Motorcycle diaries Vietnam style!

From tranquillity to insanity


Let me start this story of my epic journey through Vietnam’s central highlands with a little background of my whereabouts at the time. I was travelling Vietnam North to South; starting in the loudest, fastest and most buzzing city I had ever had the pleasure of plonking myself right smack in the middle of; the capital: Hanoi. Travelling on the well trodden South East Asia full circle loop starting and ending in Bangkok, I had just left behind one of the most under-populated and chilled out countries I have ever been to: Laos. With a total population of around 6 million, you can understand my shock at leaving Laos and finding myself (after a luxurious one hour flight), in a country geographically similar in size but with a whopping 80 million inhabitants.

After two glorious weeks of indulging myself in the devilishly divine Beer Laos, sticky rice and devouring novels amongst stunning untouched scenery, I was suddenly stood in Hanoi’s Old Quarter heart racing, adrenalin pumping wondering how the fuck am I going to cross this road heaving with 4 millions scooters? As the minutes pass by I am self consciously becoming aware that my F.O.B (Fresh off the Boat) status is becoming increasingly obvious to the thousands of pairs of eyes I’m imagining are fixated upon me. The air of confidence I am trying to maintain in this strange place is diminishing rapidly. In reality no one is looking, no one cares, its just one more nervous and naïve Westerner out of the hordes of tourists streaming through this city daily.

A ha! But I’m clever you see, I’ve read my Lonely Planet, they told me that if I run, I die, if I stop, I die, its all about walking slowly but decisively straight into the oncoming traffic. But what about the rules of the road the hedgehog from the videos in school taught me: Stop, Look and Listen? Come on Antonia, that’s not going to help you now, this is Asia, get real.
“Ok, if in doubt, watch the locals” I tell myself.
True to it’s words, I realise the bible (L.P) has not let me down as I gawp in amazement at locals. They appear to me to be attempting suicide as they stride straight into the heaving traffic, are momentarily gulped by thick smog, and spewed out the other side unscathed. I have to watch this a few more times, until finally I grit my teeth, half close my eyes, cross my fingers and with all the power within me fight the urge not to run or stop. Sure enough the drivers weave in and out of each other and around me with skill that could only possibly have been acquired sometime in their mother’s womb.

I am ecstatic, I am god; I have got the power to divide a great ocean of moving vehicles, again…again… I want to do it again! Ok, so the novelty wears of after the first day, and no I’m not god, welcome to Vietnam where car tax is 200% resulting in a land filled with scooters. The only way to travel in Vietnam is on two wheels at I was soon to find.



The Seven Stop Bus Ticket

Anyone who has been to Vietnam will undoubtedly have travelled on the insanely cheap and impressively organised Seven Stop Bus Ticket. This hop-on, hop-off tourist bus ticket is a backpackers dream as its flexible, hassle free and CHEAP. For just $25 (USD) you can travel from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City stopping in five or six other destinations on the way. However, buying into this undisputable bargain of a lifetime requires some careful consideration. After already heavily involving myself in Vietnams super competitive and highly advanced tourist industry, I had officially lost all my independent traveller status through trips such as Ha Long Bay. Did I really want to be horded around the whole country in a similar fashion, being “advised” on which guesthouses to stay in or restaurants to eat in? But as with most fellow backpackers, economics got the better of me and from then on my long journeys were in the hands of my “trusty” tour operators who made sure I was escorted, along with the thousands of other tourists to the major towns of interest.

After Jasmine, Julia and I had been horded through Hue, Hoi An and Nha Trang, the latter two seemingly existing solely for tourism, where a western face was treated as synonymous to crisp dollar bills; enough was enough. We came here to travel and for us this meant learning about the culture, politics and economics of more then the mass tourist industry. We were tired of being utterly segregated from the local people and paying exorbitant prices (relatively speaking) for bananas and pho bo (beef noodle soup). So with a quick change of itinerary we were on yet another long bus journey, this time leaving the coast behind us and climbing into the lush green rolling hills of the Central Highlands. Dalat was our destination where we were to embark on a very different kind of tour, this is the Easyrider way.



