We were looking forward to exploring the Mekong Delta on our way to Cambodia, but for the second time in Vietnam, a bicycle breakdown rerouted our plan. Halfway through the second day after departing Ho Chi Minh City, I suddenly felt a telltale rhythmic bump in my rear tire. It was now my turn to deal with the same ordeal Matt had gone through a couple of months prior in the Yunnan. The cantilever brakes had worn distinctive grooves in my wheel rims over time, making the rear one thin enough crack. We knew our best bet was to return to HCMC where we had recently had our bikes maintained by Van, the owner of Saigon Bike Shop. 

Ironically, by turning back, we discovered what we had been seeking but failing to find: a backroad path through small farming and canal communities that make up the heart of delta life. Unfortunately, that path soon dumped us back on the same type of busy road we had been trying to get off of. Of course, the highway was the most direct route in to the city and we had little time to spare before our Vietnam visas expired. We decided the 50 or so miles we endured was the most unpleasant stretch of road we have ever ridden, made even more stressful by the gradual widening of the crack and bulging of the tire. Yes, we could have taken transport, but at the time it seemed a bearable distance to ride versus the inevitable hassle of putting bikes on a bus. 

Van built two new wheels for my bike no problem, and on the last possible day for us to leave the country without penalty, we cycled from HCMC to the border crossing at Moc Bai, thus completely rearranging our route through Cambodia as well. Originally, we had hoped to cross at the most southerly border checkpoint and travel along Cambodia's coast before exploring inland. Now we were headed to its capital city of Phnom Penh first, then turning south for the coast. We held a new appreciation for the simplicity of Cambodian visa procedures after dealing with the ridiculousness of visas in Vietnam. With indefinitely extendable visas issued on our arrival at the border, we crossed into only our seventh country in fifteen months of travel.

The following day we were taught an unforgettable lesson about Cambodian roads. In Vietnam, the traffic necessitated always taking the smallest road possible, which in Cambodia equates to the unpaved dirt tracks any time one leaves the main highway. It had rained quite hard the night before, so it was actually a mud track, but still rideable, at least initially. But in the rice fields beyond the village, the mud suddenly turned to thick sticky clay, rideable only for the short distance it took to completely fill up my fenders and jam up the wheels. Unable to move, I dismounted and tried to push my bike, but it wouldn't budge. I dug enough clay out of the fender to at least turn it around before it got stuck again. A bemused local woman working in a nearby rice field came over and told me in broken English that the way was no good and I had to turn around, which I had clearly already done. I agreed. She told me again. I agreed. She repeated herself, and I agreed again. This went on for a while. When the helpful woman finally felt she had informed me enough times not to keep going, she turned her attention to helping me dig out clay and push my bike a few feet at a time. Meanwhile, in keeping with the fact that I am always the tester of road conditions from my position in the front, Matt stood at a safe distance from the mud pit and watched the fun unfold.

You would think this defeat would be enough for us to return to the main road, but instead we took a different fork in the road that looked promisingly less muddy. It was all good until the track sloped downhill and simply disappeared underwater for as long as we could see. We resigned ourselves to following the highway in to Phnom Penh, thus learning that a main road in Cambodia is equivalent to a side road in Vietnam thanks to its much lower population density and less developed economy. Besides, the highway provided the entertainment of watching endless overloaded minivans and tuk tuks pass by, crowded to a degree we had not yet seen in Asia. The back hatches of the minivans were open, with luggage and bags extended beyond the bumper of the vehicle with ropes. People sat on the cargo with their feet dangling out the back, others sat among the things strapped to the roof. Apparently the road was exceptionally busy as people returned to Phnom Penh after spending a holiday with family in the countryside.

Vendors lined the road with snacks for the multitude of travelers. At one major intersection, we were beckoned to stop and buy crickets fried with chilies. I bought a portion as a courtesy for the photo opportunity, but of course we tried them as well. The flavor was generally undesirable, likely not from the cricket itself but from what I suspect was rancid oil it was cooked in. Conveniently, we amused the passengers hanging out the back of a van when we handed the baggie of crickets off to them with motions of distaste just as the vehicle slowly accelerated from the side of the road.

