lose control of how they loaded my bike. Casey would have been proud with how calm I was. The cheaper hard seat was not such a bad ride, although anything longer than the two hours to Hanoi could be rough. I returned to the Blue Sky Hotel 2 but they only had a dorm bed available. Their other location had a room, but would not accept my bike. Always an ordeal, but eventually I was able to leave my bike at Blue Sky 2 while I stayed at Blue Sky 1!

The ten days I was traveling solo went by much faster than I expected, and most of the time it wasn't even that bad. Before I knew it, Casey was back and we were planning the next leg of our journey together.

Heading in to the Dulong Valley in the rain, we anticipated the occasional rockfall. What we weren't expecting to encounter was snake-fall! The sizable reptile lost its grip on the slippery face of the road cut and hit the edge of the road just as my wheels passed by. I screeched to a stop--not that I was going that fast up the endless hill--but only managed to get a blurry snapshot before it regained its composure and retreated into a crevice in the rock wall.
 
We had departed Bingzoulao in the upper Nujiang Valley that morning, our efforts to get going earlier than usual thwarted by the temptation of an unexpected street market and saying goodbye to our cycling companion Will over a dumpling breakfast. It was afternoon by the time we made the turnoff and began a gradual 25-mile long climb on an amazingly smooth, newly-paved, but traffic-free road. We weren't even sure if the Dulong Valley was open to foreigners, having heard accounts of restricted access within the last few years. At the only checkpoint we encountered, we ducked under a barricade and waved to the teenage police that we spotted through the open doorway of an adjacent building. They didn't bother to get up from the couches they were lounging on, so we figured we were in the clear.
 

​​ I have mentioned before that it seems there are some people in this world that you are meant to be connected to in some way, shape, or form. Our overlap with Will began before we even met him in person. About a year ago, I was searching for information about the feasibility of putting our bikes on a train to Lhasa. I came across a post on Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree forum asking the same question, but unfortunately without any conclusive responses. I then contacted the travel company we were booking our tour with and was told that they had already unsuccessfully inquired with the train station on behalf of another client. As we would be training it to Lhasa shortly before this other fellow, I offered to share the details of our experience with him.

While we were hanging out in the common area of a hostel in Xining, a blonde guy of Thor-like proportions pushed his bike in, a bit disheveled from an intense ride across far western China. After just a couple responses to the usual introductory questions that travelers tend to swap--names being the last priority--I interrupted him to ask, "You're William Clifford?" To which he relied, "Why yes I am!" with a slightly puzzled look. I explained, "I'm supposed to email you after we take the train to Lhasa." Not only that, but he had also written the post I had seen earlier on the Thorn Tree forum.

We met up with Will a second time in Kathmandu after our respective tours through Tibet. After that, our paths diverged but we kept tabs on his progress through India, Bangladesh, and Burma. While we were heading north in the Yunnan Province of China, he was working out the bureaucratic logistics of crossing from Burma into the Yunnan, despite the widespread belief that this border is closed to foreigners. It appeared that we would be within cycling distance of each other if he successfully crossed the border. He did, making it happen through his stubbornness and creative strategizing, perhaps with a little bit of good luck thrown in too. We were both interested in exploring the Nujiang Valley, so it seemed like the perfect place to meet up.

The Nu river originates from glacial melt on the Tibetan Plateau, descends through the Yunnan, continues into Burma where it is called the Salween, then briefly forms the border with Thailand before emptying in to the Andaman Sea. It is one of the longest free-flowing rivers in the world and one of only two major rivers in China that have not been dammed. Of course, that is soon set to change with the revival of a controversial dam extravaganza proposal in China that had previously been shut down by protests launched by the Chinese environmental movement. Myanmar is moving forward with its own dam(n) plans as well. 

We would be cycling along the section of Nu constrained by a long narrow valley nicknamed "The Grand Canyon of the East" where several of the dreaded dams are scheduled to harness the river's powerful descent. Apparently the gorge is 13,000 feet deep (presumably measured from distant glaciated peaks rather than the immediate summits of hills that hem it in), a product of the same tectonic plate collision that created the Himalayas. The dramatic topography of the region and the associated variation of climates has created incredible biodiversity. Lonely Planet claims that "the gorge holds nearly a quarter of China’s flora and fauna species, and half of China’s endangered species." 