The Easyriders

The Easyriders are a crew of motorcycle guides who promise even the most jaded tourists a taste of the “real Vietnam” and a journey well away form the demolished tourist superhighway. Again as promised by my trusty pocket bible, you don’t have to find these guides, they will find you. Sure enough, within half an hour of stepping off the bus, Lulu is chatting away to me in a café as I await the arrival of the other girls. Earning more in a day then the average Vietnamese earns in a month, these leather jacket and rayban clad entrepreneurs have hit the big time thanks to mistakes of the rest of the countries bumbling tourist industry. Reading Lulu’s comment book rich with promises of the ‘journey of a life time’ and gaining real insight into rural Vietnamese life, I’m sold.

Mortorcycle diaries Day 1

Day one

‘I knew there would be no regrets about this journey and today has just confirmed my predictions. We have seen so much and learned more about Vietnamese culture and history in one day then I have in the past 3 weeks!’

Dalat is situated in one of the highest points of the central highlands and having been in tropical weather for the last 6 weeks, we are cold to the core. Wearing the only two jumpers I have in my backpack, gushes of cold air still manage to flow up my sleeves and down my neck as I cruise around on the back of Lulu’s Honda. Indifferent however, I’m smiling from ear to ear as I gulp the pure, unpolluted air and take in the stunning scenery. It certainly cannot be described as untouched in the Laos sense, as rampant agriculture has stamped its mark on every inch of the land. With its cool and equally sunny and rainy climate, the rich soil here is serves as a vegetable patch for the whole country.

Our two guides, Lulu and Phuk take us around numerous farms growing a vast range of flowers, vegetables, fruit, and this areas most lucrative product, coffee. Oh Vietnamese coffee...how I miss the super strong shots of espresso served dripping through tiny aluminium percolators resting precariously on top of a glass and sweetened with a huge dollop of condensed milk. In a similar way to the Italians, coffee culture is ingrained in (predominantly male) Vietnamese life and tiny cafes, often no more then rickety wooden shacks with plastic tables and child sized stools can be found on every street corner.


One of the most interesting places we visit that day is the silk factory where we see the fascinating transformation of a worm into an intricately patterned silk scarf! Inside the deafening, primitive factory women’s hands move at such speed and skill they are a blur.

Meeting the Ma children

‘We come to a stop somewhere in the central highlands and pay a visit on the Ma people. No sooner do we climb off the motorbikes and we are surrounded by children. Grubby little faces smile at us and hands appear from everywhere eagerly anticipating the coconut sweets that they know Lulu is going to produce. As the sweets come out, there is chaotic pushing and shoving until everyone receives their share. We are invited into a wooded shack to drink tea with some of the older members of the community who mind the children while the parents work in the coffee plantations.

‘We are interested to know why, in a country with a two child policy, there are so many kids in this tiny hamlet. Lulu tells us that the government were also concerned with this, so in came the doctors and out came the condoms. Six months after the condoms were distributed, the doctors came back to check the progress and much to their dismay more women were pregnant. It seems that after a night’s consumption of the potent local brew, condoms are the last things on these gentlemen’s minds! I think that the government’s strategy needs tweaking slightly!

‘The Ma children do not go to school. Keen to maintain a strong sense of tradition in this minority village, the families reject the governments attempts to assimilate them into mainstream Vietnamese society which includes education. They speak their own language and don’t understand Vietnamese, but of course all the children can say “Hello” and “bye, bye” in perfect English!'

Village life

‘As the sun begins to set we hit the Dak Lac province and notice more civilisation as we speed through a fairly large town. We are staying in the outskirts of the town amongst the M’Nong minority people. Most of the buildings in the village are built out of bamboo in the traditional longhouse style.

We eat in the house of the village chief (we are dubious about this fact but anyway…). He is 87 and his wife who must sit behind the men out of the circle is 92.

After a delicious dinner of succulent pork and noodles the rice wine is flowing.
For every new glass we down we

have to clink glasses and shout “yo!”. Much to our dismay, after 3 or 4 glasses this homemade brew becomes no less disgusting! Then the songs begin as our hosts sing their traditional folk songs. Unfortunately we totally let the side down as we can’t remember any words of our songs but we manage to remember enough words of the “yellow submarine” to form what might have been described as a song! We giggled all the way back to our long-house and battled with our mosquito nets trying to find the entrance.’

