Wuxi, Jiangsu, China (Day 73, 12851 km)

To get us into the mood, here is a collage I've assembled from photos of various vehicles I saw in China (Vietnam had a similar range). The ones in the top two photos are all taxis, whereas the rest are farming and commercial vehicles.

Waking up in Hengyang, the weather was fine, and I made good time that morning. I was low on money, and confirmed once again that “Plus” and “Visa” cards are no good in most Chinese ATM's. Eventually the Bank of China saw me right again, and I had a wholesome lunch of KFC. It seems to be the norm to have a statue of the Colonel outside, at least in Thailand, China and Japan. Maybe it's like that in the US too?

I made fairly good progress the rest of the day, although the road surface and traffic conditions varied a little, and finished for the day at a nice hotel in Shanggao, in the Jianxi Province. As these places probably mean little to the reader, it was now Tuesday night (4 days down, 3 to go), and I had passed the halfway point through China – on track, but still with little time for contingency if the road turned bad or my bike had mechanical issues. At worst, though, it would just have meant waiting another week for the ferry, but I was keen not to have to do this.

This hotel owner was the friendliest I met – not only did he help me find dinner, but he sat there with me and we had a good phrasebook conversation while I ate. (Although I think one phrase the Lonely Planet people could have left out was “Who are the Chinese leaders you respect most?” I certainly had no idea!). He also neglected to charge me for doing my laundry, and was happy to take me down the road to show me where the Internet cafe was, sit there for an hour while I checked my email, and then pay for it at the end! He seemed intent on more conversation, but eventually I had to ask him to leave me to sleep, as I was very tired. I would definitely stay at his hotel again – not for the complementary salted watermelon seeds, but for the welcome I received.

As an aside, I found most hotel bathrooms in Asia a little odd. Of course one expects the squat toilets, but actually most of the hotels I stayed in through Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and China had “Western-style toilets”. The problem with this is that in an Asian bathroom the shower is normally in close proximity to the toilet, and one ends up getting a wet seat, not to mention wet toilet paper.

Of course, things actually worked a lot better when there was a more traditional setup - squat toilet and no paper, just a little shower head to wash oneself off with. Then the only things one has to worry about are the small problem of how to dry oneself after using the shower head (do you take a towel with you?) and the biggie - what if you drop the soap in the hole when having a shower?

In the end I came to the conclusion that in trying to provide convenience to their guests, the builders hadn't really understood the Western way of having a separate shower cubicle, and that their halfway-there results actually ended up being less convenient than if they'd just left them alone.

Almost all rooms come with a comb, many with shampoo and soap, some with a small towel, a few with toothbrushes and toothpaste, and one with a pack of condoms. Cost doesn't always seem to be the determining factor in the luxuries provided. Of course I already had everything I needed, so these things were mostly wasted on me, although it was good to be able to keep my towel dry when possible, and to stock up on soap and shampoo when I could.

The next day's riding very soon met with a surprise, as directions from some locals led me accidentally to an expressway entrance. For once I didn't see any signs banning motorcycles, so I continued past the gates and, when nobody ran yelling after me, figured this must be one of those “special” expressways and continued on my way. What with an immaculate road surface and light traffic, I started to cover ground quite quickly, but I couldn't help but notice the lack of other motorcycles on the road.

The expressways have few exits, and are very well signposted in English, making for easy travelling. After twenty minutes though, I felt I'd been cheeky enough and thought I'd better take the next exit in case I got pulled over. But when nobody seemed to get upset as I passed the tollbooths, I turned around again. Checking again that there was no sign prohibiting me, I continued on my way.

From time to time I passed roadworks, and the workers would stop to stare at me, but whether it was because I was riding a motorcycle on the expressway, or whether it was just because I was a red-and-blue-suited foreigner, I couldn't tell. Every so often there would be a petrol station, and I didn't receive any reaction from them, so I remained uncertain, until suddenly I heard the wail of a siren and saw flashing lights behind me. I started pulling over, but the police car just kept on going. Over the next few hours I saw a number of police cars on the expressway and none of them seemed to bat an eyelid either, so I kept riding for about three and a half hours, mostly at 100kph.

At that stage that section of expressway came to an end, and just after I passed through the final tollbooth, somebody finally took an interest in me. He had some sort of uniform and was following in a vehicle, and seemed to be indicating that I shouldn't be continuing down this road, but taking the turnoff. Once I obliged, he followed, and wanted to ask me something, but after realising the communication difficulty, he waved me on my way.

For the rest of the day the road continued to be excellent, and I clocked up over 600km, my furthest since the Australian Outback. But I'm still not sure if I was meant to be on that road or not.

Most of the traffic I saw in China consisted of trucks of varying sizes and small motorcycles. There were relatively few private cars, many of which were European - VW Passats and Santanas, as well as a few Citroens and other brands. I hadn't thought previously about the limitations of the left-hand-drive/right-hand-drive issue as relates to Japan and China. But if I were a far-sighted Japanese car company, right now I would be building as many factories in China as I could afford to.

Of course all of the expressways in China are toll roads, but many of the regional roads have regular toll booths too. The vast majority of these have a narrow fenced path around the far right hand side where motorcyclists are intended to slip by, so I ended up paying few tolls indeed.

I originally found these tollbooths quite concerning, as I feared that somebody with authority might start asking the wrong questions. There also seemed to be checkpoint areas along the road, which were even more alarming. However most of these were unmanned and the ones that were stopping people seemed uninterested in motorcycles. I had also heard that interprovincial travel in China required special permission, so I was expecting big internal borders between every province, but on my travels through six provinces, I encountered none. So up until this point I had had no problems at all. However tonight things were going to be a little different.

I was pretty tired by the time I arrived after sundown in the small and seemingly nice enough city of Tong Lu. After hunting around a bit I checked into a small hotel in a peaceful sidestreet, and went off to find some dinner. Although I'm not used to peas and carrot in the patty of my KFC burger it wasn't unpleasant and probably fools the health-conscious consumers into thinking that KFC is a healthy choice. After dinner I went in search of an Internet cafe, and after checking my email, I returned to my hotel.

This hotel was one of those (not uncommon in the region) where you don't get a room key – when I returned to the hotel, I had to ask the proprietor to get out his bunch of keys, go up the stairs and let me in. However, for some reason he didn't seem happy to do this. Not only that, with the help of my phrasebook his sign language seemed to indicate that I could no longer spend the night there!

Well I couldn't understand what had changed, but I wasn't impressed with this – I told him I was very tired, and asked him to let me in, so I could go to sleep. He refused, saying I had to wait until the police came! Well, my phrasebook has a good section on “dealing with the police”, so I was able to ask him what I was accused of (included are a range of options from “murder”, “robbery”, “possession of illegal substances”, “traffic violations”, “disturbing the peace” and the like, all the way up to visa-related crimes, and “anti-government activity”). No, it was nothing like this, and I was urged not to worry, as they would be here soon. So here I am standing in the hotel foyer, next to my NZ-registered bike, waiting for the police... and contrary to advice, starting to feel a little concerned.

Well, they came soon enough; an older guy, who was in charge, and a younger lady, who had quite serviceable English, so we were in business. It turned out that the only problem was that this particular hotel wasn't a designated “foreigner” hotel, so I couldn't stay there. Well, that would almost seem reasonable, except that I'd now been in China four nights, and only one of those nights had I stayed in anything that could be called a “foreigner” hotel – they have “Hotel” written outside in English, and are usually more upmarket. Besides, the only likely reason this could have become a problem is because the hotel owner had a twinge of conscience after admitting me.

Well, the usual passport-fossicking went on. I told them I wouldn't have minded if I'd been refused entry upfront, but that I wasn't going to be kicked out after three hours, when I had already off-loaded and it was already late at night. They were very sorry, but I must move hotels – they would help me. I pleaded with them to allow me to please just stay one night, hoping that then they'd clear out before becoming interested in my means of transport.

