Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

July 24, 2015

While you were working – Educating Greg, Hue, Vietnam

Our day threatens to begin like some others have, with a desperate need for food and coffee. Possibly it’s now appropriate to make a confession, pretty much all days start this way but lets all agree to keep up the illusion that we are about more than just food, shall we. Sadly this days commencement remains just a threat and little more, first stop is off to pick up Greg who camped out at the mechanics shop as a bit of tough love to soak up a better attitude. Our happy dude is there again, it feels like he belongs in this small shopfront but it’s hard to tell if he’s part of it or it’s part of him. He talks us through the work done and it’s now even more of a surprise that we even made it here; part of the adventure we keep telling ourselves.

Finally this day can continue, walking through the central market is like many others in Vietnam and displays a characteristic if Vietnamese culture that we were surprised by but are coming to love: blunt confidence. There’s an awkward idea to express but it’s sadly so true: much of the world’s cultures see a western looking tourist and immediately take on an air or deference, even submission. This acquiescence for some might make them feel important, rich and powerful but to both of us it’s not only none of these things, it’s sad. Not in Vietnam. Day one in Ho Chi Minh saw tiny old ladies grabbing our arms forcefully and ordering us to stop at their market stalls, young boys and girls initiating eye contact and smiles rather than only responding to ours and none of the meek subservience that so sadly exists in so many cultures. In Vietnam there’s no banking on wealth, race or status to walk tall as facades are kicked to the gutter to wash out into the South China sea will all the other discarded rubbish.

Grilled meat (pork we believe) on a stick. Chó Dong Ba (Hué market), Vietnam.

As a first time tourist to Vietnam this assertiveness is refreshing, fun if a little confronting initially; I project that it’s probably a by-product of a strong national identity and a long recent history of beating back the powers of the world. Yes, Vietnam as a nation is nobody’s whipping boy and neither are its people. But where’s the nice sweetness of neighbouring Laos or Cambodia? Truth be told that gentleness and ‘I just want to hug you’ sort of sweetness is less present but there’s a contrary friendliness and warmth to balance the assertiveness bordering on aggression. People smile, people are courteous, people are genuinely interested; Vietnam as a culture has not a scrap of one of my personal bugbears: indignation. Few characteristics exemplify childishness like indignation, the petulant need for the world to all be about yourself, why me, me me me. The flagship downfall of the iGeneration.

Today we saw a young guy crash his scooter, skidding along a city street to a no doubt painful stop. Not a single cry out in anger, no accusation of another; only a shy assurance that he’s all ok as I get there first to pick up his bag more intent on not needing help than his own ego so blessedly in check. How many people do you know that, in that time of shock or stress, wouldn’t have any capacity for blame, accusation or outrage? The flip-side is that if we are meek or shy the Vietnamese will badger us to all corners of the boxing ring but respect is only ever a smile and a clear voice away. Visiting Vietnam: leave your inner spoilt brat at immigration and love this place where children have also done the same.

Thien Mu Pagoda, banks of the Perfume river, Hué, Vietnam.

And so goes the wander through the market, playing the verbal dance with insistent shopkeepers that don’t defer to shyness but go for us as customers; nothing more, nothing less. Barbecue pork noodles go with spring rolls and some meat-on-a-stick heaven as the shopkeeper puts down all sorts of goodies before us. A clear no thank you sees her push her sale a few times before a warm thanks sees us on our way, again this untainted maturity of assertive kindness removes us from any world of pretence, game playing or fake courtesy. Why does living a strong psychological marker of maturity feel a little like an unfamiliar novelty?

And so, after much ado, this day has begun; it’s off to the citadel, the old town of Hue. In 1802, emperor Nguyen Anh proclaimed himself emperor and gained recognition from China in 1804; maybe this is why everyone and everything in Vietnam seems to be named Nguyen. First order of business, build a huge metaphorical erection to show the world how powerful he is; of course, this means a grand fortified city. 10km’s of moat and wall surround a city caught between ancient civilisation grandeur and recent style building methods; immense gates match civilisations past to guide us into a huge courtyard more like military parade grounds favoured by leaders of more recent infamy.

Main gate to the Hué Royal Palace, Hué, Vietnam.

This link to a recent time is littered all about this city that crumbles and falls apart like it’s more ancient peers. But it’s not age and slow degradation creating this state of disrepair, again it’s the American war which so little of this country seems to escape. In 1968 the North Vietnamese Viet Cong took control of Hue in the well known Tet Offensive, leading to ruthless executions known now as the massacre of Hue. This action was swiftly countered by the Americans in the battle of Hue. Hints of a grand wonder lay all around us alongside the scars of war fought out in a place that so sadly holds little of it’s original grace. The ancient city is grand, vast and in captures in parts a simple beauty in the vein of grand gardens and palaces but it’s a historical marker now, a visual wonder no more.

The longer we ride, the more food we eat, the more verbal traps we escape at markets the more a row of similarities keep lining up in Vietnam. So strongly does a nations history, heroes and struggles define a people and in Vietnam that tapestry is unerringly one of fortitude, ingenuity, resourcefulness and selflessness. They exist like anywhere but in nearly four weeks I can’t think of a single person or display of behaviour that is in any way indignant, selfish, or petulant. When a child has a hard upbringing it’s oft said that they’re forced to grow up quickly, too quickly perhaps. It seems that the same applies to whole nations; childish overblown ego’s are not on the menu in Vietnam, they grew up. I hope Greg’s observing.

July 22, 2015

While you were working – Same Same or Different, Hue, Vietnam

We’ve woken up not in the twilight zone, but the demilitarised zone. This is not a science fiction scenario or a drug induced psychosis, just the middle of Vietnam where at the Geneva conference of 1954 the post colonial division of north and south Vietnam was drawn. In fact the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) is a little north of Hue but lets not let that get in the way of a bit of tourism advertisement shall we. As the name suggests it’s a zone that runs approximately 100km east to west cutting the skinny middle of Vietnam into a roughly 2km wide band where troops were forbidden from either side. So we’re in the DMZ, no mans land, a dichotomous allocation of peace defined by conflict; a sort of awkward in-between controlled by neither Ho Chi Minh’s communist north or Bao Dai’s republican south.

A lot has happened since 1954, there was a little tiff commonly called the Vietnam war, some may have heard of it; now there is no north or south, no awkward in-between, just Vietnam. It’s easy to say ‘the war’ but in Vietnam what we commonly call ‘the Vietnam war’ is just one of a long list of conflicts that have shaped this nation into the industrious, ingenious and resilient juggernaut that it is; a more apt name for the Vietnam war is really the second Indochina war. Yes before this ‘American war’, as the world was licking its wounds of the second world war, the Viet Minh of the north fought off France and Japan from 1946-1954. With just a few years relative peace the late 50’s should have been Vietnam’s turn to lick it’s wounds but it was not to be. The Viet Minh were forced to kick America’s behind back over the Pacific but this one would last till 1975 and due to American atrocities the nation of Vietnam was battered, bruised and only barely remained beaten.