For what it is worth, some sections of Nujiang are included in a complex of fifteen protected areas established in 2003. They are known as The Three Parallel Rivers of Yunnan UNESCO World Heritage Sites. UNESCO cites a criteria of the designation as the belief that it "may be the most biologically diverse temperate region on earth." Until recently, its historical remoteness has protected its cultural diversity as well, with several of the Yunnan's twenty-five ethnic minorities residing there. As with anywhere in China, Han-centric modernization and integration policies are now rapidly altering the cultural make-up and way of life in the valley.

Looking up the valley from its abrupt entrance, we were excited for the many miles that lay ahead. The lowest reaches of the valley were similar to the landscape we had been recently riding through, but now we had the focal point of a tremendous muddy river and the dramatic hillsides that hemmed it in. Agriculturally, this was the land of lychees and mangoes and apparently we were hitting it at the peak of the season. After passing by countless roadside mango stands, we finally stopped to buy a few, but they were so cheap that we ended up with many. Next, we were tempted by lychees. I thought I was getting half of a pre-packaged "bouquet", but through communication challenges I ended up with several kilos worth. Then they threw some free mangoes in to boot. The next stop was an unusual sight for a country where Nescafé is king: a roadside stand offering free samples of locally grown Yunnan coffee! The proprietor ground the beans in a classic manual grinder and brewed the deliciousness up in a contraption reminiscent of chemistry experiment. A new twist on our favorite drink was a dollop of coffee flower blossom honey for a sweet kick. After that, we were handed expertly peeled mangoes and sent off with several more on the house. We were hauling at least fifteen pounds of fruit by then and dared not stop anywhere else for fear of more free mangoes. Yes, there are certainly worse problems to be had out there.

We thought the steps of a roadside monument outside of a village would be a safe spot to actually consume some of the fruit we had accumulated, but within minutes some of the residents spied the random people and came over to investigate. The usual smiles and giggles led to the usual elaborate photo shoot and soon we were offered packets of sticky rice steamed in banana leaves. We learned through the basic translation app we were using to communicate that this was special holiday food prepared for the Dragon Boat Festival. We unwrapped the packets and dipped them in thick molasses that accompanied them, creating a massively gooey mess in our hands as we ate. We let the spontaneous roadside party run its course, but decided to push on despite the late hour of the afternoon. After a long day of riding through rural areas, we were quite caught off guard when approached a collection of tall buildings framed with neon lights. The bustling city of Liuku seemed so out of sync with the rest of the valley. 

We had reached Liuku ahead of Will. We tried to convince him just how "leisurely" we ride, but he was certain he wouldn't close the gap if we kept moving up the valley. Always happy to have an excuse for a rest day, we spent an extra day there to wait for him to catch up. He put in a couple of huge days and rolled into town in the late afternoon. Wearing a bright yellow tunic printed with red elephants, a decomposing leather hat, and sporting a beard that hadn't been tamed since Kolcutta, he had perfected the "vagabond-on-a-bicycle" look since we last saw him. 

Truth be told, we were a little nervous to ride with someone else, wondering if our styles would mesh and our routines would be compatible. We worried that we would be too boring for him after months of adventuring through intense situations. Those concerns evaporated within the first few miles of heading out of Liuku the next morning. Within an hour, we had laughed more than in the past week combined. And all joking aside, Will balanced his laid back flexibility with an ability to also tactfully communicate his priorities as needed. For our part, we did our best to conceal our habitual bickering couple dynamic and enjoyed being social with someone besides each other. 

Upstream of Liuku, the gorge began to narrow and the valley turned greener, a theme that would continue all of the way up the valley. At least one of the three of us was inspired to stop at nearly every new bend in the road, so our collective progress was slow, another theme that would continue for the duration of our time together. But with so much beauty to take in, why rush? On the first day alone, Will flew across the river on a zip line that locals use in lieu of a bridge, we explored a cave containing a Buddhist shrine, we were mesmerized by rapids that would flip any raft in a split second, we watched rockfall on the opposite river bank, and of course we posed for an excessive photo shoot for domestic tourists, including some monks on vacation.

So it was only appropriate that we met a gregarious old woman, whom we later nicknamed Mama, while we were stopped along the stretch of road below her village. She didn't speak a word of English, but it was clear that she wanted us to follow her home. We pushed our bikes to her house at the top of the hillside settlement and were offered a thermos of hot water while sitting on little stools on her porch. This was certainly a nice gesture, but what we really needed was a place to spend the night! Through the universal symbol for sleep, we secured a spare room while her daughters shyly observed us from a distance, trying to figure out exactly how and why we were moving in to their home for a night.

