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?