Hué Citadel from across the Perfume river, Vietnam.

Tragic it is that one country should endure so much but before this all happened there was Japanese occupation and French colonialism and lets not start on Chinese invasions; yes plural. Instead of rattling off all the poo that the world has heaped on Vietnam in recent centuries I’ll just name four of the worlds great and powerful nations of the present: America, Japan, China, France. Pretty formidable quartet but after centuries of beating down on little old Vietnam it’s a storyline to make a hollywood scriptwriter weep, Vietnam persevered and beat them all. The DMZ is now more a relic of pride for this nation that has achieved the impossible, the DMZ isn’t just a 2km wide strip, it’s the whole country waving red flags with a big gold star at the powers that tried to bully it and failed.

So, roughly halfway through this epic road trip we’re halfway up this country and safe in the demilitarised zone which is all very moderating; time to get the bikes looked at. There’s a famous mechanic in these parts, a man of near biblical fame; except that he actually does something of value when you give him money. Charlie rides ahead of a sulking Greg being pushed up the road to salvation; praise be to the mechanic: changer of oil, bringer of ignition and cleaner of carburettor. Mystical shamans are of a different breed here; a short fellow with a big smile and covered not in fine priestly robes but an earthly wash of grease and grit barrels out to meet us over a ground that has a greasy coating just like him. He’s at one with the motor gods. Charlie even jests to him that he must have lost his two amputated fingers in a bike chain. He did lose his two fingers in a bike chain.

Steve being asked for foreign currency to burn at the temple. Near Hué, Vietnam.

First of all there’s a bit of diagnosis which is a nice change in place of the admirable but annoying focus on just getting you going again. A bargain is struck and for now it’s off to attempt to watch some more rugby in a city that has no pay TV, seemingly an aggression not permitted into the demilitarised zone. I guess Charlie watching rugby could be argued as an act of aggression; the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, he is his fathers son. Lets just say that we followed the game by online updates only making our decision to spend the weekend here to catch the rugby a complete disaster. Greg’s namesake does perform admirably on the field though, lets just hope that serves as an example for my big sulking toff.

Our day signs off on possibly the first food let down of Vietnam. In truth the dignity of Vietnamese food remains above accusation, just the service and portion sizing was a bit average. Chopsticks to eat with are usually a good starting point in a restaurant but let’s not gripe. The royal rice cakes, or banh beo (see image top of post), come as a sticky rice slick wrapped in a leaf with some undistinguished red fishy paste while the banh khoai is a kind of kids sized rice pancake also with some variant of surprise mystery filling. Tasty food but it’s off to a trusty street stall to finish the half done job.

Enroute to Hué, Vietnam.

In so many ways stopping in Hue is a natural medium in this country, it’s hard to believe we’ve made it this far through bike breakdowns and on Vietnamese roads. For the first time I start to think that we might actually make it all the way but I dare not voice the prediction aloud. The big question remains, as we bunker down in the neutral DMZ: what, if any, cultural division remains between the north and the south of a country that in relatively recent times has become one? In a few days we’ll launch out of the theoretically irrelevant DMZ on the famous Ho Chi Minh trail to see the great mans vision of a united Vietnam that he was so sadly unable to bring into his own lifetime. The south has been a triumph; so come on north Vietnam, what have you got?

July 22, 2015

While you were working – Winking at the Boys, Hue, Vietnam

The farewells have been made for Hoi An, this town of near immeasurable romance; for now it’s an early morning scamper from town like outlaws in an old western movie. A quick stop by the tailor for a final check up, five baguettes in the backpack and it’s out of town before the sheriff catches us. In truth there’s a rugby game at 2:30pm we’re racing towards but it sounds so much more romantic to be outlaws on bikes running from the law. In a way we are riding illegally so hitting the road again does carry with it a healthy slice of rebellious freedom.

The bikes are in fine fettle even if Greg is spluttering a little and Rob is winking at all the boys as usual with Charlie leaving the indicator on; the little tart. There’s 136km’s to cover today, a short distance by any real measure but it’s all about the Hai Van pass, a small section of mountain switchbacks famous as one of the most beautiful roads in the world. We skirt Da Nang city and before us rises the sharp peaks that plummet into the ocean so dramatically. From sea level we climb, the open expanse of bay that holds Da Nang, Vietnams third largest city, is rimmed by a white crescent beach cradling a big blue ocean like a cupped hand. Up and up we go, a sharp turn on a switchback holds us aloft as if on a pedestal to look out over our domain; mountains are our backdrop but all we have is space and a morning sun dancing a million flickers on that big blue ocean just for us.

Perched on our pillar overlooking the water to Da Nang, Hai Van pass, Vietnam.

A quick coffee at the top has us just short of halfway to Hue in great time for another baguette to go with one last look at this famous view. The spectacular oceanic ride up now so deftly turns from the ocean and into the weaving embrace of the mountains, the road snaking and scything its way elegantly flowing with the mountain rather than bypassing it. Pausing for a photo this is an odd sensation for us, appreciating a man made road scarring wondrous natural grandeur. So often we would think that this scene would be so perfect without the road but the subservient curves bending to the will of the mountains shape only accentuates the roughness of the terrain and places scale to it.

We coast down the winding road a little surprised that the Hai Van pass is so short, less than 20km’s in all but this sharp spike rising form the ocean is the reason for it’s drama, a pimple on the earth rising up so sharply where plains and beaches otherwise should be. And still we twist down, Rob winking all the way at every boy that passes, shamelessly onward to Hue. From famous Hoi An that lived up to its hype we’re enlivened and thrilled by the spectacular Hai Van pass that equally fails to disappoint, maybe disappointment just isn’t a Vietnamese thing.

The ribbon of road descending from the Hai Van pass, Vietnam.

Greg charges with all his bullish brawn while Rob dashes so swiftly, still winking all the while as Charlie seems to enjoy indicating to the world that he’s turning, sometime in the future he’s going to make a turn. The kilometres tick down as we roar to Hue in great time, Greg is spluttering a little more as he heats up but we’re too close to stop. Well we attempt to push on but the big sook is having none of it as he essentially throws a tantrum and splutters to a sulking halt. After a bit of a cool down and some stern words he’s up and running again albeit not happy about the arrangement requiring high revs to keep going; he does need a firm hand does my soft brute. Just like his namesake he may look like he’s going to beat you up and steal your wallet but he’s more likely to give you flowers and then timidly apologise for maybe being too forward, sometimes he just needs to be told what to do.