The situation was definitely not hostile, but they wanted to know all the usual things - Where had I spent the previous night? Where and when had I entered China? Where and when would I leave? Nobody had heard of Vietnam, even when I showed them the Vietnam visa and Chinese entry permits, and they couldn't quite conceive that I could be travelling alone from place to place across China.

Then somebody noticed my bike.

The registration was taken, and the head guy went off with that and my passport details to run all sorts of checks, while I contemplated my sins, and what I'd do to stop my bike being impounded.

Negotiations and clarifications continued on my sleeping arrangements, but my primary concerns were still with my bike. However, strangely enough, no more mention was made of it, and when the guy came back, he had a book full of “Temporary Residence Registration Permit for Aliens” forms (I had encountered these on my previous trip to China when my hosts also had to get one). After one of these was painstakingly filled out, I was allowed to stay the night, with the semi-reluctant hotel proprietor as my “host”.

It was strongly suggested that I not leave the hotel again that night, to which I expressed my displeasure, saying that it was a hotel not a prison. I think I felt safe enough at this stage that nothing bad was going to happen, but in hindsight, maybe I should just have smiled and nodded at this stage. Anyhow, it had been a long and tiring day, so after politely letting the proprietor know in phrasebook Chinese what I thought of his conduct, I drifted off to a much-needed sleep.

Due to my expressway escapades of that day, I was now comfortably within a day's range of Shanghai and decided to squeeze in a visit to the city of Wuxi, a slight detour to the north. For me the only reason to visit was that it is the Chinese sister city of Hamilton, New Zealand, and I wanted to see what it was like. (Originally I had hoped to liaise with the Hamilton branch of the New Zealand China Friendship Society to do my motorcycle trip from Hamilton to Wuxi, and to possibly use this as leverage to smooth my passage into China, but this never eventuated) There is a plaque in Hamilton commemorating the sister city relationship, and as a footnote says that there is a similar plaque in Wuxi, I thought it might be fun to try to track it down and take a photo of it.

The road to Wuxi passes near the shores of Tia-Hu (Lit: Great Lake), the third-biggest freshwater lake in China. It has an area of 2428 km², which is four times bigger than Lake Taupo, so it's possibly the biggest lake I've seen, although it's only 1/34 of the area of Lake Superior – now that's a lake! Interestingly, Google says Tai-Hu is only 2.6m deep at the deepest point, whereas Lake Taupo is 164m deep!

After an otherwise fairly uneventful trip I found myself in Wuxi. I had few plans other than "going there", but, noticing some tourist signs to a "tourist garden", followed them to see where I'd end up.

Soon I found myself outside the entrance to a garden that left me with a slight sense of deja vu. One thing that seemed different, though, was the the payment kiosk to the left of the entrance, and the tour groups being shepherded about by megaphone-wielding guides. Although it seemed like these gardens might have an entrance fee, I was unable to ascertain whether that was just if one wanted a guided tour, so I bowled on in anyway, and showed myself around.

Near the end of my wanderings one local proudly informed me that this garden was the best in all of China – while this sort of proclamation made me as sceptical as usual, it was definitely a fine garden, and certainly quite reminiscent of the one so far away it was trying to imitate, although on a far grander scale... I took my time wondering around soaking in the peace and taking photographs, as well as listening to a trio of young ladies give an excellent performance on their traditional Chinese instruments.

But by the time I thought I'd explored every nook of the garden, I still hadn't spied any Hamilton-mentioning plaque. I found a garden attendant with excellent English, and, although they eventually understood my meaning, they had never seen such a thing – helpful phonecalls were made to various tourist agencies, but they unearthed no further clues. This didn't concern me greatly, of course, as it had just been a mild interest.

By the time the garden staff had given up searching for this foreigner's plaque, it was after 5pm, and time to start looking for a hotel. I obtained some tentative directions and was about to set off when two young men noticed my bike and started taking an interest in it.

They had figured out that I was a long distance traveller, and were interested enough to ask me questions and ask if they could take some photographs with me. They seemed nice enough, and I happily obliged. But after a while it seemed time to move on, and I asked where I could find a cheap hotel. I was unprepared for the answer:

“If you don't mind, you are welcome to stay with me.” He seemed genuinely friendly, and told me that he lived alone, and if I didn't mind the mess he'd be very happy to have me. He said that his friends enjoyed travelling and liked to meet travellers. This turned out to be quite true – they had been on numerous mountain-biking trips. His friend had even toured through Tibet and they were all planning a return visit in a few months.

Well of course I accepted, and enjoyed wonderful hospitality from a genuinely nice Terry and his friends. I used his shower and Internet, after which he took me out for a quick dinner before we went out for the evening with his friends.

It turned out to me one of those chance meetings that leads to rather unusual experiences – Terry works for the local television station, and through his work had managed to score free tickets to hear visiting Taiwanese pop singer, Chyi Chin. Normally these tickets are 380 Yuan, or about NZ$60, but that night the international act was free.

It didn't matter that I didn't understand a word – the atmosphere and sounds were still most enjoyable, as well as watching the excited but restrained crowd – the police presence was quite strong. It must be a tough job policing such an event – keeping a crowd happy, while still under control. This involves regularly “allowing” infatuated teenage girls to run up onto the stage and present their idol with huge bouquets of flowers and warm embraces, before being dragged back down to their seats. Or in one case a sideways hug and a stolen snapshot, which he dutifully smiled for.

After the concert and obligatory encore, we left the attractive new indoor stadium and eventually found a taxi to a brand new “Westen style” bar, where we conversed a while to an eclectic mix of tunes (including "Puff the magic dragon") before heading off to bed. All in all an unusual, interesting and satisfying day.

Hengyang, Hunan, China (Day 70, 11469 km)

Oh no! Not only is this border right on the edge of a town, rather than out in the country (which somehow makes it feel like people there would be a lot better informed), both the Vietnamese and Chinese archways are built like fortresses and, although there was a wide road between the arches, the gates were closed and there seemed to be only people crossing on foot. I didn't feel like I stood any chance at all of getting through here!

Ah well, best get it over with... And at the same time keep praying... I was again grateful for the carbon-copying Vietnamese arrival/departure cards, because by this stage I had filled out a few. They seemed to yet again have slightly different paperwork requirements for my bike, but again it was not really an issue – after they'd gotten over the number of cancelled Vietnamese exit visas in my passport, they opened the gate, and I was allowed to ride my bike through, down the wide stretch of nowhere (I'm not sure who pays for the maintenance) and park outside the Chinese building.

Well, the border wasn't very busy, and in no time my passport was stamped, and I was into China and free to continue on my way. Except I don't think they'd noticed I had a bike, and that was still very much on the other side of the closed Chinese gate!

So I went back into the building and casually asked if they'd be able to open the gate for me so that I could wheel my bike through. Well, of course it wasn't going to be quite that simple... The nice lady wanted to know if I had permission, and I told them of course, and showed them my carnet, and how it gave me permission to travel through all these countries...

She was helpful, but wasn't entirely sure, not having seen such a document before. In any case, she decided things needed to be bumped up a notch and got on the phone to her superior. At the same time, my chances seemed to shrink even further – now they were starting to really look into it, surely there was little hope? But the people at this border seemed quite relaxed – maybe this is usual, or maybe it was just a Saturday morning thing. But there seemed to be a healthy work atmosphere, with a bit of teasing going on, relaxing everybody. While she was waiting, she sent a lackey to get a little round red stamp and pad, and for the rest of the discussion these sat tantalisingly on the table in front of us. That stamp could authorise my paperwork! But would it?

Pretty soon along came the boss. After he'd finished doing his tie, and put on his cap, I shook his hand, and allowed her to explain the situation. Discussion ensued, and more thorough browsing through my passport, almost giving the impression he understood its contents.