Before arriving in Cambodia, several people told us independently of each other that "Cambodia is chill." Arriving to Phnom Penh, Cambodia's "hectic" capital city, this certainly appeared to hold true. The pace of life, the traffic, the nature of the people were all quite mellow in comparison to HCMC. This chillness was most evident in visiting a few of the city's markets where we really had to work hard to get someone's attention while shopping around for a few items. Having recently taken care of a slew of travel errands in HCMC and no visa deadlines to constrain our itinerary, we had the leisure of exploring Phnom Penh more thoroughly than we normally do in large cities.

We made up for never visiting the Grand Palace in Bangkok by spending an afternoon at Cambodia's Royal Palace complex with temples of similar design, as are the other wats we have since seen in Phnom Penh and beyond. While the coronation hall and silver pagoda were memorably beautiful, we were most intrigued by an aged mural facing the courtyard and extending the length of all four barrier walls. Apparently it depicts the Indian epic of Ramayana with Cambodian adaptations.

Sadly, Cambodia's street food scene was also "chill", as in nearly nonexistent. After the vibrant selection in Vietnam that we ate almost exclusively from, we struggled to find equivalent restaurants that sufficiently filled the void. While the local markets had some food stalls in the spirit of street food, our biggest success was a place called MC Coffee that became our go-to breakfast. Iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk was served just as it was in Vietnam, but instead of fried egg banh mi sandwiches, we had the Khmer classic of strips of fried pork and omelette served over rice with a side of pickled veggies.

The night market was a fun scene even though the selection of food focused on skewers of over-processed meat that was deep-fried on demand. A square of inward facing food stands surrounded an area spread with woven mats and narrow walkways to access them. Large groups of friends and families sat in a circle on the mats, piles of shoes at the fringes. We did our part by sampling an Angry Birds mystery meat skewer and finally "getting around" to trying a duck fetus egg. Ok, I ate the boiled egg with a partially developed duck fetus inside while Matt documented. The flavor was fairly similar to a normal hard boiled egg, but obviously the variable consistency and textures were not. It's definitely one of those foods that looks way worse than it tastes though. And then there's the mental bias too.

No visit to Cambodia is complete without recognizing the gruesome and still too recent history of the Khmer Rouge's rise to power and the consequences of it that Cambodia is still dealing with today. We began our education of this element of the country at the Tuol Sleng Museum, also known as the Genocide Museum, and previously known as Security Prison S-21 to the Khmer Rouge. It has been preserved as the largest of many detention and torture centers that had the agenda of extracting false confessions of anti-revolutionary activity from those accused by the Pol Pot regime. It is a particularly sobering experience to walk through the very rooms where prisoners were locked down to metal bed frames in isolation, or shackled by the ankles to each other along a common metal bar, all with original equipment on display. It was also strange and somewhat telling to reflect on how easily the format of a standard school was converted into a prison. Rows upon rows of concrete rooms only required the additions of metal bars in the windows and barbed wire enclosing the outdoor hallways to make the repurposing complete.

Once the accused was sufficiently tortured to confess to their made-up crime, they were transported to a place now known as The Killing Fields of Choeung Ek for mass execution by crude and brutal methods. We paid our respects to this site as a stop on our first day cycling south out of Phnom Penh. A measured but articulate audio tour effectively sets a quiet respectful tone as visitors take in the mounds, holes, bone shards, and even tatters of clothing that all serve testament to the thousands of innocent Khmer who were killed here, from infants to elderly. A plot to maintain absolute control through absolute fear devised by a deranged and paranoid man, but a cunning man who first came to power by appealing to the impoverished and disenfranchised. The ranks of the Khmer Rouge swelled when rural Cambodia was at its most vulnerable, having been devastated by years of "secret bombing" by the good ol' US of A. 