We were soon served dinner from a very basic kitchen, featuring grilled meat and, of course, heaps of rice. When the family gathered in the living room that evening, Mama got the party started by putting on a DVD of traditional dance, presumably of the Lisu people, but we were not knowledgable enough to be certain since there are many ethnic minorities residing in Nujiang Valley. Mama and the least shy daughter began dancing in the middle of the living room, and it wasn't long before the weary bicycle travelers were pulled off the couches as well, no doubt providing amusement at how awkwardly we imitated their steps in the revolving group circle. 

When the energy for dancing waned, we returned to our stations on the couches. This time a very drunk son-in-law took a particular interest in "conversing" with Will. Each time he said something, unintelligible to us whether he was drunk or sober, Mama would slap my thigh, point at them from across the room, and crack up with hearty cackle, which of course cracked me up too. As tears of laughter streamed down her face, she would lift her shirt up to wipe them away, freely exposing her breasts, thus spurring a few more giggles from our end each time. This sequence repeated itself countless times until she abruptly announced that it was time for bed. While the family fell asleep, we finally changed out of our cycling clothes and found our way to a bucket shower, before settling in on a thin woven matt serving as the mattress on a wooden platform bed.

We slept in long after the family was awake the next morning. They generously cooked up a breakfast quite similar to dinner while we loaded up the bicycles. When we conveyed our gratitude with a modest donation to Mama, she waved it away and implored us to stay longer. While spontaneous homestays are usually fun and inevitably memorable, they are also energy intensive. We were ready to keep moving, but we were all quite tired that day too. We opted to stop rather early in Fugon, a population center with a generic Chinese city feel to it.

The following day we passed by Nujiang's most famous sight, the Stone Moon, which is actually a roundish hole in a rocky ridge line. That evening, it seemed like camping would be an enjoyable option, but Matt and I figured that finding a spot would be a real challenge. Since flat land is so limited in the narrow valley bottom, it seems every inch is utilized for houses, roads, or crops. Even then, corn is planted in crazy and random places, a few stalks squeezed in here and there, right up to the edge of the road. Fortunately, we had a wild camping enthusiast with us who rode ahead to scout out potential sites, focusing on the sandy beaches along the calmer stretches of river. Will found one that looked idyllic across the river, so we crossed a suspension bridge to a village and asked a group of locals if we could camp there. They pointed us down a trail that cut through their property, but it proved to be unfeasible to get our bicycles all the way down to the beach. Conveniently enough, we also passed by an abandoned building on the way, so we took over the porch and overgrown grassy yard, still sleeping within feet of a cornfield of course.

The pattern of hot sunny days had shifted to cool and cloudy weather the following day. As we crossed the suspension bridge to return to the main road, we looked back and noticed that our desired camping beach was mostly underwater! A rainstorm in the night had raised the water level just enough to make us grateful we didn't get down there. 

That afternoon we officially entered the UNESCO protected area and soon after faced a series of steep inclines. The previous days had been surprisingly gradual in their elevation gain as we continually traveled up the valley. The climb afforded us the stunning view of what is referred to as "The First Bend", where the Nu makes a dramatic curve around a peninsula within the deep valley walls below. This complimented the dramatic first look at Bingzoulao laid out on a sloping shelf high above the river yet far below the traces of snowy mountains partially obscured by clouds in the distance.

We settled in to the Road to Tibet Hostel, an accurate name as long as you are a Chinese national, since foreigners can not enter Tibet unless by train or plane along with a prearranged permit. The guesthouse is run by Aluo, an intrepid guy who's a knowledgeable resource for exploring the area. That night we celebrated reaching our "destination" with beers at a cozy restaurant frequented by Tibetans and basketball players, both in their respective forms of typical dress.

Bingzoulao was a pleasant enough base, so we stayed for few of days. After a leisurely morning  involving multiple breakfasts the day after we arrived, we were motivated enough for an afternoon hike to "Peach Blossom Island." As we headed down the road toward the river, we noted a distinctive cycle touring bike parked outside of an upscale hostel. It belonged to a Chinese fellow who had been on the road for a couple of years. Overcoming the usual communication challenges, Will got some long sought after and essential beta from him on new roads heading east out of the upper Nujiang Valley, avoiding the substantial backtrack down to Liuku. The chance meet up confirmed a hunch we had developed from hearing stories of Will's previous adventures in addition to spending a few days traveling with him. Simply summarized, all we can say is, "Where there's a Will, there's a way!" As for us, we had already resigned ourselves to the out and back trip, believed to be the only option by numerous travel sources, since we had left our excess belongings at our odd hotel in Liuku. 