The run to Hue is a Vietnamese road like any other, chaotic and haphazard at best. At home we drive defensively, we assume that everyone will actively attempt to kill you and so we ride with space and caution. In Vietnam we simply replace the assumed homicidal intent of other drivers with negligent disregard, evidenced by the bus that attempts to overtake and plant Charlie into the middle of its grill if it weren’t for Charlie’s awareness. Traffic is very chaotic but overall quite manageable: except for traffic pulling out from a gutter or side street, there’s no rationalising that part. Flogging a wailing Greg a guy pulls out from the kerb heading for the second lane away and not once was there even a glance towards the traffic, this is beyond common. I swerve into the gutter lane to go around him obeying the golden rule in Vietnam: move consistently so people can plan around you. All simple except that Mr vision impairment decides to falter, stop, start and then stop again. Thankfully I am aware but it’s not without a grand screech on the road, centimetres separating us and some bellowed words that I’m thankful he doesn’t understand. And onward to Hue.

Happier times with our boys, Hai Van pass, Vietnam.

Greg is basically crying in public and crawling on hands and knees protesting as petulantly as possible and all the while not daring to actually stop. While one of our boys is all in a mess the other is still winking at the world still, sashaying his way into town like a renowned burlesque dancer tempting his audience. Maybe I should just rip off the indicators. And so we’re in Hue, a town of great historical significance but for now it’s little more than a rugby game, there’s only so many romantic highs we need in one day. Riding through Vietnam sounded like a great idea at the start of the trip yet little did we quite realise just how impactful or dramatic every single day on the road would become. Be they cities, food, disasters, scenery, experiences and even roads, every reputation in this country seems to be the rarest kind; well earned and never overstated.

July 21, 2015

While you were working – Broken Hearts, Hoi An, Vietnam

The chorus of the Hoi An market choir rises over baskets of herbs and small little pots burning incense in the morning, the cries are raucous and insistent but lacking in urgency; it’s not so much a demand but an introduction. There may be a formidable army before us but there’s breakfast behind, good luck to the defiant ranks trying to resist this charge. Predictably they’re no contest as we carve our way like cavalry through routed infantry. Passing through the threshold the whispers have gotten around, today we’re a no-go zone for the usually feisty ladies on the stalls, today we stroll through the melee with mafia like protection; the Bánh Cuôn Lón madams authority blesses us with untroubled passage.

Typically we mix low brow pornography acting with meal time in an involuntary show of aw’s and ah’s, the Bánh Cuôn Lón madam is not only an effective strong arm around these parts, she knows all the right buttons to press. Sadly this is our last visit to the lady of the house, tomorrow we’re off to Hue, more culinary adventures and the Hai Van Pass. We leave a stack of cash on the counter and she bids us farewell as if we’ll return tomorrow even though she knows we won’t return; she’s a dignified woman and a customer is a customer always.

Enroute to the Hoi An central market, Vietnam.

After the breakup we console ourselves with a fortifying tea before it’s off to break more hearts. The next still beating heart to line the road is the shoe guy; it’s time for our final fitting, I still love how decadent that sounds, on this day of heartfelt farewells purchased in hard currency. They’re so much more real than the ones on credit. The tug boats that are Charlie’s broad shoes are finally ready but the first test run will need to wait a few months till we’re home, there’s simply no thought of wearing anything more than is absolutely necessary in this heat. For now it’s rubber thongs padding the hot road towards the tailors and yet another tear-jerk moment just waiting to be turned into a three minute pop song.

It’s first fitting time, we’re led upstairs for our appointment where our coats await on hangers, chalked and drawn like kids craft projects not yet reaching the high fashion heights we’d envisioned. Feeling a little like life drawing models bared in front of the class we’re fussed over, tugged at and prodded to negotiate every ripple, fold and bunch of fabric soon to fit like a new skin. Comically at one point there’s three tailors scratching their chins and tugging at fabric trying to puzzle out how to get a jacket tail to sit over the enormity of Charlie’s ass. My measuring is done at this stage and while Charlie stares inquisitively at the fit of his suit, the tailors stare quizzically at how on earth they’re going to fit this irregular shape; somehow I keep my mirth a secret, just.

Steve being told what to eat, central market, Hoi An, Vietnam.

For the first time we leave today without a heart broken, we’re back in a few hours for hopefully the finished product. Time to break another heart and this one could be the hardest one of all. We’ve had a few different Cao Lau’s so far but our first was the one we remember the most, it’s time to return to the place it all began, where the love affair with Hoi An caught fire. This time we have broader eyes and we take on other dishes, both fishy soups that miraculously make passing up a Cao Lao worthwhile. And so the story repeats, we leave broken hearts behind, this time the broken hearts are ours. We had a nearly junkie narcotic food fix in Ho Chi Minh city that we didn’t think we’d ever be able to grasp again, until we came here. It’s such a sad resignation to accept, the one where something you’ve just experienced might be the best it’s ever going to get. We know that in Vietnam of all places this type of thinking is folly, but oh what we’d give for the ability to take this small room open to the street filled with child sized red plastic chairs with us.

Final fitting time. The nano-physicists have been brought in to scrawl chalkboards full of equations and talk in grand gesticulating language. I can nearly see a young student rushing through the halls of academia with a piece of paper that finally has the magic equation, the one line of numbers that needs ratification from a peer. Spectacled eyes are furrowed under a heavy brow attempting to comprehend the revolutionary thinking: yes, yes! A relieved exhale and a small dignified fist pump, Charlie’s law is now chalked into tailoring history, the bum has been conquered and the jacket will now sit properly. After fussing around and running to the sewing machine while we wait we’re rocking and rolling, the kids craft project gives way to fashion with the physics revelation a thrown in bonus.

Steve ordering some slow cooked potato cakes, old town, Hoi An, Vietnam.

The farewell is in full swing now, we wander through the streets of Hoi An old town romanticising about this place without all the other tourists, without us. Sometimes, in some places it seems to be the only dignified action: to graciously take ourselves away so that it can be a better place. Hoi An is undoubtedly a tourist trap and so rarely is it the case that it’s beautiful in spite of this. In this most romantic of cities hearts are poured out and broken daily, it’s a place to let the little inner romantic have his way for a time. Tomorrow we’ll leave a trail of broken hearts, some paid for in cash and some in credit but the most important ones weren’t paid for with money at all, just left on a tiny red plastic chair waiting for another bowl of noodles that may never be repeated again.

