Ho Chi Minh City (Day 56, 7803km)

"Sorry. You ok - go Viet Nam. Moto no go Viet Nam." Very apologetic, and almost sounding like he wished he could find a way to help me, the young border guard shook his head. "You can rent moto in Viet Nam". Well I couldn't expect it to all go my way... I very slowly, very patiently asked him about my options, and what I could do. I said that this was my moto from New Zealand, and I wanted to take it to Vietnam and then onto China and Japan. He said there was another border I could go to - we couldn't quite communicate on its location, so out came my map, and we looked at the options for a few minutes - all involved hundreds of kilometres of backtracking, at least half on dirt roads, and I was not keen. I explained slowly that my visa for Cambodia "finish" and that I couldn't go back. Borders are funny like that - you have to sign out of one side before you know for 100% sure that they'll let you in on the other side, and if you only have a single use visa, that can presumably make for some interesting situations.

He seemed to think that I might be able to get them to sign me back into Cambodia, but I said I had nowhere to go at this late hour - please could he help me? Maybe I can pay some money and he can help me? I'm not sure he understood what I was suggesting, but when I asked, always smiling, always slowly, always friendly, if there was somebody in the border house who could help me, he was quite happy for me to give it a bash. Now I was on the other side of his gate, another five metres further into Vietnam. There we met up with the head border man, who I knew would make or break my case. I smiled, greeted him, shook him by the hand, and we sat down. After a silent prayer I started showing him my moto documents, and the young border guard explained the situation, and left.

Again, after some thought, as if he were not himself convinced, he explained that he could not allow my moto into Vietnam. But he seemed interested in my plans, and I showed him how I had stamped in and out of Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand and Cambodia. I told him I would continue to China and Japan to visit my girlfriend, who I had not seen for eight and a half months. I showed him the photo of Wendy in my wallet. He looked through my documents again, and I prayed a little more. Then I showed him on my maps, how I had been through the countries beforehand, and how I had only been a short time in each one, and how I had marked my planned route through Vietnam. He asked me how long I planned to be in Vietnam. I told him maybe six or seven days, and after a little more discussion and document shuffling (and no transfer of dollars), his apologetic "No" slowly turned round to a slow "Ok." Giving prayers of thanks, I slowly and gently talked him through how to sign my moto into Vietnam, and by now things seemed to be going quite well. In a very short time I had the stamps and signatures I needed, he urged me to be "riding careful in Viet Nam" and they took my passport away to stamp me into the country.

Well, at this stage things went a little strange, because my passport seemed to be gone for a rather long time, especially considering I had chosen to arrive right near closing time - I would've thought that they would have signed me through as quickly as possible once deciding to let me in... but darkness was approaching, and I was told "Sit here please". Somebody noticed my GPS, so I spent a few minutes showing the border people how that worked - the little on-screen map showing Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, and they were very pleased. Then after a little longer, I took out my camera and started checking through the shots of the day (as well as sneaking a clandestine shot of the border and the head customs man) - somebody noticed my camera and friendlily indicated that I shouldn't take pictures - I said ok, and showed them that I was just checking through the shots of the day. They recognised the skulls from the genocide museum, and things continued to be happy - the head customs man saw a shot I'd taken of the paddies, and wanted to take his own, despite his anti-photo regulations, so I got him to take a shot of me with the paddies in the background, and not long after that my passport came back, all stamped, and I was ready to go!

Vietnam is the first country I have ever been in that has had the intelligence to provide an Arrival/Departure Card that carbon copies itself, so one doesn't have to fill out all the information twice! The other thing about Vietnam, that I had already heard about some of the China borders north of here, is that for some or other reason one has to wheel one's bike over the border. Ah well - I am so happy to be allowed in that it doesn't bother me in the slightest, but after a metre or two, the head customs man noticed me, and smiled and indicated that riding was ok. So Vietnam starts off on a massive positive score and I start some advance prayers for the Chinese border next week...

Yes, Vietnam is a whole other country... In this case, as I approached Vietnam, I found that things suddenly seemed a lot more green - whether the Vietnamese have more of an irrigation system, or just different crops, things immediately seem a lot more attractive than the dust of the Cambodian dry season. Of course, at this stage darkness had completely arrived, and so, being thankful for sealed and reasonably smooth roads, I chugged my way along through the traffic (mainly "motos" and unlit bicycles riding three abreast, but some trucks and busses too) for twenty kilometres or so to Chau Doc, the first place with a guesthouse.