The influencing factors, the circumstances of instability, or any other context to set the terror of the Khmer Rouge in, does not make it seem any more intelligible. The best we can do is to honor the memory of the victims and respect the lessons of history with bringing the intention of peace into all aspects of our lives.

With the significance of these historical sites on our minds, we continued on and soon had no choice but to be absorbed in the joys of contemporary Cambodia again. We detoured a short distance to Tonle Bati, a scenic lake popular with Phnom Penh folks on the weekends. As such, stilted and thatched roofed wooden platforms extend along one side of the lake, each with an attendant who will bring you overpriced food from a nearby restaurant should you choose to relax the day away on their platform. Or, Matt and Casey style, you can rent the platform for $1 and make your own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while watching orange-robed monks cruise by in a motorboat. With the sun low in the sky, we thought about how this would make an ideal spot to spend the night. The platform owner declined to give us permission, but it seemed that she offered her home instead. We weren't quite sure, so she called over a younger lady with some basic English and she offered her home as well. We didn't know what to do then, since it seemed rude not to go with the first lady who offered, but the younger girl became more insistent we should go with her. 

We followed Dara back to her family's home and picked up her BFF Sokny, with more confident English, on the way. Their tall stilted house was quite new, but still very modest by Western standards, especially considering the lack of any substantial furniture and possessions inside. The heart of the home was actually underneath the house, where hammocks were strung up adjacent to large day bed bamboo platforms and an outdoor kitchen. We sat down there for a while to meet the rest of the family and a few curious neighbors, then the girls offered to take us to see Ta Prohm and Yeay Peau, both historical temples from the Angkorian era. Despite a soccer game wrapping up in the courtyard of the temple complex, the otherwise quiet and deserted grounds at dusk lent an eerie feel to exploring the site.

In keeping with all of our homestay experiences, it had to get confusing at some point. Sokny told us to order off the overpriced menu from the lake and she would bring us dinner from the restaurant. We weren't too keen on paying those prices, but she explained that we didn't have to pay, or could pay "as you wish." However, the family had not prepared enough food for us. Fair enough, we were very unexpected guests. Then Dara and she returned with the ingredients of what we ordered and cooked it for us, while we never saw the family eat. After a brief period of improvised socializing after dinner with the friendly family, Sokny politely informed us it was time for bed and they settled us in to the parents' bedroom, complete with a mosquito net and fan. We did need to deploy our camping air pads though as the woven mats provided weren't quite enough cushioning from the wooden floor.

Early to bed, early to rise holds true in Cambodia as well, so the family was already doing chores and yard work when we made an appearance at 6:00am the next morning. We were offered noodle soup and coffee, which we accepted, so the girls zoomed off to pick it up at the restaurant for us. Oh...Oh well. After we ate, we said our goodbyes and gave them enough money that would certainly cover whatever the ambiguous food expenses may have been. 

Overall, it was an enjoyable experience that gave us a bit of insight into a Khmer rice farming family's daily existence in a Cambodian village. At least on the surface, it's not so different from rural life in other Southeast Asian countries. Kind of like Southeast Asian beer, the nuances of flavor may vary slightly, but at the end of the night, it's all same same, and not so different. That said, we were pleasantly surprised by a relative multitude of decent stouts available in Cambodia in addition to the usual lagers. This is a trend that other countries would do well to adopt!

Still on our way to the coast, we next stopped at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center where various animals, many of them endangered species, have been confiscated from poachers or abusive owners. While we rode around the extensive grounds on our fully loaded bikes, we saw many animals we could only dream of being lucky enough to see in the wild, such as sun bears, a leopard, and a new favorite species of monkey called a pileated gibbon. Better still, we saw some that we did not even know existed, like the binturong, which Matt described as "a rat of unusual size." After observing Khmer group after Khmer group obnoxiously harassing the animals in their enclosures to get them to do something "exciting", we realized the scope of the challenge that organizations such as Wildlife Alliance face in this country. If these were people coming to see animals, supposedly with an awareness of why the animals were there, and THIS was how they chose to treat them...More frustrating still was the lack of supervision to ensure a truly peaceful existence for the animals. Perhaps they could charge locals a bit more than 50 cents and hire some visitor supervisory staff or mandatory guides. After all, the well-behaved foreigners had to pay ten times the local rate.