July 20, 2015

Gluttony Expedition – Slow, Hoi An, Vietnam

Nothing to do and nowhere to go, we’ve been yearning to say that for a few days now as this sleep in time has no finish time we can determine. There is one thing that must happen today of course and that’s to top up on our junkie fix with another bowl of Cao Lau, but the scratching fit and shivers haven’t set in yet leaving our world encased in plush bedding and cool air. Minute by minute the requirements of this day queue up one by one with coffee knocking on the door demanding attention. Let the day begin.

In Buon Ma Thuot, the coffee capital of Vietnam, we were treated to a taste sensation at Trung Nguyen and it’s no great surprise that seeing as there’s a Trung Nguyen here we’re on our way. The heat builds like a tide earlier in the morning than we’d like in sleepy streets that look every year of their historical age. The base of every wall bares scars of flooding which lead to only slightly less tarnished facades above, the old town of Hoi An is from another time and ages with the grace of a vintage star of the stage, never intending to mask what it is. Just as people have done here for as long as these buildings have been writing their stories, we veer into a phó restaurant more akin to a shop with an open front and no fittings beyond the customary stainless steel tables and kids plastic chairs; red of course.

Thu Bon river, Hoi An, Vietnam.

Barely do we sit before noodles are blanched in enormous pots of steaming broth and lumped into bowls from mesh and bamboo baskets that also deny the year on the newspapers front page peddled along the footpath as it always has been. Slices of rare pork replace the usual beef and the stock, stock that so succinctly encompasses everything that slow food enthusiasts crave is poured over decadently, wickedly. Slow food is a novel idea in our country, the antithesis of fast food where food should take time to grow, to harvest, to prepare and most importantly take time to eat and share. In Vietnam slow food oddly arrives quickly, not a novelty here, just the way it is. It’s not just us, so much of our country can be swept away by the romantic ideal of food in a traditional sense, such an intrinsic part of every persons life has so systematically been destroyed by convenience, ignorance and apathy. In this bowl of phó is everything we want in a breakfast but it’s what’s outside the bowl that defines the romantic ideal of a world that often feels further from grasp than it really is.

We walk slower to coffee, the way we always say we should but rarely do. This place is from a time gone by as well, more polish than patina which also demands an abandonment of pace. And time we take, a small coffee and a juice flows over a space of time we can’t put to a clock face, it’s the space of time it took to enjoy, appreciate and share. It’s a natural evolution really, if we afford the slow food principle to our food we inevitably borrow the idea for ourselves. It’s impossible to overstate the simple, elegant intelligence of Vietnamese food but equally important is the authentic life that your food has before it hits your plate, cup or bowl. After all, you are what you eat; slow down.

Bánh Cuôn Lón served in Hoi An central market, Vietnam.

All this slow pace makes me hungry and the market is at least ten minutes away. We waited till the evening for Cao Lau yesterday but no such mistake will be made today, a feisty stroll through the market delivers us to a stall with Cao Lau and Bánh Cuôn Lón. The Cao Lau has the typically silky firm noodles in the forest of green herbs and leaves, a textural wonderland when accompanied by the crispy shards of pork crackling. There is a potential disaster though, Cao Lau might not be the best dish in Hoi An. Bánh Cuôn Lón comes also on a mountain of fresh greens with the firmness of Cao Lau replaced with smooth sheets of steamed rice paper embedded with flavour bursts of garlic, onion and some sort of dried seafood. In nearly three weeks in this herb loving nation we haven’t seen a single wilted or sad leaf, nothing green takes more than a few hours from ground to plate, the humid heat of Vietnam would take sharp care of a green left out for too long as freshness rules the day. We have time, a rice pancake and a spring roll sample simply cannot be passed up; there’s nothing more important to do.

Still time eludes us, this food, this lifestyle that begins with food takes as long as it takes and not a second less, or more. It seems so laughable now how we donate so much energy and time to work in order to get enough money to buy back the health and time we so easily volunteer away instead of spending it on the ideals we work so hard for in the first place. In the cyclic food chain of our own well being just a simple change can cascade through the whole scope of our worlds; more expensive, less nourishing tasteless food replaces the tastier, healthier simple option in search of a simpler option that’s not so simple at all. Is learning to cook a primary building block to not only a healthy life but a cheaper, happier one too?

Japanese bridge, Hoi An, Vietnam.

In the time it’s taken to walk from the market to the shoe shop, slowly of course, it all seems so simple, so laughably absurd and idiotic that we could ever think of food any other way. But we do. Charlie’s shoes look like they’ve been made to my footprint but mine are spot on, an obvious mistake but miraculously we’re asked back in five hours time for the remake. Five hours. It baffles me that such a slow life happens so quickly, or are we just so used to distraction?

And slowly the day goes, we taste doughnuts firm and chewy, rice balls gelatinous and soft, potato cakes pastey and dense along with Cao Lau of course. Still the time seems irrelevant in this rapid world of slow food that as it passes our lips never seems all that far away from where it came from. Much of the reason for this trip was to fight off lives that threatened to swallow us, that for a time did swallow us. In our striving for success we ate up everything that was fed to us by a world intent on distracting us from the broth, the herbs, the noodles and the slow world that brings it all to us. It’s an ethic we hold dear and sometimes touch, in Hoi An it’s not spirituality we need to reach a sense of enlightenment, just what’s in the bowl showing us all that’s outside of it.

July 19, 2015

While you were working – A Deserved Beer, Hoi An, Vietnam

The conversation is a common one, the one with other travellers that inevitably veers towards recent and impending travels. And so the story for us has contained the essential probings about Vietnam, food, sights, scams and places. On this questioning line of discovery there is one element that contains little inquisition, the question of another travellers favourite place in Vietnam. So repetitively the answer returns: Hoi An. And so the charge resumes, after yesterdays dramatic drama-free day covering a whopping 280km’s we’re up for another 305km’s in the two day push to Hoi An that should be taken over three days. Yesterdays Gypsie blessing that backfired in the most spectacular way has been set aside, we’re on our own with a long way between us and high expectations; will the bikes make it?

An earlier start sees us away and into the stop-start first stage of this trip; petrol, oil changes and coffee sees us cowering in a roadside cafe from a torrential downpour. This is not going well. After staying a little longer than we wanted to thanks to the rain, it’s time to jacket up and ride through the torrent, nothing is keeping us from Hoi An today. Except for the flat tyre on Ari’s bike, Dragon Fart, so aptly named for the dragon design on the fuel tank and it’s incessant backfiring. And so we wait, the routine mechanic is right across the road and in short order we’re patched, pumped and purring along the road despite the tropical storm that throws it down in buckets. Where’s that Gypsie blessing when you need it, or is it the Gypsie blessing were seeing?