Then came some questions – "How long would I stay in China?" Well, I planned to catch a ferry from Shanghai in exactly one week's time. "Where would I stay tonight?" – I decided to be specific and chose Nanning, the next major town – Chinese borders don't seem to like “Where ever I get up to when the sun goes down”.

A bit more to-ing and fro-ing and I kept praying. Now the boss led me off back the way I'd come – even though my passport still showed me being in China, we went back out the building into no-man's land. Then I understood – he wanted to look at my bike. Ok, there you go. I didn't know why, but he seemed to want to see what was in my tankbag and panniers. I figured doing what he wanted was wise, and started unpacking them, but he seemed satisfied with a rather cursory search, and I didn't have to more than half unpack anything.

It was starting to dawn on me at this stage, but it only really hit when he rolled aside the gate, and motioned that I should wheel the bike through to the other side. We then went back inside and I sat down again while more discussion went on.

The nice lady took over the forms again, having produced the magical “Declaration Form” as well. It took a few more minutes, but eventually the tantalising red stamp was utilised, first on my carnet, and then on both copies of the Declaration Form, along with a bit of good-humoured teasing when she didn't seem to know quite what the date was. I was told to look after my copy carefully, as I would need it when I tried to re-export the bike. And after that, I was free to go!

So there you have it – were you expecting something more clever or spectacular? It certainly wasn't anything special that I did, and I'm not really sure why it worked for me on that day, and so few others, but I gave the glory to God, and rode off into China, carefully, but at the same time making sure I didn't hang around long enough for them to change their minds!

I found it a very non-emotional and surreal time, yet in many ways it was the defining moment of the trip, as I had never had a clear strategy for getting into China, and I now felt confident of being able to complete the entire “Hamilton to Japan” journey. I had always assumed that once I was actually in China, things would be much easier, and this turned out to be the case – maybe because everybody in authority assumed that I could only be there because I was allowed to by somebody else, so it must be alright!

The first item of business was to put on all my motorcycle gear (I had ridden the 8 km to the border without my suit, gloves and boots so that I would cause less of a stir at the border). Then I needed to change some money. Of course this was a bit of a challenge – I'd forgotten that only one or two different kinds of Chinese banks are authorised to change money, but after a few phrasebook conversations, somebody got me to follow them on their scooter to the Bank of China, and I was soon on my way with enough yuan to be able to fill up my tank and last me until I had found my feet in this, the eighth foreign country of my travels.

Very soon I began to notice people using their indicators. Not only were horns and headlights used for purposes other than intimidation, after dark I regularly had people dip their lights for me too! This made a nice change, and was not expected, given my memories of far northern China.

Having heard stories about bikers getting this far and then having problems with a local constable, I felt like it was a priority to be as inconspicuous as a tall, white, blond-haired, leather-suited person on a noisy, overloaded trailbike can be. Nonetheless, I very quickly found that most people here were just as friendly to this unusual foreigner as they had been on the other side of the border.

I was also pleasantly surprised to find that I had not lost my (very basic) Chinese vocabulary nor my ability to read commonly-used characters. This boosted my confidence and meant that by the end of the week I had had a number of fairly satisfying phrasebook conversations.

The first fun interaction I had was with the petrol pump attendant who wanted to know if I had any US dollars. I showed him one, and agreed to exchange it with eight of his yuan, about the going rate. I'm sure that counts as illegal money-changing, but I decided it was a good-will gesture, and that as China is so unlike such multi-currencied countries as Indonesia and Cambodia, it would be enough of a novelty for him that he would probably keep it as a souvenir.

Anyway, it was time to press on and get as many kilometres as possible between me and the border – I had this notion that once I was more than a few hours' ride away, if I was stopped I might be less likely to be sent back. I also figured that once I was over halfway, then maybe sending me on would be their best bet. Thankfully neither of these theories were tested, because having the bike impounded seems like it might have been a more likely result.

Without too much trouble I found myself on what seemed like an expressway of some kind, and made excellent progress for about 60km, due to the excellent road and very light traffic. This included going through a couple of toll gates, each costing 1 Yuan (about NZ$0.20), following a similar system to the Vietnamese where motorcycles pay only a nominal fee and trucks have to pay (comparatively) lots.

Abruptly this road came to an end, and when I took the road that seemed to follow on naturally, there was a problem – signs everywhere showing that this is an expressway (obviously the other one had been something different) and motorcycles are prohibited. Nonetheless, I had been in many places where signs either didn't mean anything or meant something different from what I thought, so I decided to put it to the test, and road up to the tollgate, where the attendants' sign language made it quite clear that I was not allowed.

This became a recurring theme throughout my journey – the first patch of road was obviously something technically a little different from an expressway, because it hadn't been a problem, even at the toll gates. But on pretty much every other expressway entrance I rode past, there were signs banning pedestrians, bicycles and tractors, as well as motorcycles. Given the range of "motorcycle" in China it is understandable, but the Japanese system of only prohibiting bikes smaller than 125cc seems fairer to me.

It was a pity not being allowed on the expressways, as the expressway system in China is excellent, and I was in a hurry. But I suppose it also meant that I saw much more of the countryside than I otherwise would have. And the numbered regional roads were mostly very good too, however their quality ranged from the “40 km of ploughed-up roadworks with piles of rocks” type to the “lovely surfaces with sweeping curves, good bridges and passing bays” variety. The other issue was that one never quite knew when one would turn to the other. It seemed like the signs in some towns had been put up before new road diversions had been finished, and only a few of these were covered, or had a marked detour, so sometimes I'd lose the road on my way through a town, and have to take a few crazy back streets before finding it again by accident (with the help of my GPS for direction). Roads are just one of the many areas where China seems to be investing amazing amounts of effort and money – I suspect that if I were to repeat the trip in three years, that most of the bad patches would be unrecognisable.

Just over 100km into China, near the (unmarked) Tropic of Cancer, my bike's odometer hit the 50000km mark (40000km was reached up the east coast of Australia just south of Rockhampton and the Tropic of Capricorn) and I pulled over to take a photograph. Although the road was in an isolated stretch, I happened to stop right next to some road workers, who wanted to know why I had stopped. No language was needed for this one – I just pointed to my odometer, and they smiled and looked suitably impressed.

I had been very fortunate with the weather until now, having had only one rainy day in Thailand and one drizzly day in Vietnam, but the first three days in China evened things out a bit. The first wasn't that heavy, and as it only began in the late afternoon, I considered that I had achieved enough for a single day, and asked around to find a hotel in the next small town.

The hotel owners were friendly enough, and were keen to engage me in plenty of phrasebook conversation. They also helped me find dinner, and an Internet cafe – unfortunately the cafe was the noisiest, most bustling one I had yet come across, and I was obviously the best exhibit they'd had all week, so I found it really tiring and irritating trying to do any correspondence with at least ten people clustered around watching my every move.

I knew I was in China the next morning when outside my hotel window came the sounds of activity and I looked out and saw a crew of builders engaged in construction work. Everywhere you look there are buildings shooting up – China is certainly the place to watch. But unfortunately, as most who have been to China know, the results of the construction are often quite an eyesore. It seems like even the small towns are trying to become big centres of industry, yet the overall impression is just of town after town of drab and dingy, hastily-built and rapidly decaying structures. It took quite a while before I encountered some of the more favoured cities which looked like they had actually been able to afford an architect and a coat of paint, and I have to admit they looked quite attractive.

There was a slight drizzle falling, and I delayed starting a little hoping it would dissipate. After some thunder (odd for 9:30am!) it lightened a bit. I decided to brave it, and it cleared up before lunch. That morning I discovered that my speedometer had stopped working (50000km must have been enough) and later I noticed that another of my left pannier's mounting brackets had failed, leaving the pannier wobbling out a bit around corners. The bracket was an easy fix on the side of the road, but I didn't investigate the speedo problem until I reached Shanghai.