After the wildlife sanctuary, we had intentions of checking out a historical hilltop temple, but with the late hour of the day, we decided to push on to the town of Takeo. We settled in to the nicest hotel room we have ever paid $6 for, and went out to some food carts along the riverside. We shared a spicy green mango salad and gave the skewer thing another chance, but the grilled chicken wings were as meatless as they looked, just skin and flimsy bones. As we were finishing up, a downpour came out of nowhere and we took shelter under the tarp of another vendor along with some sociable Khmer guys who invited us to join their slightly soaked dinner featuring more beer than food. We enjoyed toast after toast of watery beer on ice until the rain abated enough to make it back to our room.

​Once dried off, we took a several hour nap before awaking to an alarm at 2am. We had an important FaceTime meeting with a class of Coloradan high school seniors, but not just any high school seniors. Our sister-in-law, Lauren, teaches a leadership course and incorporated our journey into the preparatory curriculum for the students to design and actualize Capstone Projects. We were honored to have the Before It's Gone Journey be an example of "the ultimate Capstone Project" for the students, even if we don't always feel that way about it ourselves. The students had great questions that really made us reflect on our journey as well.

Leaving Hoi An, we stopped at My Son ruins, a small complex of temples dedicated to worshipping the Hindu god Shiva. The site is thought to be the longest continuously inhabited place in Indochina as an integral part of the Champa kingdom that ruled what is now Central Vietnam from the 3rd to 17th centuries. It was designated a UNESCO site in 1999, despite extensive damage caused by US bombing of the Viet Cong hiding out there during the war. We noticed bomb craters were almost as numerous as the crumbled buildings glowing warmly in the evening light.

We were determined to get back into the hills on the Ho Chi Minh Highway, so from My Son we turned inland on one of those “short cuts that’s really a long cut” roads that Matt always digs up on his various route finding apps. It may not have been such slow going if the dirt road had not turned to puddles and mud in a heavy rainstorm the night before. Matt really prefers that I ride ahead of him, so I was the one to discover a deceptively deep puddle with some loose rocks on the bottom, enough to send my top-heavy big-booty bike careening into the mud. Of course, I went down with it and Matt safely documented from afar. Ok, he did get one boot muddy too while helping to extract my bike and me from our predicament.

A few more days of hot, hilly riding (what’s new?), and meeting some real characters along the way, brought us to the likeable city of Kon Tum. We encountered genuinely friendly people and lots of good street food, the two most important aspects of our travel at this point. That evening the streets echoed with deep drum beats while groups of adolescent boys roamed the streets and took over intersections for lion dances and fire-blowing performances. While watching one troupe perform in the courtyard of a mansion in exchange for a generous donation from the occupants, we learned that this was only the lead up to the actual Mid-Autumn Festival the next day.

Not wanting to miss out on even better festivities, we decided to stay an extra day in Kon Tum. The following night was more of the same lion dances, but with the addition of teams of performers snaking long, flowing dragon puppets through the streets. That alone was quite a feat since so many people turned out to watch from the seat of their motorbike that the streets were packed and intersections were at a stand still, but this appeared to just be part of the tradition. The festival is largely a celebration of children, who are given gifts of lanterns and fun masks to wear. In Kon Tum, bands of teens had crafted their own large-scale lanterns, the ever-popular minions included, which they paraded above the crowds like a low-tech Macy’s day parade. We also bought some of the traditional moon cakes from temporary stalls that reminded us of fireworks stands for 4th of July. The dense moon cakes were filled with a sweet paste and a hardened egg yolk in each half when split in half.