Day 2

‘5am and we are rudely awoken by farmyard sounds. The rooster’s actually sound like they are in my bed and as the screeching pig predicts its imminent slaughter, I suddenly begin to feel guilty about the succulent pork I tucked into last night.’

The people of this village get up at around 4am and head down to the lake to start fishing. At around 8am they go straight out to the fields where they will undertake backbreaking manual labour until dusk. The advertisement billboards in this area do not bombard us with familiar brand images of trans national corporations, rather they are an array of often quite amusing communist propaganda illustrations. Lulu tells me that many of the ones in this village are encouraging workers to work harder to increase productivity thus improve their living standards and the overall nation’s economy. What continues to baffle me is that for people who work the hours I have mentioned above, is it possible to work any harder? Having seen the ways these people live, they work harder then anyone I have ever met, yet they have absolutely nothing in terms of material wealth. They like in bamboo shacks dress in tattered old clothes and eat whatever livestock they maintain or food grown locally.

A taxi home from the fields, rural Vietnam style!

Lost in the jungle!

Lost in the jungle

After a morning in the saddle sightseeing and learning about the Vietnam War, it was time for a little trek in the jungle.

Diary entry:

‘Lulu escorts us to a waterfall and shows us the path to follow which will take us to the second waterfall where he and Phuk will be waiting to pick us up. Our only instructions are:

“Turn left at the first turning”

Fantastic, couldn’t be easier. So off we trot, happy to be relieving our saddle bum in the stunning lush jungle. It’s 3.30pm and the gently lowering sun shines brightly through the gaps in the trees. We take the first left turning only to be confronted by an angry barking dog protecting the house that we are about to walk in to.

“Ok, that was a small path; it must be the next left turning.”
So we continue along the brick red path that has already covered our shoes and trousers with its potent dust.

“Ah, ha! Another left turning”

This time we come across fields filled with small shrubs dripping with thousands of red, orange and green chilli peppers. They look so beautiful. We come across a group of local farmers who are busy munching on great big slices of crunchy semi-ripe papaya that they have just picked from a tree. They look momentarily taken aback at the sight of 3 western girls roaming around this remote backcountry alone, but smile generously and offer us some of their snack. As we stand around noisily chomping on the fruit dipped into an interesting concoction of salt, sugar and chilly, they confirm our suspicions through exaggerated hand signals that we are going the wrong way. We say our goodbyes and in another direction.

Getting directions from the papaya lady.

Suddenly, one of the papaya ladies comes running after us pointing at the sun and waving her arms around like a mad women. We think she is telling us that the route we are taking will take us 2 hours as she points nervously at the rapidly setting sun. It takes us about 20 minutes to convey to her that we have to go this way because our guides are meeting us at the second waterfall. She is adamant however, that we will not make it and walks us right back to where Lulu left us and points us down a completely different path that she assures us will take us to the second waterfall.

In spite of our anxiety about whether we are heading to the right place due to the complete language barrier, we trust the kind lady. We are now stomping down the meandering path, heading deeper and deeper into the jungle to the chorus of screeching mosquito’s.

“Shit, we are in the jungle at dusk near the Cambodian border, was this a spot marked red on my malaria map?”

I quit my malaria pills 2 weeks ago!

We have no water, no food, no DEET and to tourch talk about travelling prepared! An hour later just as the light fades dangerously fast, we finally hit a road. Never have I been so happy to see beautiful tarmac! All my visions of bedding down on the jungle carpet being eaten alive by mosquitoes and snakes instantly evaporate. As we march down the road we are greeted by the roaring sounds of thousands of litres of gushing water. This has got to be the waterfall, and sure enough as we come around the corner we are greeted by the sight of a phenomenal mini Niagara falls type waterfall. But we are not interested in sightseeing no matter how impressive this particular point of interest might be, and our elation at the thought of being saved quickly gives way to a sinking feeling as we realise the place is deserted, no motorbikes, no guides.

