30/4/25
We didn’t rush our exit. We even joked about spending another night. The owners were lovely people and wished us well on our journey. A grand military parade was playing on their television. It was taking place in Ho Chi Minh to celebrate Reunification day. The 50th anniversary. We didn’t go more than a few hundred metres before we stopped for a coffee. The parade was playing here too. It was an important occasion for everyone.
When we finally got going we were travelling past extensive rice paddies. Our goal was the coastline. That way we’d avoid the QL1. The major north-south coastal road. Four boys split between two electric scooters, rode up beside us. They said a friendly hello and asked us our names. They were very friendly. It wasn’t like Laos. We didn’t get the impression they were taking the piss. After a long 10 miles into the wind we reached the coastline. The first time since before Bangkok.
After a short break, we started heading north again. The road was flat and relatively quiet. A semi sparse woodland was between us and the sea. Occasionally we’d get a glimpse of the turquoise ocean. Despite our rest, it was hard to be back on the bicycles again. We could only conclude that the constant exposure to the heat makes it harder to recover. Air-conditioned rooms aren’t a complete solution.
A surprisingly, and gratefully received, cold easterly wind was coming in off the sea. We’d been unduly nervous about the northerly headwind that plagues the eastern coast of Vietnam. After a brief section of urbanised seaside we were out in the countryside. Travelling through corn fields. The coastal road rose and fell. There was an incredible number of beautiful beaches. We were back in paradise.
Jonathan still felt really stupid. After having rerouted the derailleur cables they moved effortlessly. It was unreal. The unnecessary difficulty he’d put us through for the last six months. It should have been trite to change our chainrings.
We stopped at the Vinh Moc tunnels. A well preserved artefact of the American War. Kilometre upon kilometre of underground passages. We knew the drill for parking our bicycles. They pounced on us expecting us to try and cycle all the way in but we had finally come to terms with being treated like scooter riders.
As we arrived we met an interesting Vietnamese man from “Saigon”. He was keen to express himself and his political views. The division between north and south Vietnam is still raw and ever present. He was interested in getting the view of the north. It was strange. We had heard the term “Vietnam War” our whole lives. Until the last few days we didn’t really get it. Being here, 50 years on to the day, was quite fortuitous.
The tunnels were extensive. Incredible, but painful to walk around. Backbreaking. They were not designed for people of western heights. A child would have an amazing time. Many of the tunnels were open but not lit, and went on seemingly for ever. We got the idea soon enough, and were happy to head back off into the fields past the drying cobs of sweetcorn.
It was a little climb, then about 10km downhill to Hồ Xá between the lush greenery. It was almost certainly cooler here than in Laos. We had to hunt for the ‘chay’ restaurant. Google maps had it in the wrong place. Luckily we found it on the main road. The name of the road was slightly different. We could get used to there being a cheap and non-westernised vegan restaurant in every town. The woman gladly went to town producing a feast for us.
Jonathan went looking for a hotel. There were a few, all a few minutes walk away. The first 2 places were fully booked. We knew it was busy but it was the first time we’d been turned away. The last place, with a very grumpy woman, had space for us. After our food was ready to takeaway, we walked our bikes to the hotel. The woman asked for our passports as usual. But then said she would be keeping them overnight. Absolutely not. Her husband arrived. He inspected Frankie’s passport like it was fake. Rifling through every page to review each stamp. Eventually, after waiting 10 minutes, he took the photos and we could retire to our room.
The room was missing a remote for the air conditioning. Jonathan went downstairs to get one. And a door key. The man was filling in a form but appeared to have zoomed right in on Frankie’s face. Not quite sure what information he’d be getting from that. Jonathan pretended not to notice.
We went to the nearby market. There were so many stalls. Dry goods were inside a cross shaped hallway. The fresh food was outside under the awnings. We hunted for roasted peanuts and eventually found them. We also bought goji berries. We nearly thought they had no bananas. Of course there was a whole alley dedicated to them. We located a good bunch. We found fried blocks of tofu, fresh soya milk in reused water bottles and fried dough sticks. The vegan dream.
As we were leaving, the woman who had sold us peanuts had come searching for us. She was worried she’d only given us 4 bags instead of 5. It was unreal how honest and friendly the people were. We had been blown away by their kindness already. But this was getting ridiculous. When we got back home, with way too much food, the man came up to our room and asked for yet another photo of our passports. It was getting fucking odd. We complied with a smile.
Our bed had a piece of plastic directly under the bed sheet. We can only guess why. We pulled it off. It was obviously sweat inducing. We ate our spread on the bed. The dinner was already a satiating mix of soya protein and chewy rich mushrooms. The fried blocks of tofu were the icing on the cake. Our usual mix of dessert foods was eaten too.
Surly They Won't Make It 