Greg and Rob our trusty steeds . Or whinging cows depending on their moods. Enroute to Hoi An, Vietnam.

Finally we’re off and although we’re not exactly racing along we’re finally making good time. We were making good time, Greg decides that after days of spectacular behaviour he’ll indulge in a bit of attention seeking. Spluttering and faltering through the rain he eventually throws himself to the floor like a spoilt little shit in the confectionary aisle when dad puts back the chocolate, we simply can’t get going on this day that we most need to. A quick fiddle with some electrical parts and an airgun to clear water out of the workings sees me up and running, finally, can we get this day happening. We get the day happening for about a kilometre before Greg decides that he very much wanted that chocolate, it’s splutter and stall time again. I swear I am about to call child protection myself and start going all bogan child abuse on this big sook any minute and just see how long it takes the authorities to stop me.

Again, a mechanic is about one hundred metres away and it’s a more thorough look into the carburettor for a good cleaning and a bit of love; basically I give the little shit his chocolates. In the longest day of this whole trip we’re about two hours in with barely a scratch on the total distance and already we’re concerned about timing. Finally, now finally we’re set to go until Jamie’s bike, Cat Lady, decides that Greg’s tactics are worth a try and replicates the tantrum. This is not the day to feel the wrath of a Gypsie curse backlash. Gypsie curse or determined resolve, which will win the day?

Fishing boats which are also used to take tourists on rides . The Thu Bon river, Hoi An, Vietnam.

Could anything more possibly go wrong? Oddly enough the greatest attention seeker of them all, Rob, is stoic and irrepressible today, he’s leaking oil which is a concern but we cannot fault his endeavour as all others fall around him. In an odd twist the pouring rain is the least of our worries and for the first time today we make good progress through towering mountains, raging waterfalls and sweeping vistas of lush tropical jungle. We so often associate mountains with aggressive rocky crags, snowy caps and frosty wind but here in Vietnam the immensity, grandeur and intimidation exists without the usual markers. We’re chasing time that seems too far away, Ari who is learning to ride a bike on this trip is battling with rain, Vietnamese roads, Vietnamese traffic and soldiering on only slightly slower than the rest of us who have lifetimes of biking experience behind us. Today is a team effort and we will make it, we must.

Finally we make some progress, it’s nearly 4pm and although a good leg of spectacular scenery lies behind us there’s still over 100km to go and the bikes need a rest. Rob is leaking oil while Greg and Cat Lady are still going well in the lightened rain. We only pray that the rain stays away as we still don’t know if the issue was the carburettor or water related leaving us riding on eggshells. Hurdle after hurdle has been placed before us but outright disaster has not visited as we resign to arriving in the dark, a terrifying prospect but our resolve to reach Hoi An today is not abandoned so easily.

Beer to celebrate…arrival, Thu Bon river, Hoi An, Vietnam.

Flying now, Rob is decorating the relatively dry roads with regular rainbows of leaking oil, a hippie style line of breadcrumbs for us all to follow; we ned a mechanic but the famed Vietnamese regularity has abandoned us in our hour of need. Rob, the brave sook pushes on, we wait at every corner for a catastrophic breakdown but he stoically persists. Ten, twenty, thirty kilometres nearly; it must be the longest stretch of road in this country without a mechanic but Rob still pushes unbelievably forward. Is the dream of Hoi An today about to literally go up in smoke?

On top of Robs second by second proposition, Dragon Fart’s chassis has literally cracked and is falling apart, Ari is sliding and drifting all over the road as just one more hurdle to her learning to ride experience and still she refuses to quit. Caught between needing oil for Rob and staying with the convoy Charlie and I are terrified of Rob giving it all up so we push forward to oil and to also take the pressure off Ari who is trying so admirably to keep up on a bike that simply can’t. Today has started poorly and like a hastily made house of cards it’s on the brink with still about 80km’s to go.

On fading light Rob’s determination pays off, we’ve made it and it’s into a mechanic for oil and a home welding job on Dragon Fart to keep us going. Just when we though that the dream of Hoi An was over we’re thrown a lifeline, or at least a hope. With a long way to go, fading light, two bikes untested in heavy rain, one recently welded back together and another dotting rainbows all over the road our motley band of determination presses forward. Corner by corner the light fades and the chaos that is a Vietnamese road grows and grows in its threat. Greg isn’t handling low revs, I have to charge forward so Charlie and I leave Jamie and Ari intermittently abandoning the dream of a happy convoy to scrap our way there as best we can to be rejoined in intervals of rest.

Cyclo drivers lined up for a fare, Hoi An, Vietnam.

Darkness descends, we now have no sunglasses to add to the challenge, this is unquestionably the toughest riding I have ever done. We’re tired, it’s hard to concentrate, Bugs are hitting our faces and stinging our eyes, the roads are patchy and chaotic, trucks blind our eyes and charge at us head on forcing us from the road, all manner of traffic emerges from side streets and kerbs without looking, our bikes are slowly failing and we’re all a little scared. Our nerves are fraying but in this most horrific of circumstance we think of Ari the most, if she can get through this she can ride anywhere on earth; the rest of us at least have years of managing a bike in traffic. There’s no immediate threat of disaster if we keep our heads; but rarely are great disasters preceded by an awareness of them, the risks here are real and unmistakeable.

Stopping on a side road we think is ours I ask some local guys if it’s the back way to Hoi An. I could nearly cry with relief, a happy man waves down the road and indicate that he’s going that way. We gladly follow. Like climbing aboard a life raft from a sinking ship we plod slowly on this traffic free and well lit road. None of us can believe it but we are mere minutes from Hoi An. The road has thrown up more dramas and obstacles than we could imagine in this day that wasn’t so much a road trip but a test of resolve. Our huge rooms and soft beds are a well earned embrace, Ari particularly has achieved something to be proud of on a day that darted fear into seasoned riders. Maybe for the next leg we’ll call on the Gypsie gods again; or maybe not. We wanted a drama free day but in its place we had a life lesson, a test of fortitude and in Hoi An, I think we deserve a beer.

July 18, 2015

Gluttony Expedition – The First Step to Recovery, Hoi An, Vietnam

A new dawn, a new day; unlike most dawns of untainted promise this day carries some of the frayed nerves from the past two days of toil and trouble. But the sun does rise, it is a new day and what’s more we’re in Hoi An, the town that many describe as the pinnacle of colonial beauty in Vietnam making the battle on the road all worth it. First stop is coffee at a small place we saw yesterday evening on our necessary food and beer scout, to sit by the river and soak up a different side of Vietnam where French colonial history comes to the fore. The waters of the Song Thu Bon delta slowly slip by as this city wakes to a sunrise illuminating the first images of rustic historical building facades caught between Europe, Asia and imagination. The past two days dramas finally slip towards to ocean like yet another of the coloured lamps that drift on the slow waters now.