This was primarily because I felt I was behind schedule and wanted to catch up. I had gained entry into China a few days later than I had planned, but still wanted to catch the Osaka ferry from Shanghai seven days after arriving, which meant I had to cover just over 2800km before then. So unfortunately a lot of my focus in China was just to cover as much ground as possible – I ended up riding long hours, and often finished after dark. Yet, just like on the rest of the trip, unexpected things happened, and I have a few memorable and positive experiences from China too.

One of these was that afternoon, after being stopped for about half an hour in a queue of traffic waiting for a couple of earth-movers to widen or stabilise a section of the road. I was rearing to go again, and ended up choosing the wrong road, but didn't mind; instead I tried to take side-roads in the direction shown by the gps, hoping to get back on track eventually.

Well, it didn't work, but along the way I had a delightful tour through a few picturesque and unspoilt Chinese villages. No grimy brick buildings here, but wooden thatched structures, alongside the river and rice-paddies. Of course, the further I got up the river, the more the road deteriorated, and I began to doubt that it came out the other side. But still I continued, enjoying the beautiful surroundings, but also finding navigating the rutted and muddy road surface a fun diversion from my serious goal.

I continued down for some time, until I reached, and crossed, this ford. Actually it wasn't quite this simple, as I lost momentum in the middle, and had to rely on a friendly villager (I think the guy in the middle) to help push – together with his efforts and mine, the bike was able to grip and run up the other side. However, the sign language I was offered seemed to make it clear that the road didn't go much further and that I should turn back.

I retraced my steps, crossing the ford without trouble this time, and having enjoyed my “off-road” experience, continued towards the next town. Unfortunately it was getting late, and it was here that the road degraded to a 40km long stretch of ploughed-up roadworks. This road was corrugated and covered intermittently with rough gravel, and not nearly as much fun as the muddy clay one I had travelled on before, especially as I navigated it all after dark.

The following day was the wettest of the entire trip. It was only drizzling when I went through another picturesque mountain pass, but after that the thunder kept rolling around, and I was totally soaked and shivering when I decided to have a break at the next petrol station.

I wasn't trying to make a performance of it, but once I'd taken off and wrung out my gloves, and removed my boots and poured the water out of them, the attendants had seen an opportunity to show kindness, and decided to get involved. By the time I had started drying my hair and face they had sprung into action, and gave me some hot water to drink. Next they tried to persuade me to have a shower and clean up, but I signed that I'd just get soaked again, so I'd save it for the end of the day. So instead they took me to a side room where they had a fire going, and gave me a hot lunch while I sat and warmed up. Bless them. It was a lovely experience, quite a bit different to what I'd expect in most Western countries, and at a time when I appreciated it most.

That evening was my first in China where I tried to stay in a reasonable-sized city (Hengyang in the Hunan Province), and I such trouble finding accommodation I decided to stay in smaller towns as much as possible for the rest of the trip. I suppose bigger towns end up having areas for different things, but also people are far more likely to point you towards the well-known (and expensive) hotel than the non-flashy, cheap one. After asking many bystanders for directions I eventually paid a taxi-driver to lead me to some cheap hotels, and his second attempt found me a place to rest my head.

Money doesn't go as far for accommodation in the big city, and, while the hotel was no more expensive than other places I'd stayed, its facilities were fairly basic and run-down. The shower being on another floor was no big deal, but the light switch being on the outside of the room was one of a number of signs that made me think that this used to be either a barracks or school dormitory. Probably the highlight of my stay was getting my bike up and down the front steps, the most challenging entrance of the trip.

Being in an obscure area of the city meant that this was one of the few places where it was too far to walk to the nearest Internet cafe. I had a bit of fun with the taxis both on the way out and on the way back, as both drivers were of the mindset I found common in the more competitive countries that they should first tell me they understood where I wanted to go, in order to get me onboard, and later see if they could actually figure out my destination.

While out looking for an Internet cafe I stopped for a snack. By that stage I was used to drinks (even canned) having lumps (of fruit?) in them, but I was caught out by the chocolate-coated ice-cream that I bought. In my country if it's chocolate-coated it's sure to be real ice-cream, not a sorbet, but more importantly, the nuts embedded in the chocolate do not turn out to be sunflower seeds!

Mong Cai, Vietnam (Day 67, 10236 km)

China is surely going to become one of the dominant superpowers of the 21st century, but there are a number of ways in which they still haven't followed the rest of the world. One small hitch about this part of the journey is that China is the only country apart from Cambodia which is not expressly listed in my International Driving Permit – because they haven't signed that agreement. Everywhere else that I went has, including Vietnam.

I've always thought this permit is surprisingly non-specific and easy to get. No tests are required – just present $15 and a passport photograph, and you're qualified to ride on whatever side of the road is applicable, and expected to know when to give way, etc. Well, suits me – I can do without extra tests, but I can understand why China might choose not be part of the agreement. Incidentally, I wasn't required to present any form of licence at any stage during the entire trip.

No, a far bigger issue is that as well as the rider requiring a Chinese licence to ride on Chinese roads, by law the vehicle concerned needs Chinese licence plates and registration. Foreigners should definitely not be allowed to travel as and where they please, but an exception to the licence and registration issues can be made if one applies to a Chinese travel agency at least 3 months prior to the trip, pays US$100+ per day for a guide, and sticks to a pre-arranged (and pre-approved) itinerary (There are definitely "restricted" areas, through which travel would not be approved).

Of course, these restrictions are disagreeable to most bikers, as well as requiring a hefty budget, so most steer clear of China for now. I would have too, however my trip was from New Zealand to Japan, and this makes China quite hard to avoid! I had been keeping my eye on the situation through various Internet sites (especially the excellent http://horizonsunlimited.com) – one solution taken by a few bikers had been to find friendly truckies, and pay them a few US dollars to "transport" their bikes across the border. A last resort, but “smuggling” is not a nice-sounding word, especially when you're actually standing within five kilometers of the border!

The more encouraging stories were a couple of instances where people had managed to just turn up at the border and be allowed in, but the official situation remains the same, and others have tried many borders and still been turned away. The situation in China really seems to be that the left hand does not know what the right is doing, or even if it does, whether it is allowed to or not.

Despite the (not entirely unfounded) fears of some people over irrational governments locking me away, I have thus far found customs officials to be only helpful and polite, even if they don't know what to do with me. I decided that I am unlikely to be prosecuted just for trying, so, once I had my express Chinese visa, I headed north, to the China-Vietnam border closest to Hanoi.

Signing out of Vietnam was no problem at all – just a stamp in my passport, and one in my carnet, and away I went. I had not been overly apprehensive, but there had always been the chance of some friendly customs official deciding that something was not in order, especially with my bike. Nope – once I explained that I needed an extra stamp on my carnet, they were very happy to oblige, although I'm not sure they actually realised it was for my bike.

Through the boom gate, the last milestone on the Vietnamese road states “0 km” and beyond that the surface is a slightly different colour. I rode slowly over the transition, onto Chinese soil, past the open boom gate, and stopped outside the customs and immigration building. Various passing Chinese travellers smile, wave, and some give a thumbs-up and say “Hello!”. I suppose I am the only Westerner in the vicinity, and definitely the only one with a bike - although there is a line of trucks on either side of the border, I don't see any private traffic here. But still – things are feeling pretty good so far. I haven't had any guns pointed at me, anyway.

“Why you no take package tour?” The young immigration lady was not hostile, just a little confused – demonstrating a stereotypically Chinese mindset to tourism. This was reinforced for me later in China as I watched scores of people paying for guided tours through what seemed like the equivalent of Hamilton Gardens. Anyway, my explanation must've been good enough because she was starting to process my entry, when another customs man ran up, and excitedly told her that I had a motorcycle, something she had been unable to see, due to us being on the second floor (of the round building in the photo), and my bike not being visible. Nonetheless, I had made no attempt to hide my leather suit, undone and hanging down around my waist.