We continued south, overnighting in another fun city called Buon Ma Thuot, and passing by scenic Lak Lake, then arriving late in the day at the junction for Hwy 722, an alternative route to Dalat. The first ten miles of our ride the next morning took us on a gentle climb through coffeeland and poor communities, but the road was in solid shape even with a fun rope-pulled boat ferry crossing on a small river. Then it abruptly turned to dirt as it steeply ascended a hill that formed one side of the broad valley. The road soon narrowed to a deeply rutted footpath, which in and of itself would have been rideable except that it was made of a treacherous layer of extremely slippery compacted clay. We barely maintained enough traction to push forward and even then the wheels slipped out from underneath our bikes a few times.

How could this be the correct road? Our route apps insisted that it was, so I googled “Road 722 in Vietnam” to see if we could get more information on what lay ahead, optimistic that this was just a temporary inconvenience. Sure enough, a blog entry popped up written by some motorbikers who had similar ambitions as us, but sought out this road from the Dalat end. It took them seven hours to go 15 kilometers, mostly pushing their bikes through really rough conditions. And they were going downhill.

We had provisions to camp, which would be a given if we continued on. But after only covering one and a half miles in two hours and not really having any fun, we realized the scope of the adventure. It would be a real feat of endurance with some moments of misery to make it the 40ish miles with 5,000 feet of elevation gain to Dalat. Or we could turn around and take the regular road to Dalat, thus having more time to see more of Vietnam. As though it was sent to put an end to our indecision, it started to rain and the leeches came out. So... We reached the same town where we had started that morning in the pouring rain. We were muddy, soaked, and disheartened from not being hardcore, but still happy to be off that hellish trail marked as a highway on multiple maps.

Highway 725 proved to be a real road, even recently expanded and improved, so the 4,000-foot climb up to Dalat went quite smoothly. While the cool mountain climate requiring long-sleeves (or a winter jacket if you are Vietnamese) was indeed a nice relief from the heat, we were not particularly drawn to the city itself. The real charm of the area is in the outlying attractions, such as waterfalls, which we were not exactly motivated to ride to on the one rainy day we had for exploring. But since we had worked so hard to get up there, we had to at least see something exciting. This took the form of “The Crazy House”, a fanciful creation of a radical architect who seemingly sculpted buildings out of cement rather than constructed them. Dalat’s famed kitsch is popular with Chinese tourists, whom we followed on vine-shaped staircases that traversed steep rooftops while basking in the irony of a “natural theme to inspire people to be closer with nature” made entirely out of shoddily-painted concrete.

We actually much preferred the 100 Roofs Café, a lesser-known alternative with the same core concept as the Crazy House. We stumbled upon it by chance and almost passed it by since the tiny storefront did not reveal the vast multi-floor maze of dark rooms and narrow passageways inside. It would have been perfect for Halloween. We got an intimate tour from the daughter of the visionary architect, who is--not too surprisingly--friends with the creator of the Crazy House.

In the afternoon, we took shelter from the rain in Dalat’s extensive market, sampling strawberries and wine, local products that thrive in the otherwise pine-forested hilly terrain. A nice stop at Pongour Falls on the way out of town the next day rounded out our Dalat experience.

Next we were aiming for the one and only Ho Chi Minh City, more commonly called Saigon by the people who live there, albeit with a little bit of trepidation. We were able to take back roads for most of the way, rapidly descending into the heat once again.  Our route protected us from the worst of the traffic, but gazing across hazy valleys indicated we had not escaped HCMC’s notorious air pollution blowing inland. Out came the pollution masks for the first time since… I don’t know when.

Having arrived to Saigon first through an industrial zone and shipping port, we were pleasantly surprised with the feel of the city once we got into the heart of it. Referred to by numbered districts a la Hunger Games, we headed straight for District One and found an alley-based neighborhood with quieter guesthouses than the nearby backpacker district of Pham Ngu Lao, lazily known as PNL. The volume of traffic was certainly intense, but having already been subjected to two months of Vietnamese-style driving, it was not nearly as intimidating as we had been led to believe it would be. The one issue we really had was motorbikes honking us, as pedestrians, when they opted for the sidewalk over the road. Really? Where would they prefer us to walk, in the middle of the road?

