Hanoi - Day 5

The cave was the pivot of our tour, it was our main destination and marked the end of the first half. We took our time to check out everything on our way and made it here in one piece. From now on things would change. Our aim was to ride nearly six hundred kilometers in two days, our mission to get back to Hanoi on time. It was a nice morning and we enjoyed the sun over breakfast. Curious faces asking Lee about Giwoun and me had become ordinary. We were sure he hated us a little bit by now.

We left town on the New Ho Chi Minh Trail that leads up and down hills and slopes. If inner city traffic is an improvised jam session, then following a mountain path is an extended solo performance. One instrument takes the lead and displays its magic. Riding like this frees you from many distracting elements. It is essential because of its imminent connection to danger. You focus on your vision and trust the rest of your body to react accordingly in every curve. What's left is you and your thoughts.

It's the perfect state of mind. I felt like writing a whole book in my head. If only my memory wasn't so limited. I often wonder what methods writers use to practice their profession. I've heard from one guy, a famous Korean short story writer, that he has a writing space right outside of Seoul. There he sits in a wheelchair that has a cordless keyboard on the attached table. He allows himself to move about, but always checking his writing on a massive screen and never leaving his chair.

We rode through tiny communities, sometimes as small as a dozen wooden houses, and passed mobs of children, beautiful creatures. I couldn't stop thinking about what it's like to grow up in one of those villages. Having been born in the city and raised in its streets it's hard to imagine. I wouldn't be skateboarding, that's for sure. I wouldn't be horting clothes and shoes and I would probably not write this blog, either. What would I be doing then? I really don't know.

Outside of Hoa Tien there was a huge roundabout. In that area it was an outstanding monument like a tall skyscraper in the city. It was also a hub for merchants and salesmen. They had an open market with clothes, meats and toys. People were buying and selling, telling each other stories from their villages. I stopped to watch the wheels of a tape spinning in a cassette player and grew nostalgic for a bit. Then we hopped on our bikes again and reached the next town where we had lunch.

It was strangely comforting to see brick houses again, street vendors and shop signs. It was a small town, but it had life in it. We sat next to a group of teenagers and ordered what they had. A lady brought us something that looked like tacos, a plate full of greens and a pack of ultra thin rice paper. The kids at the other table kept laughing at us. We said hello and they showed us how to eat Banh Xeo. They had mobile phones and an attitude, perhaps they weren't that much different from city kids after all. 

We drove a lot. We drove so much that I'm at a loss of words if I want to recount everything we saw. There was a cow with its baby cattle in the middle of the road. A few meters down there was a fat lady with her son crossing the street and I thought it was a funny deja vu. We saw a girl riding her bicycle in small circles. We saw a boy playing with a kite when there was no wind. We saw a man on a bike with a smiling pig strapped onto his back. He was carrying it like rucksack.

Darkness forced us to put away our sunglasses. It was a whole different way of riding. Wind was dashing in my eyes and tears started streaming along my temples. Motorcycling wasn't fun anymore, it had changed its character. When we finally found our way into a bigger city I felt like entering a new world that I had once known well. We checked in a really nice place and took a rest before dinner. It was a long day on the road and tomorrow wasn't going to get any easier.