My entry-stamping stopped, as everybody tried to figure out what to do with me – it wasn't that I couldn't do it, it's just nobody quite knew what needed to be done, so I gathered none of them had encountered the situation before. However, one young officer had excellent English, which negated one of my concerns – at least I'd be able to explain my intentions and documents.

Somehow I had forgotten that China is an hour ahead of Vietnam, so the Chinese were starting to wind down for the day. Yet we still managed to have a few rounds of discussion, with the young guy being very helpful and supportive, apologising for the delay, and assuring me they'd try to get everything stamped as soon as possible. I think we was being a good advocate for me with his superiors too. He told me he admired my spirit, and hoped that he could one day do something similar, although he said it was a lot more difficult as a Chinese-born person.

He did express some doubt at one stage, though, as he wondered how I'd know how to follow the traffic rules in China. It didn't seem diplomatic to give my opinion on the traffic rules in China, so I told him that the signs would be an international standard (in hindsight, that was mostly true), like they had been for the other eight countries, and he seemed satisfied at that.

In the end they decided that I probably needed another paper from the Chinese embassy in Hanoi, although to me the paper sounded like one I should be able to get at the border. My friend told me that the people who could help me had already gone for the day, but that if I came back tomorrow we'd probably be able to sort something out. He wouldn't be there, as it was his day off, but somebody else with good English would be able to aid my negotiations.

Well, having to wait overnight was a little disappointing, but there was also hope, so I was feeling good. But now where should I stay? Although I figured Vietnam would probably let me back in, I tried settling in no-man's-land instead, just to see if I could. No, I was soon informed that “International Agreements” didn't permit such things, and sent back to try my luck with the Vietnamese.

It caused quite a stir, but after some hand-waving, and concerned questions as to why China had refused me entry, they seemed satisfied, and I received a red “CANCELLED” across my exit stamp. Checking in at the nearest town 5km away was nothing new, although stumbling through a patch of unmarked wet concrete on my night-time ramble was. I felt bad, but what could I do?

The next morning I left Vietnam again, although their papertrail requirements seemed slightly different this time. On the Chinese side things were also slightly different - I had to fill out not only a medical declaration, but also a questionnaire testing my knowledge of the symptoms and spreading of HIV. I wasn't sure if I'd be denied entry if I got any answers "wrong" so I promised to always use a condom, among other things. But in the end I just handed in the form and was waved on to the immigration people.

To my relief, today's young Chinese border official also had excellent English, but, while the discussion flowed well, things didn't seem quite as positive as yesterday. Finally, after much discussion and book-searching, they decided that there was a “declaration form” that I needed from the embassy in Hanoi, and things could go no further without that, or maybe a note on my visa or some other form of “official permission”.

It is my belief that this paper was a simple way for them to delegate the problem, because a “Declaration Form” is usually available at the border for declaration of such items as an extra camera, or some other valuable thing that they want to make sure you export again at the end of your trip. But I agreed to go back and try anyway.

Vietnam shook its collective head, but, like the night before, allowed both me and my bike back in, without reversing the paperwork that they'd wanted on the way out. So I've been to Vietnam three times already...

It was an easy ride back to Hanoi, and back to the same guesthouse. From there I visited the embassy, which did a very good impression of being deserted and locked. However, co-incidentally, a couple of (Vietnamese) ladies from the Australian Embassy were trying to get in too, and made a few rather demanding phonecalls – when they were admitted, I snuck in too, and after they left, was granted a brief audience.

Well, this little enclave of China certainly seemed to know the regulations; and they gave me some basic information to organise a guided tour. However, I kept repeating that the Chinese Immigration had told me I only needed a “Declaration Form” or a different visa, both of which they insisted they didn't have. Eventually, to get rid of me, they sent me off to the business and commerce department of the embassy, at another address. The lady here spoke little English, and called somebody to deal with me – he was very helpful, but after a while I established that he was not able to help, as he was the gardener, and Vietnamese! Eventually I established that the person who might be able to help was very busy but that maybe I could meet with him tomorrow.

The next day had a few wrangles of its own but eventually found me in an ornate meeting-room, sipping small handleless mugs of green tea, while a Chinese gentleman listened to my plight. He was very helpful, and made a number of phone calls, some to the border, but at the end of the day was unable to provide me with my form.

Slightly discouraged, but not overly surprised, I left Hanoi, starting to come to acceptance that I would be unlikely to be riding through China on this trip. I headed east towards Hai Phong, where I overnighted, and on the following day, obtained a quote for shipment of my bike to Osaka. As it was now a Friday, I allowed myself the weekend to try one last Chinese border, otherwise I would return on Monday and get the bike on a ship departing on Tuesday. I would continue through China by public transport.

The reader's impression at this point may be that I was all-consumed with getting into China – certainly I had always realised that this was the weakest part of my planning, and that I would probably have to give up here. But I also had always planned to give it a good bash too, and not say it couldn't be done until I'd tried it. Whatever happened, after over two months on the road, I was starting to feel like it was time for the trip to draw to a close.

Nonetheless, I was still having a good time, and rode on towards the border, past picturesque Ha Long Bay, and, on a more personal level, some farmers burning off a hillside of undergrowth. They were most impressed by my instant noodle routine, and got me to take some photographs of them, as usual to be posted to some absolutely illegible address...

A travelling salesperson must have been through here selling Christmas carol tune bleepers - they sound like those old Christmas cards that bleep out a tune when you open them, but rather than a single tune, they are a slightly garbled medley of your favourite hits. In this area of North Vietnam, these have been fitted to streetcarts, presumably to attract your attention to the wares for sale - I am surprised that they don't drive the owners insane! Not to be outdone, some truck drivers have replaced their reverse beeper with these things, so they can reverse to the tune of Jingle Bells!

Internet cafe's seem more prolific in this part of the world than places to eat, and cost the equivalent of 25c an hour or less. The connection speed and reliability tends to be somewhat flaky, however, and I can do without the local custom of being surrounded by cute kids (or adults) all staring intently at what I'm doing. Regardless of whether they can understand or not, to my Western norms it feels quite invasive.

I found myself that night about 8km south of the Chinese border, with enough Vietnamese money for a hotel and Internet, but not for a meal. I wasn't unhappy with that predicament, however, as my stomach gazed with renewed distrust at the local food offerings, despite one friendly local physically dragging me into his establishment of choice for a drink - they lost interest only when I showed them the sad state of my wallet.

After some Pam's meusli bars, I went to sleep, deciding to delay changing the remainder of my US Dollars into Vietnamese Dong just in case I was allowed through the Chinese border the following morning.

Hanoi, Vietnam (Day 62, 9525 km)

Ah yes, it's good being back in a country where at least the script is familiar. Given the finite number of letter combinations, this also makes for some amusing ones. I have seen all of the following (censored) list, and more: "Who Rang", "Thot Not", "Phat Thinh", "Duc Tan", "Manh Hung", "An Tuon Chat Loung". Well maybe when I find a reasonable international calling rate again!

Also, I am starting to get some meals with chopsticks again – yes, China is certainly getting closer. In Vietnam, more than ever, I have been getting comments on my height, and the pointiness of my nose. Yes, the red-and-blue leathered foreigner wouldn't be able to blend in if he tried.

The next place to visit was the Dambri Falls, around 200 km northeast of Saigon. The falls were nice, complete with glass elevator up the side in case you didn't want to walk back up the long way - apparently the falls would have been even more impressive in the rainy season. Regardless, for me, the highlight of the area was going on a boulder-hop down the river looking for the secondary falls, and for the first time in weeks, just being by myself in unspoilt nature. It was a lovely opportunity to relax for an hour or so in a scenic spot. I also saw the brightest blue butterfly I had ever seen outside of a museum, but then I decided I had best continue as I had less than a dollar's worth of “dong” left. I had had to pay for the waterfall with a US dollar - at a terrible rate, but still only a dollar. There wasn't an ATM or bank anywhere near.