After a few days of taking in Saigon, we concluded that it was like a Vietnamese version of New York City: real, gritty, edgy, bustling, essential to find your niche, but also possible to find anything you desire, such as… craft beer! Hands down the best craft beer we have sampled on this journey, we could have visited Pasteur Street Brewing Company every night if the ol’ travel budget allowed. It came as no surprise once we learned the brewmaster was previously brewing at Upslope in Boulder, Colorado. I was smitten with a passionfruit wheat and Matt loved the perfectly hoppy IPA.

Besides the best beer, we also found the best bike mechanic of our journey thus far. Van claims that the well-stocked, fairly-priced Saigon Bike Shop is only his hobby; his bread and butter comes from customizable bike tours of the Mekong Delta and beyond. We spent a day pampering the bikes with everything they needed except a good cleaning, then turned our attention towards various errands that I will spare you the details of in the city where you can find anything you desire. Including fresh-baked cream puffs and McDonald’s soft serve. Not that we would know from firsthand experience or anything…

One important errand worth noting was meeting up with Tieme, an ex-pat who cycled his way to Saigon from the Netherlands and had some amazing stories to tell over dinner one night. He also happened to hold the key to our future of travel: a non-expired ATM card. We had contacted him through the Warm Showers network to see if he could receive it for us. Little did we know that would involve tracking it down at an obscure post office location to be picked up in person. Dinner was the least we owed him for this essential favor!

All of our errands left us little time for sightseeing in Saigon, but we did make it to the hard-hitting exhibits of the War Remnants Museum one afternoon. In addition to an explicit overview of the American-Vietnam War, it also had an important display of the ongoing effects of Agent Orange exposure in Vietnamese society, and a moving collection of photographs taken by photojournalists from all sides who perished in the conflict.

We took comfort from this gravity with some seriously amazing street food, perhaps the best we have encountered in Vietnam, if not this trip, and that is saying a lot considering the time we spent in Thailand. It took a while for me to come around to Vietnamese food, but when I did, it was wholeheartedly. Bun thit nuong was a personal favorite of ours, made up of grilled pork over cold vermicelli rice noodles, garnished with cucumber, a selection of herbs, and mildly spicy fish sauce. Yes, folks, my husband loves things covered in fish sauce these days. Proof that travel is life-changing!

We could have spent another week in Saigon, ideally not running errands, but our visas were rapidly approaching an expiration date and we still had the whole Mekong Delta to see.

​Well, that just figures! We had just spent the morning in the market at Phong Nha town, stocking up on as much food as we thought we could fit in our panniers. We discovered the existence of some new items—instant chow (savory rice porridge) and canned stewed pork to be exact—and bought them in preparation of heading down the western branch of the Ho Chi Minh Highway. Highway seemed like a misnomer for this remote stretch of hilly terrain with very little in the way of food and lodging. But the scenery was reputed to be stunning.

While Matt was doing some maintenance work on the bikes that afternoon, he noticed a broken spoke on his rear wheel. This alone would not have been a big deal, but it was on the drive train side and we lacked the tools needed to remove the cassette. So did every bike/motorbike shop in town. He even tried some repair hack tutorials on YouTube to no avail. It seemed like a bad idea to head in to the middle of nowhere with a known mechanical issue, so we sadly crammed all of that food into our bags and rode to the coast instead. We were optimistic we could fix the problem in Dong Hoi. It was actually an ideal situation as we would get to check out an up-and-coming spot for tourism in its early stages, have a mini-beach vacation, then return to Phong Nha and carry on with the plan.

That optimism faded fast when the only promising bike shop in the city did not have the necessary tools to remove a cassette even though they sold new cassettes in their store. Nonetheless, we settled in to a new hostel called Beachside Backpackers where the awesome staff shuttled Matt around on the back of a motorbike with his wheel in hand to any and all bike and motorbike repair places. No luck. It seemed we would have to save the West Ho Chi Minh Highway for “another time” and continue down the coast.

