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Published: February 6th 2007
Russian Hot Rod
Look at how excited I was to be setting off in Hanoi. Minsk,our time will come!The is the epic tale of Adam and Lyndsey's return from Cat Ba Island. A journey fraught with peril but certainly more interesting than getting a tour bus.
After our day of kayaking, we had intended to head for the centre of Cat Ba Island and the park area which is there. However, Lydsey came down with a progressively worsening case of food poisoning. Instead the day was spent watching movies and paying overly close attentions to Miss Payne's gastro-intestinal problems. It's wonderful how traveling with people can really break down barriers. The next day we had to return to Hanoi, as Lyndsey was heading to Bangkok the day after that.
I sprung out of bed at 5.15am, to catch the 5.45 ferry to Haiphong. It was a fine brisk morning, and Lyndsey was feeling better. Getting the motorbike on the ferry was relatively easy this time, and I settled in for a peaceful journey. As I put my Ipod earphones in, Lyndsey casually asked if I had picked up my pasport from the guest house.
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I knew I hadn't picked it up,and I must have left it there. I had that horrible sinking feeling. We desperately
Ferry People
These are some chaps we met at a ferry crossing. tried to think of what to do. Lyndsey had the phone number of the guesthouse, so I tried to speak to the skipper and the crew to see if I could use their mobile phone to call. This was interesting, considering that we didn't speak each other's languages. What followed was a RADA-worthy example of mime, as I managed to explain that I'd left the passport behind. The skipper apparently phoned the guesthouse (he could have been phoning his mum for all I knew) and then disappeared off for a while.
The head tea-man offered me a warming cup, which was very much appreciated even if it was a bit nasty tasting. A plan was then hatched to get me back to Cat Ba. This involved lots of drawings of motorbikes, ferries and islands, and repititions of the only words we shared ("Moto, ship, Cat Ba, Cat Hai, Halong"). I was amazed how clearly we were able to understand each other.
It was a stroke of luck that we were only five minutes from the scheduled stop at Cat Hai. With profuse thanks to the crew from myself, we got the now-very handy Honda offloaded, and raced for
Cat In The Hat.
An important ferry-crossing lady. the ferry across to Cat Ba island. This five minute ride took us over to the desolate land on the other side of the channel. From there, we would be able to ride the 30 odd kilometers back to the guesthouse.
We set off, and I quickly became frozen in the morning chill. The road wound through the landscape, steep at times, with some serious drops off at the sides and the occassional truck roaring at us around corners. At one point we gingerly navigated through the earthmovers, bulldozers and piledrivers improving the road through the hills.
We arrived eventually at Halong Bay. We were far behind schedule, but at least I hadn't left my pasport behind.
Actually, I hadn't left my passport behind. When Lyndsey asked if I had picked up my passport, I should have of course remembered that I had left it at the guesthouse at Haiphong where I had rented the Honda. The guesthouse owner of course found this very very funny, and as I tried to convince him to make on to Lyndsey that I had picked it up, I realized that I would have to admit all.
I sheepishly assessed
Bye-Bye Cat Hai.
The sign on the way out (or in). to see if Lyndsey had any affectionate feelings for me at all, before admitting that eveything that had transpired this moring had been for naught. She handled it well, although that might have been the result of exhaustion and illness. Nevertheless, I remained alive.
At this point we needed our spirits lifted, and coffee and hamburgers for breakfast seemed an adequte way of doing this. After discussions with the hotel manager (who seemed not to believe his luck that such amusement had been put on for him and it was still only 8am) it appeared that we would be best to ride back across Cat Ba, cross again by ferry to Cat Hai, this time travel all the way across it, before catching another ferry to Haiphong.
Well, we did say we wanted to see the island. And now we get to see it. Twice.
We set off, back through the winding roads, the hills, the construction and the trucks. Thankfully, the day was warming slightly. We arrived back at the ferry, waited a few minutes, warmed ourselves with coffee from the vendors who frequent every travel hub around the world, before heading back across the water.
Paddy Fields
The countryside were clattered through. I felt like Bonnie Prince Charlie. My plans were in disarray, but I was still kicking.