It was in this area that the road started getting a bit more mountainous, and I was happy to finally tackle some contours after so many thousands of kilometers of relative flatness. The traffic also lightened up considerably, possibly because not long after Saigon I had turned onto a secondary route. This, coupled with an excellent road surface, made for faster and more relaxing travel.

I ended up that night in Da Lat, as on the map it looked like the only ATM-worthy place in the vicinity. At an altitude of 1500m, it is a little cooler than the surrounding towns, and it is also quite scenic, with a lake and trees all lit up at night. Da Lat was originally developed as a resort town, and the Vietnamese call the area some word meaning “paradise”. Like many of my unplanned destinations, it is well worth a visit. It seemed cleaner and less run-down than any other Vietnamese town I'd stayed in up until then, and I booked into a nice little hotel on a quietish side-street. I decided the location called for a splashout, so I treated myself to an upmarket Western-style dinner at the Empress Hotel – it featured chicken rather strongly, and came to an exorbitant NZ$14.17.

After some relaxing night-time photography, I returned to my hotel and quickly drifted off to sleep, awoken only by the dulcet tones of somebody yelling outside my window at 4.15am. Diesel engine revving hard, reverse bleeper going strong, the bus painstakingly reversed down the alleyway, aided by the copious yelled directions of the co-driver. Side-street or not, I was glad for my earplugs, and enjoyed another few hours' sleep before tackling the next day's challenges.

My bike still didn't seem to be running at peak performance, and my electrics had also suddenly died - after a little more investigation I discovered that my battery's water was obscenely low. That was a simple walk across the street to find somebody to rectify it, but it took another long day riding before the battery charged enough to allow my electrics to putter back into life - conveniently it was just after nightfall. It still took another day after that before the electrics seemed somewhat normal, and after that the bike's performance returned to normal too.

That day I met an electrical engineer riding along through the mountains checking up on the power lines in the area. His English was fair, and we discussed a few technical matters, like what type of power stations they had, as well as whether he was married and how many kids he had. He told me where I could visit a hydroelectric dam in the area, but I didn't see anything obvious when I was passing, so I continued on my way.

This area was quite pleasant, and it was great having gaps in between the villages where I could bust out my cooker and boil up some instant noodles again. This was something I'd enjoyed and missed not being able to all through Cambodia and the south of Vietnam due to the lack of privacy. Possibly it was a symbol of my independence on the trip, but it was also nice to be guaranteed of a safe and familiar meal.

I managed to lose my way a few times, for example when road forks were totally unsignposted. Mostly this became obvious fairly quickly and I turned around. But I have one especially nice memory of a passing motorcyclist pulling me over, and politely making it clear that he thought I was on the wrong road – when I pulled out my map, and he showed me where we were, I was in total agreement. I felt gratified that he had both the initiative to realise I probably wanted to be on the main road, and also cared enough to let me know.

Along the road many people are startled by my passing – I have had a few very widely open-hanging mouths, and some exclamations. But most people recover soon enough to smile and wave. Especially the cute little girls. Cute little boys being much the same worldwide, some of them found it necessary to track me with their toy guns and take imaginary potshots as I rode by.

That evening I also spotted some more people selling sugarcane juice, something which had been more common in Cambodia. I stopped off on top of a hill, and bought a few glasses from a lady who also had hammocks strung up between the trees. I found this a very pleasant Cambodian and Vietnamese custom indeed, especially after sitting all day.

My original plan had been to travel the main Vietnamese highway along the coast from Saigon to Hanoi – despite the traffic, that had seemed like it would be the best road. But not long before I left, a friend handed me an article written by some recent motorcycle travellers through the area. It described their ride through the little-known, brand new Ho Chi Minh Highway, parallel to the coast, but inland through the mountains. The article said that although construction efforts had been plagued with problems, and the highway was not yet complete, that traffic was minimal, and the route was a far more interesting one.

I tried to check the local knowledge, which was somewhat of a challenge with the language barriers. The general opinion seemed to be that I'd end up on bad roads, and have a slow journey. However, having heard that the traffic along the coastal road is horrendous, and having enjoyed the small taste of mountains that I'd had so far, I decided to give it a go regardless.

Thank you Len for that article! That particular stretch ended up being the most enjoyable riding of the entire trip! Lovely, wide, sweeping mountain roads, just finished, and in excellent condition; curved through scenery that started as “nice” and worked its way up to “beautiful”. The whole trip seems to have been filled with delightful experiences that only came about as a result of a chance meeting or information source.

That day, I sat up on the mountain, cooking my noodles, looking westwards where somewhere about 20 km away was Laos. I realised it was two months to the day that I had gotten up at 4am for the start of this adventure; not knowing what it would bring, or how far I'd be able to get. Yes, things were grand. This was a beautiful spot, I had been kept safe and healthy, and had had a wonderful time thus far. God has certainly blessed me.

I was now approaching the narrowest part of central Vietnam (about 50-60km across), and the map showed the road northwards venturing on the wrong side of the Laos border for a few kilometers (I assume this is due to the Vietnamese side being impassable, as it is in the middle of the mountains). Nobody had been able to tell me whether I had to do border crossings here, so I decided to head back to the coast and try my hand at the main highway.

Back to the flatter areas meant back to paddy-land, some flooded, some drier. Back to the stereotypical Vietnamese shots of farmers with conical grass hats working in their fields. Here, as in the rest of Vietnam, was the prolific water buffalo, usually with huge horns. These seemed quite welcome to wallow in the rice paddies, and I assume they helped fertilise them too.

I reached the coast at Da Nang, and, as the sun was still up, decided to head north to the next town, through a delightful, coastal mountain pass. Halfway up, though, in rolled the thickest blanket of low cloud/mist I have seen in a while, and the visibility made the going become a little slower. I enjoyed having yet another kind of variety to the weather. Once the road came back down, I broke back out into the evening sunlight, and found a place to stay at the China Guesthouse in the small coastal town of Langco.

As the young daughter had the best English of the family, most of my negotiations were held with her, including payment. There seems to be a trend in Cambodia and Vietnam for children to be comparitively independent and knowledgeable about business. For example there were many kids in Phnom Penh with jobs like selling drinks or shining shoes. I suspect that they probably had close family ties too, and that the money all went back to them. I contemplated for a while about the relative merits of a Western carefree childhood compared to a 3rd-world “responsible” one, and was unable to decide which was preferable. Probably a balance, as always.

That evening I stupidly misjudged a jump (not bike-related) and bruised the sole of my right foot. This left me having to get assistance to kickstart my bike for the next three days, and limited my ability to walk easily for the rest of the time I was in Vietnam. On the plus side, I had an enjoyable hour or two listening to Vietnamese karaoke a few doors down from my hotel, and watching the locals have fun – couldn't understand a word, of course, but there was some excellent singing, and most of the melodies were great too.

The following day I rode off up the coastal road, and found the traffic density and behaviour as busy as expected but not overly daunting compared to other areas. I started to have intermittent struggles with changing gear – I discovered on investigation that the splined shaft on the footlever had somehow worn away – adjusting and retightening it a few times got me to Hanoi without major drama, where I was able to get it fixed. (They didn't have the right footlever, but hacked the splined bit off another, new one, and welded it onto mine, all for NZ$5)

At one of my stops to readjust the gear lever, one of the locals decided to get involved, and started grabbing tools out of my hands and doing things his way. Despite my obvious unhappiness, he persisted in this – I could see the other locals were uncomfortable with his behaviour. I eventually got the tools back and “fixed” the lever. Of course due to my damaged foot I needed somebody to start the bike, but before I was ready this clown had hopped on and was trying to start it while it was still in gear. In the end I had to physically lift up his left leg and tip him off the bike! One of my few negative people experiences, but at that stage my resistance was low and I was starting to feel like people were being a little bit too much in my face. I was already fairly used to people looking with their fingers – they were especially inquisitive when I wrote an expenditure in my little book. But having my bike taken over just didn't do it for me.

