2500 Miles Of Vietnam On A $300 Motorbike.
It was exhilarating, terrifying, amazing, unbelievable, exhausting & enlightening.
Introduction
Last month I rode from Ho Chi Minh city to Hanoi on a 110cc Honda Wave.
To put that in context, that’s around 2500 miles, or driving the length of Britain 3 times.
It’s something I’ve craved for a long-time — that feeling of complete freedom that only a motorbike can offer, and the sense of adventure that riding through unfamiliar territory produces.
It was an all-together amazing experience; one that was host to many ‘firsts’:
- My first motorbike crash.
- My first Vietnamese friends.
- My first Banh Mi
- My first time experiencing what it’s like to be a local celebrity (more on this later)
These ‘firsts’ occurred in just under 30 days; thus, to include all the minute details of my journey would result in something unreadable. Alternatively, I’m going to keep this short and highlight what I found most intriguing/humorous about the experience.
Perhaps you’ll find something that inspires you to do the same.
White Celebrity
Previous to Vietnam I’d spent 2 months in Nepal where, whilst exploring the Himalayas, I’d become accustom to the stares and silent whispers of the locals.
As a young, tall, blonde foreigner I stuck out like a sore thumb.
Sometimes they’d just stare, other times they’d laugh and point. On rare occasions I’d be engaged in conversation with a drunk doctor, or assisting in the breastfeeding of a child — but that’s for another time.
My point is that after 2 months in this environment i’d developed a thick skin to the whole ‘ooooooooohhhhh funny looking foreigner’ charade.
But, this still didn’t prepare me for Vietnam.
Here they have a strange fascination with you as a foreigner. They’re simultaneously obsessed with western culture yet reluctant to adhere to the customs.
You’ll see Vietnamese covered head to toe in western brands yet unable to speak a word of English. And I genuinely mean a single word (yet again my Scottish accent may be to blame for the lack of understanding).
Quite often I found myself in a situation where impromptu sign-language was more useful than words:
- Hand to mouth signals meant I was hungry and needed food.
- Pointing upsettingly at the back tyre of my motorbike meant my bike was again fucked.
- And comically imitating the action of pissing with my finger meant “Where’s the fucking toilet?”
But their lack of English didn’t stop them from asking for pictures.
At first I was taken aback, surprised, stunned.
Why did they want a picture with me? Don’t they see foreigners?
Then as it happened more and more often, I learned that they just genuinely don’t see that many tourists — especially in the more remote parts.
One particularly memorable experience comes to mind at the Hang Mua viewpoint in Ninh Binh…
Picture this:
< It was a particularly sweaty day — maybe 99% humidity. I am a particularly sweaty man. Hang Mua viewpoint lies at the tippity top of 500 particularly steep steps.
After toiling to the top I was covered in a puddle of my own sweat, my face crimson from humidity and effort. I was hunched over, laboriously gasping for a clean breath amongst an unforgiving jungle climate.
At that point, with me looking my very worst, a local approaches and very politely asks to take a picture with me. I ask him:
“Are you sure? Have you seen the fucking state of me?”
To which he responds
“Yes, definitely, let’s do it”.
So we take the picture — which I can only imagine is stoutly framed and displayed in this man’s living room — and I figure that’s me done.
But then another local asks for a picture. And then another, and another, and another. At this point I’m questioning the sanity of the locals — why would they want their picture with a particularly sweaty, red-faced individual?
Soon enough queues were formed, people jostled for position, autographs were taken. Okay, that’s hyperbole, but at that point I really did feel like a White Celebrity >
Harder Than You Imagine
I massively underestimated the physical toll this would take on my body.
Covering 2500 miles on a piece of shit, tiny engine, motorbike meant that some days I’d be riding for 7+ hours. For anyone accustomed to riding, they can imagine what it’s like to sit on a $300, 110c Honda Wave for 7 hours a day.
For anyone not aware, just imagine sitting on a vibrating wooden dining chair with no back in the pissing rain for 7 hours at a time.
The longer days drained me mentally and physically, gave me temporary numbness below the waist and induced a lasting dizziness that I couldn’t get rid of.
If you’re thinking of touring Vietnam be smarter than me (not that hard). Give yourself more time than you think you need, buy a bike with a larger engine, don’t underestimate the country.
Also be aware of the following: crazy thunderstorms, unpredictable traffic, and in my case, a bike’s innate ability to acquire punctures and break down.
Dodgy Drivers
Vietnamese drivers are fucking maniacs. There’s no 2 ways about it.
Massive trucks will pull u-turns in the middle of 2 lane motorways. Vehicles will cut you off and pull out in front of you without warning. Indicators might as well not exist.
It’s like you gave a bunch of 13 year-olds cars, didn’t tell them a single rule of the road and asked them to get from A to B.
There’s a general lawlessness to it and by the end of my trip I was exhausted from being on high-alert 24/7. It’s especially bad in the cities where traffic becomes more like a school of fish than orderly traffic. It’s like that scene out of Batman where Bane Says to Batman:
“You merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, moulded by it”
Replace dark with chaos and you’ve got the Vietnamese and their driving style. You’ve got to learn to accept and adopt the chaos. Become a fish, swim with the school.
Drawing parallels to my experience at home really highlights the difference:
- Riding my motorbike around Scotland induced a feeling of euphoria and calm that emanated from my chest.
- In Vietnam it was more like tightness, pains and oh “is that a heart attack?”
Beautifully Unforgiving
Vietnam was a country that took me by surprise:
- I expected people to speak English — they didn’t.
- I expected the roads to be shitty — they were perfect.
- I expected it to be nice — it was beautiful.
Vietnam is one of those places that’s still charmingly itself. It makes no apologies for it’s chaotic weather or it’s maniacal drivers. It doesn’t bend to the will of the foreigner — unlike Thailand, which stoops to the demand of the tourist.
For all the things I hated about it, I loved it twice as much for its stunning authenticity. It’s doesn’t pretend, act, or imitate; it just is.
Vietnamese just go about their lives; singing karaoke in their garage with groups of middle aged men, crowding together on the streets of Hanoi to enjoy hot-pot, not really giving a fuck about the outside world.
Although they’re surprised to see a foreigner — and quite often want a picture with you — they don’t really care about you at all.
And that’s what I loved about Vietnam:
- Their drivers are mad and traffic rules are essentially useless, but they make no apologies.
- They had ‘Act of God’ esque storms every 2 days, yet people would just don a kagoul and get going.
- They had all this incredible scenery — Avatar like mountains in Ninh Binh, the largest caves in the world in Phong Nha, epic landscapes in Ha Giang — but they didn’t make a big deal out of it.
There’s a humbleness to the people and the country. It’s like they don’t know how amazing they are and it is.
Conclusion
By the end of my time in Vietnam I was fucking exhausted.
I never wanted to see a motorbike again.
It chewed me up, swirled me around like mouthwash, then spat me right back out.
But, even with my exhaustion and weariness, the moment I stepped on the plane to Thailand, I wished I hadn’t.
There’s things that I hated at the time, which I now look back at with a great yearning. I only wish I could be back on that bike for another 7 hours driving through the immense countryside. I only wish for another sweaty picture at the top of a truly unreal viewpoint. I only wish I could be a fish in that school once more.
It’s true what they say:
Hindsight is 20/20
Alas, till I experience it again, I’ll be dreaming of the overly bitter coffee, the flavour explosion from a banh mi and the long windy roads carved between chaos and beauty.
I miss that exhilarating, terrifying, amazing, unbelievable, exhausting, enlightening place.
As Always,
Yours Honestly,
Liam Lawson.