Tight streets weave between roughed up buildings that cling to a former glory in the blessedly unplanned patchwork that only old cities can manage with elegance. Let the gorging begin, breakfast is two bowls of different noodles that carry the typical Vietnamese sumptuous warmth that artificial imitations can never reach. Fine white rice noodles swim in a pool of hot nutrition laden with slices of pork, chilli and awaiting the herb garden and fish sauce we are about to add. There’s no alternative possible or even thought of here, soup broth is an art form and not a single sachet, bottle or jar is allowed anywhere near it setting up every day with authenticity, optimism and slow hand made love; pun intended.

Old town streests of Hoi An, Vietnam.

There is love in the beginning of a Vietnamese day to accompany a dark side. In Ho Chi Minh we had our first taste of street food narcotics, a mysterious lady we have take to calling the Dark Heron gave us the first illicit hook of Vietnamese street food and as the saying goes, there’s no replicating the first taste. In Hoi An however the junkie fix is close to being sated, we had our first taste of Cao Lau last night, the dish only available in Hoi An making us wonder if we can stop craving the pork pattie baguettes of the Dark Heron for a new fix, a more extreme hit to drown the needs of all that came before it. The day proceeds without Cao Lau but we need it more and more.

Hoi An is famous for Cao Lau of course, along with its history, beautiful river bridges and gracious architecture but it’s also a home for tailoring. In a nation that boasts much of the worlds clothing manufacturing there exists a booming undercurrent of skilled labour tailoring custom clothing at market prices; it’s off to replenish the wardrobe. In a tailors we sit at a table having been brought two bowls of the classic Pho to keep us in the shop, it seems that even buying clothes this day is about food. It’s not Cao Lau but delicious of course and we leave on an insistence that we must not pay; apparently home lives and shop lives blend and we’re told that in the shop or the home it’s a Vietnamese welcome to feed and we must accept the hospitality.

Trying to sell her produce to a restaurant, Hoi An, Vietnam.

We leave without spending a cent but we follow the matriarch to her sons shoe shop, yes they hand make shoes as well in this nation of limitless endeavour. Not too fussed about the clothes we are uncertain about a purchase, but the shoes are spectacular; we select leathers and styles for our first fitting unbelievably tomorrow. Still no Cao Lau as we set off to another tailor for a comparison. In a plush looking store we are sat at tables and talked through styles, fabrics and of course costs. Annoyingly the plush place is of notably greater quality so we fork out the notably greater quantity of cash and book in for the measure up for three coats and one suit for Charlie. Apparently this will all be done for first fitting in a day and a half with a final fitting just two and a half days away, lets see how this goes.

It never ceases to amaze me how tiring shopping is, we’re incapable of going on so it’s a fast retreat from the oppressive heat to our rooms for a shower and air con. We now have a conundrum, there’s Cao Lau out there but there’s blessed cool in here; a tough decision needs to be made. Drawn like a junkie to a fix we stroll the riverside taking photos on the look out for the bigger and better drug that’s going to make the Dark Herons magic finally fade to a distant memory. The temporary appeasement of a small cities grace keeps the withdrawals at bay but before long, somewhere in the twisting lanes of Hoi An there’s the magic sign like a ray of light from the clouds to a non believer: Cao Lau.

The famous Cao Lau dish of Hoi An, Vietnam.

I’m usually an attentive photographic assistant but right now I’m abandoning my post, Charlie can deal with his own tripod; no pun intended. As usual there’s no need to order, sitting down is ordering but in this case it’s more like a holding room in a drug dealers apartment a little later than our cravings can bare. The first bowl arrives before Charlie does as courtesy goes out the window, I really need this. Thick firm noodles loaded top a bed of herbs and topped with pork, crackling and some kind of magic sauce is my saviour, confidant, guru and lover all in one, leaving me to a near spiritual moment on a child size red plastic chair. They say admitting you have a problem is the first stage to recovery. While this may be true there’s a far simpler solution, if we don’t run our of Cao Lau there’s no problem in the first place. They also say that prevention is better than the cure; don’t they?

July 17, 2015

While you were working – Gypsie Blessing, Kon Tum, Vietnam

It’s never a dull day on the road. So far on this road trip days have refused to sit quietly in the corner and go unremarked; be it getting lost, dazzling scenery, breakdowns, delicious food journeys, priceless cultural insights or Viet traffic, a day on the road never seems to pass without a noteworthy event. Today will be the day it changes, we are heading for Hoi An and trying to skip beyond our planned stop in Pleiku and onward to Kon Tum; the boys will behave today, they must. So with Ari and Jamie ready to launch into the day I throw up a bit of Gypsie magic declaring that if Greg starts first try we’re blessed with good fortune. The crowd leans in, breaths are held, the moment is here; success!

With the grace of Gypsiie mystique we set off and it’s a cracking pace to start, we veritably chew up the road with all four chargers firing and in fine form. With 260km’s in front of us on wobbly steeds that can barely crack 60km/h at best it’s a long day ahead but my morning conjuring seems to be doing the trick, in a blink it’s time for lunch. Summoning the age old rules of street food selection we stop at a basic place by the road that has a crowd of local faces. Bingo, chicken and rice goes with a squash soup to fill the stomachs and hearts alike. With not a care in the world we’re ahead of schedule with a great lunch in our bellies saddling up on well behaved bikes: Rob, Greg, Cat Lady and Dragon fart all deserve gold stars for good behaviour.

Ari, Jamie and Steve: waiting for the mechanics to fix Rob and Dragon Fart, enroute to Hoi An, Vietnam.

If you’re a mystical person you might say that the universe delivers lessons along with blessings; if not you might just say that you can’t have it all your own way all of the time. Drama free was my proclamation this morning but I was admittedly referring to the bikes, drama can take many forms. So often in our lives shocking events are delivered to us in slips, clips and hints only; the flash in the corner of your eye, a scream that alone chills the blood or the near miss that passes before you can feel the gravity of its consequence. So often these dramatic moments sit in our memories unlike a story, with no clear beginning, middle and end, just a flashing hint of something that happened to someone at some time with some sort of consequence that remains undefined. It seems the Gypsie gods have a wicked sense of justice.