Ah well... I continued on, and after stopping briefly at the 17th parallel (DeMilitarised Zone between North and South Vietnam), came after dark to Vinh, where I eventually was able to get directions to a guesthouse.

Every Vietnamese guesthouse I'd stayed at up until now had been clean, and mould-free. This one also had plaster chipped off the walls, and smelled of mildew. And it wasn't the cheapest either. But the real disappointment was the disagreement we had over money – after agreeing to the price, and checking in, I found that they wanted to be paid in US dollars, which converted to quite a price hike at the rate they were using. In any case, I only had dong, so I was able to stick to my guns, especially given the condition of the room – but it was one of the few places I would make a point of not going back to. Unfortunately, with my damaged foot, I didn't feel up to venturing out into the darkness to seek an alternative. After checking my email, I used my earplugs to block out the annoying dripping sound, and put behind me a day that had seemed full of small annoyances.

This month was the 30th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam/American War – the celebrations happened a week after I left. As well, it seemed to be the 75th anniversary of something else and the 105th of something else, so there were many red flags and pictures of Uncle Ho on the flagpoles, etc.

The next day there was a fine drizzle, but I pressed on anyway, wanting to get to Hanoi as soon as practical to organise my Chinese visa. Along the way I saw the most chilling accident of my travels – a local bus had overturned off the side of the raised road and was upside down in front of a roadside house. It had obviously just happened, as there were still people peering in the front window trying to decide what to do. I could see no benefit in getting involved, and I didn't really want to see what was inside the probably-crowded bus, so I kept riding.

I was rather damp and cold by lunch time, so I stopped in the small town of Ninh Binh to dry off and warm up. The bemused local shopkeeper handed me a small, dry towel, and I felt welcome enough to set up my cooker and whisk up some warm noodles. After that they gave me some bananas and very strong tea. One of them spoke a fair amount of English, so I stayed a while, enjoying the company and the friendliness of this chance meeting. After more than an hour I decided it was time to tackle the final leg to Hanoi, and they waved me good-bye and said I was more than welcome to return one day.

In Hanoi I paid for getting a quick (overnight) Chinese visa – deciding that although it was exorbitant (US$36+US$30 fast fee), it was no more than I'd pay for the extra food and accommodation while I was waiting. I later heard from some European travellers that they had paid far more to pre-arrange their Vietnamese visas from Europe so I guess it was no big deal.

I had to find a place to store my bike overnight (this was the first place since Singapore that I hadn't been able to use the foyer) – I was shown a supposedly safe motorcycle parking area in the market, but for some reason the attendants weren't having a bar of it, and I couldn't get anywhere with the language difficulties. Eventually we found a guy just down the road who would store it indoors for NZ$2 per night – a rip-off (how one's perspective changes... :-) ), but by this stage I was sick of pushing my bike around. I still had enough time to limp around Hanoi for a bit. I bought some grapes and plums, although they seemed no cheaper than they would be at home. It seems to be a trend here that fruit is more expensive than I'm used to and meat is cheaper.

In Cambodia I'd briefly met some French bicyclists, but no foreign-registered motorcycles. I passed a few more cyclists in Vietnam, but not to talk to. In Cambodia I did see a few "big bikes" but in Vietnam I saw only two bikes (in Hanoi) that came close to the size of my beast - which seems to confirm what I'd been told about the 175cc legal maximum. Nonetheless, all the police I passed were just as friendly as the locals, and, even when I was pulled over for speeding, I was never once approached to prove my legality.

The following day I got my gear lever repaired, and my bike very thoroughly washed for less than NZ$1. I also wrote up some trip report, and rested my foot. That night as a celebration of possibly my last night in Vietnam I went to a restaurant run by a genuine French chef – nice, but a bit high on the gourmet/price curve for my everyday preference. I went to sleep early, trying to be relaxed about how I'd get into China the following day...

Dinh Quan, Vietnam (Day 58, ~8000 km)

[Firstly, my apologies for the long delay since the last installment. As most of you know by now, I haven't been abducted by the Chinese military, but have arrived safely in Japan three weeks ago. Since then I have been spending a lot of my time and energy settling into life here, as well as spending the past 10 days travelling with Wendy and Simon. Thank you to the multiple people who have kept demanding the next update – with the memories already fading, having a written record and thousands of photographs is going to help keep the experience alive for me too.

Our story picks up where we left off, in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam. It is Day 56, Monday 11 April 2005, and I have ridden 7803 km to date.]

I can tell you now that I've left Saigon – the Vietnamese have an average of 150 road deaths, a month... in Saigon alone. And Saigon certainly was the busiest city traffic I encountered on the trip, but, as most of the vehicles are motorcycles, traffic still seems to flow ok. Hanoi's traffic situation is comparatively laid-back - I have no idea what the statistics are, but I'm sure they're not too cheerful either. But in Vietnam, as on the rest of the trip, I saw very few accidents indeed, and of these, motorcyclists were the exception. The scariest traffic was always on the highways, and usually because of the attitudes of busses and trucks towards smaller vehicles.

The street life in Saigon is fascinating. Like the rest of south-east Asia, all the mechanics, welders, etc. do their work on the streets; it just seems a lot more bustling and vibrant here. Just like the traffic – after over a month of driving in Asia, I will just start to think I've seen it all, and then there'll be something new – the variety of odd vehicles is huge, especially in Vietnam and China – three-wheelers range from converted bicycles, 3-wheeled motorcycles, through to 3-wheeled cars (some even quite new, with streamlined panels) and up to small 3-wheeled trucks – horribly unstable things they look, too.

Unfortunately I was unable to get a photograph, but a common picturesque image of Vietnam is one or more young ladies cycling along the dusty road in spotless white, satin garments – hard for a guy to describe, but the top comes straight down the front and the back almost to ankle level, although it splits at around the waist. This leaves two long pieces of material which are hooked over an arm in a graceful loop as they cycle by.

Vehicle loading became an area of fascination for me – unfortunately most of the best picture opportunities had to remain untaken, as I was riding through the traffic at the time. But I can still testify to the the 100-120cc motorcycle being a wonderful beast. Four people is quite the norm in Indonesia, Cambodia and Vietnam - usually 2 biggies and 2 littlies, although I was told of a sighting of 4 well-built Cambodian policemen riding through Phnom Penh. I also once spotted 5 on a bike – 3 adults, two holding babies out the sides. Of course, if you put a trailer on the bike, you can take 20-30 easily.

If you dispense with most of the passengers, then you can quite easily take 2-5 pigs (either dead, or alive in wicker baskets), depending on their size, and whether you still have one passenger or not. Alternatively, two large panniers out the sides can carry any number of durians, vegetables, chickens or the like. If you dispense with the panniers, then your passenger can hold his bicycle - cross-wise, of course, is essential for good balance, regardless of light levels or traffic conditions. Cross-wise loading is also necessary for 4-6 foot long logs or planks, or 2-metre wide tables.

If you are transporting a wheelbarrow, it's easiest if you have a passenger, to either hold the handles so you can tow it along behind, or to hold it up on his back (good if it's raining). A passenger also makes it easier by holding in front of him the three foot by four foot glass mirror, the 1.5m square plastic one (which would have made a really interesting photograph), the coil of plastic pipe, or similar, although he is optional for a 26 inch television – this can also be quite satisfactorily attached by bungee cords for a short journey. I'm not sure how the medium-sized fridge-freezer, or the chest freezer were attached, but it's possible they used a seat attachment to provide a wider platform.

Of course, if you convert your bicycle or motorcycle to have three wheels and a trailer, the load possibilities rise exponentially.

But it was in Cambodia, not Vietnam, that I saw the craziest loading, and faced my scariest traffic. In between towns it was quite common to see five, ten or more people clinging to the roofrack of a minibus. Either that, or the roofrack will be piled high with boxes – I do not exaggerate when I say that the stack sometimes more than doubles the height of the vehicle. But the scariest was the time I saw one of these monstrosities bearing down on me, and as it passed, I noticed somebody up there on top of the stack of boxes...