The day we left Dong Hoi, we rode through a small desert on an empty road running parallel to the coast line and arrived at the Vinh Moc Tunnels shortly before they closed. We followed a local guide through the complex of tunnels dug for protection from the heavy bombing of the Demilitarized Zone during the American-Vietnam War. We learned about the ingenuity of designing the tunnels to evade detection while making them viable for long term occupancy. As we peered into alcoves that served as the living space for an entire family, it seemed surreal that this was a reality for Vietnamese just forty years before. And they were luckier than most.

From Vinh Moc, we continued south through rural areas abundant with two things: fields of family tombs and fields of sand. Apparently, many of the elaborate tombs are those of “Viet Kieu,” or Overseas Vietnamese, who wished to be buried in their homeland. As for the fields of sand, it seemed the only viable crop was cassava, which makes sense given its drought tolerance and ability to grow in nutrient-poor soil.

Reaching the next major city of Hue, Matt was able to find the long sought after tools to take off the cassette. After replacing the spoke, he was whisked away on the back of a motorbike to the wheel-truing specialist with a homemade truing machine. Quite ironically, by the time he got it fixed, we had cycled about the same distance as if we had stuck to our desired inland route. The main difference was that this was less remote should one broken spoke have led to more.

With the rest of our time in Hue, we walked around the old citadel, explored an extensive market, visited one of several Buddhist pagodas, and even an out-of-the-way elephant v. tiger fighting arena, thankfully now historical.
After Hue, we overnighted in an odd beach resort town popular with Vietnamese before tackling the famous Hoi Van pass topographically delineating the north and central regions of Vietnam. Climbing the pass felt pretty gradual after some of the hills inland and the view at the top was certainly worth it. However, we didn’t linger long since the obnoxious vendors wouldn’t leave us alone. We coasted down the other side and in to Da Nang. We didn’t see much of the city since we opted to cycle along a coastline that was obscured by major development, mostly under construction. It seems that Da Nang has plans to become the next big thing in resort world.

We arrived in Hoi An that evening, a destination we were both excited about and wary of given its recent surge in popularity. We had heard it was amazing and we had also heard it was way too touristy. The family running the Vesper Homestay was setting up an elaborate altar in the doorway the next morning as we were heading out to explore the town. Our curiosity was met with brief replies, but we pieced together the story. This was an offering to their ancestors to show gratitude for their ability to have recently purchased the business from the previous family. They would be having a house warming party in the afternoon and we could come, but the invitation sounded more obligatory than genuine.

While we were returning to out-of-town hotel that night, we realized we were on the wrong road and turned around. “Thank goodness!” I thought because there was some really bad karaoke going on. Once on the correct road, the karaoke got louder and louder, and loudest when we reached our place due to the unavoidable fact that it was at our place! The courtyard was literally trashed with empty beer bottles and wads of used napkins. There were still a few tables of partiers in the lobby-like living room. Our host family who was so nonchalant about us that morning was then quite jovial and outgoing, insisting that we take a seat with them for food and drink. Well, it would have been nice to know we were so welcome before we ate dinner in town… By the time we came downstairs the next morning, all evidence of the rager had been erased except for a stack of twelve empty cases of Tiger beer bottles. The best part was that the family had promptly returned to their awkwardly non-social MO!

We spent the day at a lovely beach just a couple of miles from Hoi An, perhaps not the most neutral place to ponder our strategy moving forward after having a wrench thrown in our plan. We had just learned from Hoi An’s top visa specialist, Mr. Hung, that renewing my visa for another month was going to be an expensive investment in money and time, $115 and 10 days to be exact. Allegedly, this was because of an unfortunate combination of having gotten it issued in Kunming, crossing the border at Lao Cai, flying in to Hanoi, and then renewing it there. Despite the fact that we were still in the same country, there are ridiculous laws governing visas being renewed in different regions of the country than they were issued from. So it would take a while to push my visa through the system via bribes to officials in Saigon, certainly a lot longer than we needed to spend in Hoi An.