We see a road at the other side of the waterfall. Has this different path led us to the wrong side? Unable to see any way of crossing this vast expanse of water, we resume our march back up the road. Then comes the true highlight of my day, as we are dazzled by bright lights and the sounds of friendly beeping horns, yes our chariot awaits. Phuk and Lulu had gone back to the start of the walk thinking we had been scared off by the animals in the jungle and aborted our mission. How dare they undermine our adventurous spirit! Only then do they tell us that all the dangerous snakes come out to play at dusk.

life at the roadside....

Day 3

A carnivores delight

Diary entries:

‘Lunch in a restaurant in rural Central Highlands proved to be interesting to say the least. As we take our seat on the plastic chairs, Phuk brings over a huge jar filled with a large rodent type animal pickled in rice wine. This is not lunch…thank god, it’s traditional Vietnamese medicine. As I take a look at the back of the restaurant, I find a whole array of funky pickling jars filled with various reptiles and rodents. As decorative stuffed animal heads stare down at me from the walls, my appetite takes a dive bomb even before any mention of food. Much to my delight a feast of “miscellaneous meet” is placed before us. Dishes loaded with pigs tongue, blood sausage and bitter melon stuffed god knows what kind of minced meat just wait to be demolished. My appetite has now plummeted through the concrete floor of the restaurant as I push grains of plain white rice around my bowl with my chop sticks. I guess I can blame it on my vegetarian upbringing. ‘

The day certainly improved as we cruised at mac 10 on one of the most stunning roads I have ever travelled. I spent the rest of the day wearing this huge grin as the speed of the bike and the breathtaking scenery sent my adrenaline pumping. Although this road is paved and in relatively new condition, it is generally only used for locals to move between the various villages on their ancient scooters, so for the majority of the time we have to ourselves. We cruise by huge lakes and pass through countless minority villages.

At one point we stop to chat to a group of peasant women and children collecting firewood at the side of the road. Their baskets are bursting full of heavy wood and Jasmine, by far the most athletic one the three of us, decides to have a go and has to be helped off the floor by two of the women. She gets totally shown up as a girl that looks about nine years old effortlessly lifts the load and begins the long walk back to the village.

My first out of space experience

‘After a long time in the saddle we take a break in a small town and stop to try the dumplings that are being sold by the side of the road. As we are munching away I notice that slowly but surely more and more people are coming out of their houses to congregate at the roadside and stare intently at us. O.k, let me set the scene a minute:

Rural Vietnam, miles away from any tourist town, on a road that is barely used, and along come trhee beings from outer space.

Alien 1: Long blonde hair and red wind burnt face.

Alien 2: Long curly hair, huge brown eyes.

Alien 3: African/Indian American

We smile and wave…no response, just long hard stares, months slightly open. I fear that we are now scaring the children. To my surprise Julia and Jasmine are still tucking into their dumpling totally un-phased.

“What? This happens everywhere you go in China”

They have just spent 5 weeks as aliens on China.

Back to reality...

After another full day in the saddle we head back down to sea level and find ourselves surrounded by stunning sand dunes. The first thing that hits us as we enter the small fishing town of Mui Ne is the smell! This is the home of Vietnam's famous fish sauce and the fermenting, rotton fish bones used for this cooking essential is potent!

As we hit the tourist area of town, which in the usual Vietnamese fashion is totally segregated from where the local's live, we are immediatly once again surrounded by a sea of white faces. In for days on the road in the hills we have not seen one other white face, as true to their promise, the easyriders took us well off the beaten track. We are now however in the land of over-priced restaurants with English menu's and cocktail bars run by ozzie surfers.

I can honestly say that had we not taken the easyrider tour I would have left Vietnam ignorent and a little bitter. We saw things that we would never have realised existed, and gained an insight into this diverse and amazing nation that unfortunatly most people miss on the seven stop bus ticket. Being a tourist in Vietnam is frustrating and for so many people I have met on my travels can be a negative experience. However, the insights we gained in these four days totally made up for the frustrations we had previously experienced. I will forever remember this country for its ability to suprise, amaze, shock, amuse and inspire me.