After the route finding connection, Will and the Chinese cyclist were two peas in a pod while he accompanied us as an informal guide through the village on Peach Blossom Island. He returned while we continued on to see The First Bend from river level, finding our way around the hump of land the flowing water encircles. 

The next day we took a day ride further upstream towards the Tibetan border. On the way, we paused in the courtyard of a landmark Catholic Church while locals in both traditional and Western dress arrived for mass. Further along, we were intrigued by a church that seemingly blended Christian and Buddhist iconography and architecture. Missionaries have been hard at work targeting the ethnic minority groups since the late nineteenth century. They even created a script for the Lisu language known as the Fraser Alphabet, involving upside down and backwards Roman letters. A translation of the Bible was their next move, of course. 

We had no choice about our next stop at a police checkpoint where we had to register our passport details in case we tried to sneak in to Tibet. We didn't even make it close, first opting to take a side road up to a random village for a look around. A nice viewpoint back along the main road seemed like a logical turnaround, so we snapped some photos at the furthest point up the Nujiang we would explore, but the adventurous part of the trip was yet to come.

On the way back, we thought it would be cool to ride on what is purportedly a section of the historical Tea-Horse Road. In the same vein as the Silk Road, it was network of trade routes between Tibet and the lowlands to facilitate the trade of horses for tea, among other items. We crossed a modest bridge and cautiously began down a trail that had been chiseled out of a vertical cliff face. Will crouched over his handle bars to fit under the overhanging rock and I ducked too, but simply out of instinct rather than necessity. The trail narrowed to single track with an adrenaline-inducing drop off straight into the river below. I had no qualms about getting off my bike and walking a few sections, but the boys rode all of it. In less than a mile, the trail dropped us into the scenic village of Wuli, so picture-perfect that it might even be preserved as is by the Chinese government as a token example of traditional life. Less desirable villages have been rebuilt with more modern and quite uniform houses throughout the valley, giving communities a strangely suburban housing development look frequently see in the States, but a bit more modest.

Not much was going on in the village as we rode through it, but leaving on a different trail connecting to another bridge downstream proved to be the most adventurous part of our outing. After riding on the edge of a terraced cornfield, only once crumbling underneath me causing a minor crash into some stalks, the trail became too steep and narrow to ride. Then it plunged down toward the river with a series of wooden ladders and makeshift ledges built across sections of mass erosion. We were so close to the bridge that we opted to carry our bikes down the ladders instead of backtracking, although I'm sure it took more time and effort in the end. So much for an easy rest day!

After one more true rest day in Bingzoulao involving writing, bike maintenance, and even a movie night, we parted ways with Will. We failed to convince him to come with us to the Dulong Valley, a side trip to this side trip in a more remote valley accessed from Nujiang. He had his exploratory route heading east over the mountains to Lijiang to tackle; the Dulong was a week-long distraction to the west. While our respective journeys would later take us to some of the same places, it would no longer be at the same time. 

It had been a week made memorable by both the excellent company and the specialness of the place. Developing a firsthand connection to Nujiang makes its uncertain future all the more worrisome. Whether by dams or the valley's inevitable discovery by masses of domestic tourists, biodiversity will suffer. Which is not to say that the river is in pristine condition now. Eddies were routinely filled with swirling chunks of styrofoam and partially burned garbage overflowed containment pits along the river banks. As if seeing this wasn't painful enough, we witnessed employees of a local hospital unloading bag after bag of bloody medical waste from a beat up ambulance and tossing it straight into the water. Yep, in broad daylight. 
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It is times like this when travel is a reminder of just how disempowering it is to be an outsider. What could we do but watch? If the Chinese government wants those dams built, who in this world can stop them? While travelers may be disempowered to intentionally create change in the places they briefly pass through, the process of travel is ultimately empowering. Awareness is more acute, knowledge is more impactful, inspiration is more lasting. Call it what you will, but travel's potential to effect change is best fulfilled in whatever place the traveler happens to call home. As for us, while we didn't exactly have access the incredible biodiversity of Nujiang, we at least got to see its overall beauty before it's gone.

It was one of those border crossings where we felt suddenly transported to another world, not just another country, although China had already spilt over to the Laos side of the border with a cluster of generic gambling hotels and a luxury mega-resort in the works. Although we were forewarned by this bizarre Chinese vacation enclave known as Boten, it was still a bit of a shock to roll in to a highly-developed city just across the border, well, at least compared to Laos. Being our second time to enter China, everything felt so different and so familiar at the same time.