Our other option was to ride to the nearest border with Cambodia. We would have to rush out of Hoi An and skip the rest of Vietnam, or pay for new pricey visas if we wished to return. In the end, the visa extension option won the debate with the justification that I could really use the time for writing projects, including catching up on our perpetually behind-the-times blog. We turned in my passport and moved to a more comfortable homestay since we were settling in for the long haul, or at least the longest we had stayed in one place continuously since arriving in Beijing over a year ago. So it’s particularly sad that within a few days, we were ready to be done with Hoi An.

Sure, it was quaint with all of the lanterns strung across the streets in Old Town and the decorative lights along the river at night. It was certainly more peaceful and bicycle-friendly with a fraction of the traffic and honking of elsewhere in Vietnam. But it was so obvious that the recent surge in mass tourism has created a dynamic quite frustrating for us as budget-obsessed bicycle travelers. While it is a fairly common practice for Vietnamese to try to charge tourists a higher price all over the country, usually making it clear you know the real rate is enough to get it, or pretty close to it. In Hoi An, there was a pervasive attitude that it was their right to charge tourists more than locals. They were actually offended when we requested to pay the real price. We could not even sit at a tiny plastic table on a tiny plastic chair to eat food cooked in makeshift kitchen on the sidewalk without paying more. We know, we watched very carefully when the Vietnamese paid. Bargaining is a part of travel, no doubt, but it became draining to do it for every little transaction. We try to shop in small locally-owned shops as a principle of responsible travel, but in Hoi An we were quoted more than double the price we had paid elsewhere for the same items. We actually sought out a chain mini-mart simply because it had price tags and a computerized check out system! Only in Hoi An…

Besides the overt “hello, buy something”, we got tired of the fake-friendly interactions where someone would strike up get-to-know-you conversation with a clear agenda of promoting their tour, tailor shop, hotel, or whatever place would give them a commission for getting us in the door. These folks were forward enough to sit down at our table without our invitation while we were eating previously mentioned street food at a higher price.

In December 2014, Travelfish.org wrote about a sleepy fishing village where "a Western face is still very much a novelty." We thought a ride out to Cam Tanh would make a nice change of pace from the money-grubbing vibe in Hoi An. Besides, it mentioned that residents would be happy to let you try paddling a coracle if you like, and that sounded pretty cool. Before we even reached the village proper, a woman on a motorbike was already recruiting us to come to her coracle tour business and tried to lead us all the way there. Once in the village, we could not pause for a photo without hearing the next “coracle experience” sales pitch from yet another operator. A simple, polite “no thank you” had no effect on deterring anyone, as we had since lost any interest simply from the volume of opportunities being persistently pushed on us. It’s like the tragedy of the commons is for real or something. Except there were plenty of tourists bobbing around in orange life vests and conical hats to suggest otherwise. I guess that Travelfish article needs to be updated less than a year after publishing. Hoi An is simply changing that fast.
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And then there were the flyer people…oh, wait…my husband was one of them. We relied on the saying “if you can’t fight ‘em, join ‘em” to justify Matt joining a scrum of obnoxious bar flyer-hander-outers who collectively annoyed the crap out of every tourist in the Old Town each night. He made the big bucks of around $13 for a four-hour night, but perhaps the more valuable outcome was the rise in my productivity level without his constant company! While he didn’t exactly love harassing strangers to go to an unoriginal struggling bar, he did gain some interesting insights from being on the other side of the tourism scene. Plus, it made for great people watching and meeting some real characters.

Mr. Hung had worked his magic and my passport was returned with the all-important extension right on time. To add insult to injury, the tiny stamp granting me another 30 days was marked $10! If only it were that simple. With our Hoi An layover soon coming to an end, we became better at appreciating the positive aspects of our stay. We took the time to chat with the adorable mother and daughter team running the Ly Phuc Homestay and we actually got around to sitting out on the balcony of our room for a sunset happy hour. We ate a last meal at our regular spot of the central market food stalls where the dishes were always delicious with a fair advertised price. We didn’t even mind that every vendor hounded us upon setting food inside. Maybe we even kind of liked it.

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.
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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.