The other thing I have found, at least so far, is that most people are overwhelmingly friendly - I expected this in Cambodia, but I have never been treated so warmly as in Chau Doc. As I walk down the street, everybody waves and shouts "Hello!" - many because a foreigner is such a novelty, and they feel clever to be able to have something to say, but more than this, there seems to be a real joy and genuiness behind the smiles. While the Thai people were gracious and polite, but somewhat reserved, in Vietnam they come up to me and shake my hand, or offer me a smoke or a drink (free), or generally do what they can, despite having no language in common, to welcome me to their place.

It was Sunday, during my day off, that I had my first puncture - I was surprised that people seemed to indicate that there was in fact a road up Sam Mountain, a hill nearby, where I'd been told there were views to be had. Deciding not to take the local bike taxi, I set off, and took all available left turns, progressively heading around the hill until suddenly things started looking familiar again - I'd come the old full circle! And in the process I'd collected a tiny piece of steel wire in the front tire, something I didn't notice until somebody pointed it out - it couldn't have been at a better time, since I wasn't going anywhere that day. But of course, it didn't take long to wheel the bike 10m down the road, and get the locals to work their magic... in a somewhat different way from what I'm used to, using a press that is heated by burning fuel on it to set the glue on the patch. But for 65 cents, it has seemed to work effectively enough. That's the thing - it's a good idea to have spares and tools, just in case, but in reality, the way life works around here makes it extremely unattractive to deal with these things by oneself - the community aspect of every little activity means that collective wisdom is brought to each problem (although there can be a bit of "too many cooks" too), meaning it will be solved promptly, despite the lack of tools and equipment, and will usually cost a negligable amount.

The structure of settlement (outside of big towns) on the roads I travelled in the south of Vietnam seems to be that there are very few side streets at all, meaning most seem to live along the main road, and, as a result, there are very few stretches at all that are not built up; the whole regional road being like one extended village that increases in busy-ness every so often (and has a name). This means I don't think it would be very feasible to camp if I did feel safe doing so. It also means that there is a place advertising fixing of Honda bikes every few metres (sometimes three in 100 metres, but usually no more than a few hundred metres) - unfortunately for me, I doubt many of them would know what to do with specific problems related to a bike bigger than 120cc. I have heard that some of the mountain roads I plan to go on in the next few days are less populated, so here's hoping - I do like to get out into unpopulated nature once in a while, and that hasn't happen much yet in this part of the world.

The next morning I loaded everything on the bike and made ready to leave. I had the strange (and, since then, normal) experience of somebody signing that I give him my leather suit, or my helmet, or, once I'd declined all those (after all, I've still got 3000km to go!), just money. I do wish people wouldn't do this, regardless of their motives... When I got back from paying I noticed my GPS not being where I'd left it, so I signed that something was missing, having a fair idea of who'd done it. They pleaded ignorance and signed that I might have left it upstairs, which I knew I hadn't. So I went up and checked just to humour them, and then signed my complaint to the owner of the guesthouse, and somebody took me down and showed me it hidden under my sheepskin on my seat. A simple joke? Or was it only placed there once I'd noticed it missing? I don't know, but I made it quite clear how unimpressed I was and how, despite the guesthouse being nice, I'd tell all my friends not to stay there.

It's quite possible that that was an over-reaction - I've noticed many incidences of horseplay in Cambodia and Vietnam - people on bikes and motorbikes trying to kick each other off in a good-natured sort of way, and other similarly physical joking about. Anyway, I didn't appreciate the humour, if it was intended.

I continued down on an indirect road to Ho Chi Minh City, which the South Vietnamese still prefer to call Saigon. This road took me across various parts of the mighty Mekong - once on a ferry, and once on a fairly impressive bridge that has been a recent joint venture with some Australian engineers. At one of my stops I was joking around with some locals, one of whom was quite taken aback by me neatly putting my muesli-bar wrapper back in my bag - he snatched it out and with great pride shouted "Vietnam!" and threw it on the ground! Well, yes... it shows.

After a very long ride of 307km (about 8 hours - I need to re-adjust my expectations a little) I arrived in Saigon and started looking for a cheap hotel. Suddenly the bike started wobbling alarmingly, and I slowed as quickly as I could while still retaining control (just!). The rear tire had a puncture this time! So I practiced my theories on pushing a bike across countless lanes of traffic - don't stop or behave erratically, just keep going slowly and steadily. That way traffic will be able to predict your movements and magically flow around you, expressing its displeasure as is normal in this part of the world for any driving activity. It turned out that I had somehow collected a nail, but everything was fixed again in an hour, this time costing me $3.50, and I was free to find a hotel, eat some dinner and check my email.