At least today Pascal didn't try to kill himself. That was yesterday.
Well OK, he didn't really try to do it--it just kind of happened when Pascal's brain disconnected itself from his actions, which we all know he's apt to do once in a while.
We were parking our motorcylces (Russian-made Minsk dirt-bikes, 225cc and practically indesctructible) in front of a small restaurant for lunch. Or at least we were supposed to. The place was set back a bit from the main road, with a maybe ten inch angled cement step leading up to it, just enough space for a table and some chairs in front of the restaurant, or in this case the perfect spot to park our bikes.
Our Vietnamese guide Antoine coasted his bike in and parked it, and motioned for Pascal to do the same. Pascal, who had made his acquaintance with a motorcycle for the first time ever just the day before, revved up the engine and released the clutch warily.
The bike moved forward, but when the front wheel dipped down the little step, Pascal forgot all about his other hand gripping the accelerator. The down motion of the handlebar caused him to hit the gas, and the bike shot forward, straight towards the restaurant wall.
Had he hit, Pascal would have actually flown off the bike right through the open window and landed on some wooden chairs, just like in the movies. Luckily for him, though, the shock of the sudden acceleration also caused him to release his left hand off the clutch, and the bike screeched to a less-than-elegant stall just inches from the wall. Sadly, I was not filming at this time and this moment will only live on vividly in my mind, one of those memories sure to cause a chuckle in my old age.
But let me back up the story a bit.
Despite offending nearly every single passenger on the plane, Pascal and I got to Hanoi on Sunday afternoon. How did this happen? Well, Pascal had purchased language CDs before vacation, and as we stood in line amongst the very prim and proper Japanese and Vietnamese folks waiting to board our plane in Tokyo, Pascal didn't realize because of his CD how quiet the whole boarding process was and let out this horrendous gut-heaving belch. A real tonsil-shaker. I pretended I didn't know him.
Anyway, we made it to Hanoi without any further incidents, and although it had been our intention to go out for a night on the town, our one-hour pre-dinner “nap” ended up lasting all the way to breakfast. An eleven-hour time-zone difference on the heels of over 24 hours of travel time will do that to you. And no, we didn't stay at the Hilton.
Of course, this also meant that we were awake long before we were supposed to, and I don't think the front desk manager appreciated my waking him up at 4:00 AM to see if I could use the computer for the internet. The answer was a bleary-eyed but nevertheless firm no.
We spent the morning exploring Hanoi's Old Quarter, a myriad of pleasant streets and thousands upon thousands of shops of all kinds, all housed in the remains of ageing yet nostalgically pleasant French colonial architecture.
Now, I can honestly say that I saw more scooters and mopeds in 10 minutes in Hanoi than I have for the rest of my life combined. I'm not kidding. There are thousands upon thousands of them, everywhere. They must issue them to every Vietnamese person at birth or something. Think of New York or LA and all the cars on the streets there, change them all to scooters, multiply that by 10 and reduce the size of the streets and you start to get the picture. And it's not much different in the countryside: scooters everywhere.
Pascal and I had elected to contribute to this overall two-wheeled congestion, although, as I mentioned earlier, our bikes were bigger and meaner than most of the others out there. Heh heh.
We met our Vietnamese guide Antoine and the three of us brought our bikes to the train station. What a surreal place that was. The station was dark and gloomy, and we rode to the service entrance to load our bikes on the cargo boxcars. It felt like we were in one of those World War II scenes where they pack everyone off to some evil prison camp, especially with the uniformed guards walking around in their crisp, stern-looking uniforms. The occasional blaring on the megaphones in barked-out Vietnamese only added to the effect.
Our train left at 10:00 PM and traveled north-northeast all through the night, the three of us sharing our sleeper compartment (two sets of ridiculously small opposing bunkbeds) with an Israeli traveler. The bed was too short to fit my body lengthwise, but other than that it was a comfortable ride. The train's rickety, rhythmic rocking and jolting was probably more pronounced than most, but once you get used to it it's actually a rather soothing, hypnotic sensation.
At 8:00 AM we got off at Lao Cai, right on the Chinese border. We could see buildings with Chinese signs across the river. One thing I hadn't known about Vietnamese history is that after the war with the French, followed by the war with the Americans, the Vietnamese subsequently fought with the Chinese until 1982 (and by all accounts beat them as well). Tough little country.
From Lao Cai we rode to the mountain town of Sapa, what used to be a French resort area back when the country was under French rule as Indochina. A beautiful place, nestled amidst rolling mist-shrouded mountains. We spent a good part of the afternoon exploring the town, with Pascal quite the hit with a couple of pre-teen local Vietnamese girls who followed him around yelling “Pas-ca, Pas-ca!”
That evening after dinner we were walking down the street when I saw a sign for massage. How perfect!! What a great way to end a day on the motorcycle, right?
So they had us change into these really gay looking blue boxers, then put us into the steam room. Couldn't even see the tip of my nose. Went from there to the sauna, bloody hot. And then showered off before heading to the massage room. Yay!
I knew the experience wasn't going to be as relaxing as I thought when the massage girl giggled and gave me a titty twister on the way to the room. Now, I've had plenty of massages before, from Swedish to Thai to therapeutic and so on, and I'm a big fan in general. But if there's one thing which all masseuses have immediately noticed about me is that I'm extremely ticklish. Most of them find a way to work around it. Not this one.
As soon as she discovered my sensitivity to tickling, this impish little Vietnamese girl took perverse delight in torturing me every chance she could. It was anything but relaxing, although by all accounts I'm fairly sure my masseuse had a rollicking good time. And no, this wasn't the kind of place that had a “happy ending,” either!
The mountain road from Sapa to Lai Chau on Wednesday was absolutely breathtaking. I don't think even pictures can fully give credit to the natural beauty of these mountains.
In Lai Chau we stayed in this really cool hotel, very rustic and full of ambiance, and met a number of interesting fellow travelers there, including some masochists who were cycling these roads. As much as I love mountain biking, going uphill for the better part of several hundred miles isn't quite my cup of tea.
There was a police officer that died in Lai Chau, and his funeral service was taking place right across from the hotel. We heard the drums and this unique wailing sound from a Vietnamese type of violin, and went over to check it out. Unbeknownst to us, the repetitive tune would last all through the night and into the next day.
Combine this incessant “music” with a group of Aussies heatedly discussing spirituality and religion just outside our room (no glass on these windows, so noise travels well), plus the annoying habit of the locals to wake up even before their roosters do and make even more noise, and it wasn't the most restful night ever.
Plus, the drum and violin guys from the funeral either had too much to drink or were starting to lose it after playing the same tune over and over for some 8 hours straight, so they were starting to become more and more off beat and off key as the night went on. By breakfast the next morning I wondered if they'd been smoking crack as well.
But hey, who needs sleep!
Cheers!
Gabriel