Proper biking attire consists of the following: For footwear, sandles are usually worn. High heels are acceptable if a woman is riding alone or with other women, but it is more common for high-heel-wearers to be passengers. Eye protection is mostly unheard-of, unless the sun is bright or the person usually wears glasses. Head-gear is mostly a cap, although, of course the traditional Vietnamese woven grass hat is quite normal. In Vietnam I'd estimate at least 20% have helmets (compared to about 10% in Cambodia) – sometimes these helmets are in the front basket, sometimes under the arm, and quite often they are actually worn on the head, although only sometimes are they fastened. As a result of these clothing choices, the road is strewn with odd sandles and caps in addition to the usual obstacles, and I once saw someone's helmet blow off too.

The first few days riding in such traffic are probably the most dangerous, until one has learned the expected behaviour in a large number of previously-unencountered situations. After that one has learned instinctively which way to swerve, or whether to swerve or slow down at all, when somebody cuts in without looking from the left, or right, depending on their relative speed and position, other traffic and a combination of similar factors. One quickly learns the basic expectations about where overtaking should be done on the left, or off on the right-hand verge. Also which traffic lights, stop signs, one-way signs, speed limits and no-motorcycle signs apply, and which can be safely ignored. But the traffic “rules” seem to have a few odd pedantries - if one chooses to actually stop at a red traffic light, on no account should one be even an inch over the white line, or in the car lane, blocking the other traffic, or one risks a frown and a futile whistle-blowing from the officer on duty.

I find myself quite able to cope with the traffic conditions, just so long as I don't expect to get anywhere in a hurry - 30-50kph is quite the norm, with the occasional outrageous 70-75kph bringing the average up to about 40-45kph.

There – I'm allowed at least one “traffic and vehicle” rant, and that was it. On with the journey...

After my night in Saigon, I went on a bus trip to nearby Cuchi Tunnels, to see how the mighty Viet Cong survived despite arduous conditions, and, hammer and sickle raised high, won their freedom from the foreign invaders during the "American War". A fascinating trip, which I fully recommend, especially for the slightly different slant to the western perspective I'd had at school. But, regardless of one's bias, it is still sobering crawling through tunnels and seeing the trying living conditions they had to deal with.

It was also impressive seeing just how many effective traps and ways of gaining the upper hand the Viet Cong utilised despite zero budget and simple technology - American shrapnel and unexploded bombs were all recycled into traps of various kinds, all quite unsavoury, but very effective-looking.

Of course, as anybody who has heard of this particular tourist attraction knows, there is also the opportunity to fire off your choice of weapon at the shooting range - most reports I've read balked at the NZ$1.90 per round, but despite the cost I chose to fire off a couple from an AK47. Partly because I can think of about four or five guys back home who'd be terribly disappointed that I'd turned down the opportunity (how's that for remote peer pressure?) and partly because I wanted to appreciate the power that so many have wielded, yet so few have understood the terrible responsibility of... the power that have made some do terrible things without just consequence. I suppose that that very AK47 has been used in the past to kill American GI's. Hmm... War. What is it good for?

There was also the option of purchasing "snake wine", which is like the worm variety of spirits, but the bottles are full of vipers and scorpions of various venomous-looking kinds, and the brew is claimed to be good for a number of ailments. I elected to just take some photos, only partly because I was uncertain how MAF (NZ quarantine) would react to that one, despite the preserved nature of the imported deadstock.

Following the tunnels, I paid a brief visit to the war museum, which again showed an interesting "other side" perspective, and affected me more than the Cambodian genocide museum in terms of the horrific atrocities that people are capable of - this was not just in the case of the Americans and Agent Orange, etc, but there was also a side exhibit of some local conflict where people had been imprisoned and tortured in various unpleasant ways. I think in the Vietnamese case, while not by the remotest stretch of the imagination do I feel any form of responsibility, historically I come from a Western background which has taught me in some fashion to be associated with the actions of our big "buddies", the US. This is in contrast to the Cambodian horrors, which seemed to me to be a local incident, unrelated to the West, and thus, to me (although it could be argued that those things would never have occurred if it hadn't been for the American carpet bombing... my knowledge of history is unfortunately a little thin in these areas to be casting any serious judgement on the matter).

Although it was almost 4pm, I decided to press on. I caught a cyclo (kind of a tricycle with a full-backed reclining seat in the front for the passenger) back to my hotel, and left, covering another 110km before finding a guesthouse - I have realised just how long and how much energy it will take to travel from one end of Vietnam to the other, and have decided to take bite-sized chunks where ever possible. Although the Vietnamese main roads are fairly good (no potholes, only a little rough in places) the energy required to ride in these traffic conditions was the main reason I took the bus the 60km to the tunnels - it gave me an opportunity to be higher in the pecking order (still not the top, as I found out - even busses have to give way to huge forklifts randomly pulling out onto the highway) and yet it was still a tiring experience.

On the way I stopped at a welding place to get my side stand repaired - the day before it had bent, leaving my bike unable to stand up by itself. Welding places are easy to find – just ride along until you see the bright blue flashes. It was a simple repair job, costing about $2, but which also came with the usual community involvement and joking around, as well as the owner offering me his daughter, me showing them a photo of Wendy, and them signing that two is just ok! I wonder if the girls around here really are as much chattels of their fathers as the stereotype, or whether it's just the Asian version of blokey humour, and the girls who actually do live like that just driven to it by the attractive wage, or the possibility of a foreign visa. Seriously - I have been asked if I "like Vietnam lady" probably once a day, and the way it's asked, they're not just talking to look at. Showing them my photo of Wendy and making it quite clear that I already have a girlfriend doesn't seem to be a relevant answer...

Most people I've met are very polite, however at the guesthouse that night the proprietor's young son took exception to me and punched me in the groin with both little fists. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but he was told off severely, and I managed to find the situation a little comical.

My bike seemed to not be running at peak performance, so the next morning I cleaned my air filter and changed my sparkplug before continuing on my way. Suddenly, after thousands of kilometers with negligable apparent traffic law enforcement, I saw my first speed trap. Or rather, it saw me! The officer flagged me down with his red stick, and showed me that his radar gun read an absolutely obscene 69.4kph! Now, I don't think I'll ever know exactly what the legal speed limit was at that point, but undoubtably it was less than this, or I wouldn't be here, so I removed my helmet and put on what was hopefully a suitably apologetic face, dashed with a touch of confusion. After realising that not only had he pulled over a foreigner but one with whom he had very little language in common, he smiled and said "Go!" This was wonderful, but I decided to stay a moment longer and, by sign language and pointing to my speedo, try to find out how fast I should've been going. Sadly, this was one of those cases where what seems like the obvious question was totally misunderstood - He nodded at my speedometer pointing (as if to say "Yes, I'm talking about your speed", and thinking "what a backward country this guy is from - he has no idea!") and repeated "Go!" I took his advice, chuckling up the road as I went.

In my defence, let us peruse a typical sign that I presume is referring to speed. The familiar-looking "40" is actually very uncommon for speeds, assuming it refers to that - usually the red circle will have something like "18" and a small "t", and the sign will be just before a bridge, from which it seems clear that it refers to a maximum bridge loading. Now let's look at the main sign, which is displayed at the start and end of most, but not all, villages and towns. First of all, which motorcycle am I? The big one with styly mudguards or the little one with a rider? Maybe unaccompanied motorcycles have to go slower. Should I follow the left column or the right? So I could go 25, 30, 35, 40, or possibly an overriding 40? And is that for the next 1950m, or starting in 1950m time? I think the former. All of these speeds seem ridiculously slow, even when the traffic is bad, so usually I just go just a little faster than the flow. I'm glad the traffic laws are flexible here, because I think there's a few I don't really know about or understand - many of the signs seem a little odd or cryptic to me, but I've gotten most of the way without incident, so they can't be too important ... can they?