As we straddle the bikes the screech of the tyres doesn’t catch us from a dark corner beyond sight, it’s played out in front of us as a late model silver Toyota swerves and snakes on screeching tyres just ten or so metres from us. This dramatic event isn’t disjointed into a fragmented sliver, the beginning of the story is so awkwardly full of all senses and in plain view. There’s a bus coming the other way full of people travelling to another place no doubt full of excitement and anticipation sharing a lane with the screeching Toyota in a space only fit for one or the other. This story develops it’s plot to a body of work and we can’t consign it to a caught glimmer, each gut wrenching twist is so horribly unavoidable.

Sunset, Kon Tum, Vietnam.

The screeching wails at us, this instant is stretched like a piece of bubble gum to extend far beyond the bounds of time it should occupy, grabbing us in a vice like grip to ride the terror with it. The plot develops like a slowly unfolding story: the screeching continues beyond the bus drifting onward with dreams of excitement and anticipation still intact for the destination ahead going the opposite way. Those stories live another moment, it’s now a thriller refined down to the silver Toyota as the pace picks up to the crescendo of this story we see unfold so completely. We wish we were able to hear the last screech or just see a flash like is so often the case. But no; brutally, cruelly we stagger forward fixed on the slow motion drama that we weren’t banking on and so jokingly blessed ourselves from. And still it screeches, the echo reverberates and disappears leaving nothing of itself beyond the cramp in our stomachs and the snaking scar so unavoidable on the road, a stain our wishes just won’t wash away. The hopeful journeys pass us now in the bus on their way to wherever their aspirations already lie, this story has now passed for those lucky few. The story that just won’t end tones down from a screech to a scuffing rumble as tyres leave bitumen and continue their scarring yell on bare dirt. A thud replaces the scuffing scream like a muffled victim finally erased from the world, a crunch ensues with the silver Toyota rolled ungraciously onto its roof just a short way down the road.

Jamie is the first into a run, my dazed legs are soon behind him after jettisoning my bag in favour of pace; we’re running to help but what are we helping, and exactly how? We’re first on the scene battling the dread of possibly staring into dead eyes that no longer see with the obvious need to help; this story won’t stay confined to a fleeting impression, we must live every second drawn out in spiteful detail. Yanking at door handles and banging on windows there’s no response from inside for what seems an eternity, or is it just a moment? Others arrive now and kick at the toughened windows to no avail, a second of hopelessness chimes forever like a tuning fork in the vacuum of shock. The tuning fork rings and in the moment of despair that will not end a window opens slowly; joy at the movement is mixed with relief for not having to stare at eyes that don’t see.

The car after the victims got out safely. Near Buon Ma Thout, Vietnam.

despair masks relief and turns to astonishment, Jamie and I are both crowding the window fruitlessly fumbling in lieu of a valid alternative when a frail elderly lady crawls over the ceiling upholstery with nought but resolve on her face. I’m closest and I help her to sit a few metres away as a sharply dressed young man and a pretty girl emerge also full of resolve even if the girl is clutching her shoulder in pain. In a wave of calm I now hear the engine running, the crows turns to look when I scream to Jamie who selflessly launches into the upturned car to turn the key and call a dramatic end to this story that has gone on too long. In truth it was mere seconds of a story that is so rarely witnessed in completion. Charlie emerges with my bag I’d called him to watch and Ari is slowing traffic, we’re all desperate to do something but none of us really know what.

Shaken and equally alarmed at the calm resolve of three people that were not watching the story, they were the story we sit astride our bikes to attempt to resume a road trip free of drama. An ambulance and a crowd of people that speak the right language releases us from guilt, there’s nothing more we can do here. The Gypsie blessing does its trick, history will tell that all bikes behave and we make good time to Kon Tum and a debrief over beers. For some time though we’re not stuck in the story, just dealing with its scars left on more than just the road. We’d jokingly asked for a mystical blessing for a drama free day and in a way we were granted it, we however didn’t appreciate the price for the deal we struck.

July 16, 2015

While you were working – A Bit of Bling, Buon Ma Thuot, Vietnam

The screaming public row that was yesterday simmers still, there’s no need for a trip to the lawyer for divorce proceedings, just a trip to the mechanic that we’re calling a counsellor nowadays. This is the best counsellor ever, it turns out all along that all Rob needed was something shiny to wear out to the party. With a shiny new exhaust pipe blinging in the morning sun, Rob is purring like a society lady lathered in Tiffany and Chanel. Again the seven wonders of the world really should become eight, Vietnamese mechanics are truly a force of nature. In less than an hour, not only is Rob cured like a manic fifties housewife downing some potent amphetamines, he’s all dolled up with jewellery and hitting the town. We all breathe a sigh of relief, lawyers are so frightfully expensive.

So here we are, the awkward make up has taken place a little quicker than we thought so we sit on the cusp of a day crammed full of mechanical pain that all too quickly becomes all too devoid of distraction. Lets play a game; we’re in a town famous for coffee and with a day of open space lets have a guess at what we should do. Amazingly we decide that it’s time to taste coffee and in Buon Ma Thuot there’s only one place to go, the coffee village. Just out of town we were thinking of a quaint little village of coffee growers but it turns out that the term village is a little more flexible, we park Rob and Greg in the carpark of a plush little conglomerate of gardens, water features and statues interspersed with glamorous historical style cafes.

Vietnamese coffee, with the phin brewer sitting on top, Buon Ma Thuot, Vietnam.

Half open pagoda, half decadent art gallery we sit cross legged on a raised platform in this subtly lit space of carved dark timber and old world charm. Coffee in Vietnam is serious business and nowhere more than Buon Ma Thuot, an array of bean blends sound like a different language to these usually informed coffee snobs now treading on new ground. On recommendations we go for blends we can’t remember now that deliver tastes we are unlikely to forget for a long time. The usually sweet chocolatey punch in the face is pulled apart and layered into it’s separate elements: cherry, chocolate, floral herbs and sour fruit come together in a package that we call coffee. It’s coffee unmistakably, but it’s so much more somehow and in this setting that throws us back to a glamorous last century or possibly earlier we’re on a historical journey, not just a flavour one.

It’s also today that we discover the defining difference between Viet coffee and espresso that we usually go for; how can such a rudimentary method produce a consistently great result in place of the sometimes hit and miss hi-tech methods we are used to? In short, the secret is in the roasting. Where coffee as we know it strips back the easy masks and challenges the produce to stand on its own and ask to be appreciated, Viet coffee dispenses with snobbery and goes directly for the tasty outcome. So instead of roasting beans as they are, Viet coffee roasts the beans in oil of sorts, often clarified butter, along with possibly sugar or even cocoa powder to create a caramel crust.