Cat Hai was bustling, and we got many double takes as we drove through. Again, not taking the planned, easy route was much more fun (brightside Adam, brightside), as we cruised through the rice paddies and villages. Thankfully Lyndsey was feeling much better this morning. This would not have been a journey to do with food poisoning.
Another ferrystop, another coffee, and another ferry. This one's top speed appeared to be about 2 knots, and we crawled past derelict boats towards our destination. After about an hour and a half we were there. Not Haiphong, but a ferry stop outside somewhere. We hopped back on our Honda, and roared off down the road, our shock absorbers doing more than their share of absorbing.
Eventually entering Haiphong, we dead reckoned our way towards the guesthouse, our wounded Minsk, and there, sitting in a box, my passport. We were only about 5 hours behind schedule.
We had around 2 hours to wait for the train to Hanoi. I didn't want to risk taking the bike, as I was worried about the other gears going and us being stuck. Thankfully, it's pretty easy to take big objects onto the train, as they have a cargo car.
Unfortunately, Lyndsey had began to feel sick again. I hoped it was just a mild remission.
Even taking the bike on the train was eventful. As I rolled it up,a small nasty looking woman lept at me with a hose and bucket, and started trying to siphon the fuel from my tank. In my hyper-paranoid Vietnam state, I was very loath to do this. However, I was assured by an offical looking woman in a uniform and an unoffical looking lanky youth that this was standard procedure. So, I'd need to find a petrol station at the other end, and the harridan would make a few bob from selling my petrol.
The bike safely tucked up, and me clutching my recipt, we found our seats and settled in. Unfortunately, Lyndsey was now in a full on state of food posioning. She constantly had to dash off to the vile train toilets, in between periods of trying to sleep on the hard wooden benchs. She later assured me that this was the worst journey she had ever undertaken. I don't doubt that. At. All. The noise was deafening as we clattered our way across the Vietnamese landscape, sometimes feet away from rows of houses, sometimes through picturesque rice paddies populated by bent over workers and water buffelo.
At last we reached our stop, and the bike was offloaded. Lyndsey had started to recover, a real relief. As we started to roll our powerless Minsk through the crowds, looking for a petrol station, a man rolled up next to us, his wife and child squeezed in behind him. He indicated he would push us with his bike to the petrol station. We gratefully let him, as we were gingerly propelled at speed though the rush hour traffic. Our affections for him then waned, as it turned out that this was not a kind gesture of help but apparently a chargeable service. He wanted paying.
At the time I found this extremely irritating. However, I realized later that this man, with his family cramed on his motorbike, were in far more need of the $2 than I was. How would I feel if I needed to take money from strangers this way. I'm luckier than I realised at the time.
Our bike fueled (with it's two-stroke oil and petrol mixture, requiring some serious miming and oil can waving) spluttered into Hanoi. At rush-hour. With top and bottom gears gone. Getting to the hotel required immense co-ordination with me and Lyndsey (my navigator). After ten minutes I had passed through anger with the traffic and life in general and entered a weird state of euphoria. My own little 'Nam moment.
So, we rolled up at the hotel. Not a chance of a refund of course, but there you go. I realise now that the bike could have been fixed. A combination of my lack of knowledge, bad luck with the mechanics, and lack of time to drive around meant that we couldn't get it done. But next time I'll know better.
Thankfully our hotel was fine, and I was happy to see my backback, and clean clothes, again. Lyndsey had recovered again. Time for pizza! With joy I realized that it was Scotland v England six-nations tomorrow. But this was tempered by the sadness caused by Lyndsey returning to Bangkok. What was next for Adam's journey.
An addendum about Hanoi. This place has grown on me so much. A fascinating, exciting and cool city, populated by justly proud people. I'm loath to leave.
P.S. Hello to Granda, Granny and Granma!!! Hope you find my stories funny. Looking forward to seeing you all in April!
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harry
non-member comment
i am *****ing amazed !!!
adam, have you ever heard of organised tour groups? glad you haven't otherwise your friends and family wouldn't be treated to these amazing stories - good luck with tomorrow, next week whatever !! - just another adventure i suppose. sure gran etc are rivetted :)