Boys fishing behind the waterfall, near Buon Ma Thuot, Vietnam

So the philosophically unanswerable question remains: is it better to simply make a great outcome or is there credit in shunning the amendments to nature and striving for perfection in simplicity? The answer in Vietnam is not one or the other, like all good philosophical musings the question leads us to new thoughts rather than unreachable answers, coffee here acts as a parallel commentary on Vietnam itself. In a nation with little resources that couldn’t afford expensive machines the Vietnamese, unlike so many other cultures, refused to accept mediocrity. Vietnam in so many ways exemplifies the antithesis of laziness and apathy; no part of life great or small escapes the keen eye of a culture that refuses to accept the hand that is dealt without striving for something better. In this most romantic of settings a cup of coffee so aptly summarises the strength of a nation: Never let it rest; until your good is better and your better is your best, goes the saying.

From the padded seat of epiphany it’s off to a waterfall with two others we’ve met at our hostel, Ari and Jamie. A few wrong turns sends us onto some less than perfect roads and through some very perfectly off piste villages on our long way too the falls. In the middle of an otherwise flat plain a large space is carved out by overhanging rock which tumbles water dramatically over a heavy shelf. We walk past the tour groups that would otherwise be us if it weren’t for Greg and a now well behaved Rob, now more than ever we’re feeling the liberation that comes with having our own wheels. With a little bit of bling a day of mechanics has become so much more to teach us the old saying that is so foreign to gay men: ‘happy wife, happy life’. For now it’s the more familiar and very immediate saying we embrace: ‘the way to a mans heart is through his stomach’. Can’t agree more, dinner time it is.

July 15, 2015

While you were working – The Scoreboard, Buon Ma Thuot, Vietnam

180 says the scoreboard on the side of the road, the scoreboard that counts down rather than up, 180km until we reach Buon Ma Thuot and the coffee mecca of Vietnam. Greg is in fine fettle after his stern talking to just days ago and even the temperamental princess Rob is making good time to the foot of the mountains, despite the last days refusal to start electronically; kick starts are so common. Scenery plays out like a scripted artwork, rice paddies reflect the rearing mountains through green shoots of new rice, canvases painted on a grand scale. The scoreboard ticks along like any other except for the direction of the counting, a turnoff says the score is now 136 with the sun still low in the sky warming our backs.

A century seems a good score to celebrate, 100 on the board and we’re still going strong. There’s no coffee at this cafe so it’s a cool drink in its place, the stifling heat of the lower plains already melting into a scoreboard with favourable numbers on a day that defines a great road trip. Rob had been behaving so well. The refusal to start electronically now passes onto the kick start as the little drama queen won’t budge, sending me scouting the roadside for mechanics with Charlie resorting to the silent treatment. The placement of mechanics in Vietnam is uncanny, there’s one at every corner it seems as Charlie pushes the little tart a few hundred metres ahead to salvation. Salvation in theory at least, a smiling face gestures another five kilometres down the road in the typical Vietnamese way; if you don’t understand something, just laugh. There’s 99 on the scoreboard and things don’t look great.

Starting off with a tow rope we tentatively venture a kilometre or so up the road but we’re not sure about picking up speed downhill on bikes with just a metre or two between us; it’s time to bring a bit of Viet style into this mission. We’ve seen it done but haven’t tried it, instead of pulling the sulking cow, just give her a good push with one foot on the exhaust; what could possibly go wrong? We’re asking ourselves that a little too often lately. Gentlemen start your engines; in a staggered position like a racing grid we set off slowly with my foot shoving Rob by the ass, literally. In no time we pick up a bit of speed, this crazy idea actually works. Time to change gear, shit, I need my left foot for that. A bit of a kick in the bum sets the unhappy couple a tad ahead and a quick change sees me a little wobbly but back in the groove. If the word absurd needed a definition, I hereby submit us right now as a candidate.

Making our dinner, on the road, Vietnam

The scoreboard reads 95 and we pull into a roadside garage not sure if it’s a mechanic despite the sign at the front, it’s far too clean. In a flash the engine cover is off and it’s disaster, Rob is not only sulking now, the toys are truly out of the cot with a large flap of crumpled metal twisting off the alternator. Oh dear. No worries goes the saying, out comes a hammer to beat some sense into Rob and with the bent metal bashed into place he shoves the alternator back on. Our smirks soon slip from our faces as Rob starts again first kick. Maybe he just needs more kicking.

With a whining Rob sulking all the while we’re ticking over the scoreboard again as each kilometre throws up more and more of the Vietnamese phenomenon of carrying the world on a scooter. Piles of logs two metres long and thick as legs, five metre long tubes of rolled roofing metal or just a henhouse of chickens along with your family, there’s nothing that Vietnamese people can’t get onto a scooter. And to think of all the times that I’ve borrowed a ute to carry something that could have just gone onto a scooter, shameful. Ticking off 37 more from the scoreboard the complaining is just too much and in the comfort of a larger town we decide the little shit needs some attention; or domestic violence. Is it bad if that’s a grey area?

A new alternator goes along with a little electronic widget and we’re off again, the scoreboard ticks down from 58 which is too far to push Rob by the exhaust pipe. Not willing to stop, Charlie urges me forward to try an get some baguettes that we can eat on the run so hi-ho Greg, away. Like a thoroughbred, the usually more power-over-pace brute clips into a charge on the thought of food; he’s becoming more like me by the day. Sadly no baguettes are on offer and feeling uneasy about leaving Charlie behind we stop off for the best thing on offer; as the scoreboard reads 37 it’s a couple of packets of chips while Greg and I wait for Charlie and Rob to round a corner.

On our way to dinner, street scene, Vietnam

It’s a miracle, here they come and in mid ride I’m handing over some chips to Charlie as an alternative definition for the word absurd. I hang in behind and with the occasional corn twistie flying off into the air I can’t help feel that we look like a motorised Hansel and Gretel in desperate need of rescue on our way to our doom. As the scoreboard ticks over at 20 we’re run off the road again, it seems that oncoming traffic can excuse themselves for anything as long as they beep the horn, but we survive just another standard feature of Vietnamese roads. 20, 19, 18; I think if all else fails I can shove a foot on the exhaust pipe for 20km’s but each metre represents a victory as we’re all collectively cheering on Rob to make it just a little further even though the sounds are getting worse and worse; death is inevitable.

One is not the loneliest number than I’ve ever heard, it’s the best. The city border of Buon Ma Thuot is behind us now and like a spoilt brat at the gates of school on a first day Rob throws himself to the ground and holds his breath till he goes blue in the face. The scoreboard reads just one and it’s foot on the pipe yet again for the metaphorical kick in the ass that the pretty boy needs more than a celebrity bad girl. As Greg whispers to me “Charlie deserves so much better” the scoreboard ticks over to zero upon my reply; “I think they’re made for each other”. There is only one solution to these irreconcilable differences, coffee; and Rob is not invited.