- A Bicycle Journey in December 1994 -
PO
Box 3331 RUNDLE MALL SA 5000
For
most people in the Western world, any knowledge of
But,
we told ourselves, we had come on a cycling holiday after all !
By the third day, we had found the courage to set off before dawn from our
hotel in a cool drizzling rain, in the hope of at least beating the
Cycling
out of
We
soon came to realise that the horrendous traffic was mostly an
urban disorder, and while most of the cities were an appalling cacophony of
scooters, buses and trucks ploughing their way through a teeming mass of
pedestrians and cyclists, in the stretches of highway between main towns,
motorised traffic was often thin and usually quite tolerable. Roads were so
potholed in the north, (perhaps unrepaired war damage), that motor traffic was
almost down to our own speed. Great numbers of cyclists travelled the highway,
pacing alongside us with every possible load, sometimes for quite long
distances, from home to work in fields or construction sites. Bikes varied from
ten-speed derailleurs of servicable quality, both locally made and imported
from East Germany or Czechslovakia; down through fixed gear roadsters and
Japanese-pattern commuters; to heavy duty, crankless, load carrying
"wheelbarrows", steel reinforced with bamboo. Cyclos
(rickshaws), fitted out in galvanised iron, carried anything and everything,
from a family of passengers, to live pigs and enormous fish going to market.
Village workshops and small factories by the highway produced basic cycle
frames and accessories for the local market, while small retail shops sold a
good range of locally produced spare parts. We had a number of pleasant calls
at these bike shops in the North, and were always treated very helpfully.
In
the usually flat terrain on the coast, we were able to cycle 100 km or more most
days, even with frequent rain showers and heavy down pours. We sometimes
briefly had to leave the sealed road for the dirt or mud of the unsealed
shoulder as buses thundered past, usually with an assistant leaning out ready
to push cyclists or pedestrians out of the way if necessary ! Recurrent
obstacles included sheets of corrugated iron and lengths of steel rod, left on
the road to be straightened by the impact of passing traffic; peasants used the
shoulders of the roads to dry coffee beans or sweet potato. Paradoxically
though, while we saw the most appallingly unsafe driving, (eg overtaking on
single lane bridges and blind turns, scooters driven with their rear mirrors
turned in, cyclists entering the traffic stream without a glance behind, and
some terrible crashes as a predictable result), we agreed that we felt safer
than we would at home, so much did we feel part of a vast army of bicycles, or
"xe daps" as local people quickly taught us to say.
Bicycle
facilities were a delight in the north. Well-stocked shops displayed bike parts
everywhere - I bought a pair of aluminium mudguards for less than US $3.00. We
saw many frame shops even in quite small towns producing the heavy duty utility
bikes that were the norm in the countryside. Bike parking was always easy, at
least with a kickstand like most of the local bikes, and sometimes attendants
operated parking lots at post offices etc. for a few cents. Bikes were actually
so common that we had some difficulty on occasion persuading hotel keepers to let
us take our bikes inside our hotel rooms, rather than leave them with the
attendants outside.
Everywhere
we went the bicycle was an accepted feature of the transport system, and bikes
were used for every possible purpose - we once saw a three star general
pedalling home from his office, and elsewhere, a team of four cyclists
delivering a double bed ensemble.Most buildings featured little ramps over the
front steps, allowing cycles (and motorbikes ) to be wheeled inside houses and
shops very easily. River crossings were often by ferry, with dozens of bikes on
every trip. Curiously though, there were no special facilities for carrying
bikes on either trains or buses, even though it was common for passengers to
take bikes with them. Bikes were often stacked one on top of the other five or
six deep on the roof of the bus. Putting our fragile bikes on the train was a
fraught experience, though in the end they were not damaged after several
trips.
In the
north, we were an astonishing phenomenon to the shy but curious rural
population. We were greeted with much good humour and pleasant
"hullos" as we cycled through fields and small towns. Shopkeepers
were pleased to be helpful, tolerating our "eat food" gestures good
naturedly. Market women sold us our supplies with warm cheerful smiles, and
even when our presence attracted crowds of 50 or more, rarely did we feel
uncomfortable. We were humbled by the generosity and dignity of these
materially poor, almost destitute people who had only kindness and goodwill for
us.
Banks
were no problem in the cities, except for the cumbersome wads of money we had
to carry. With the largest bill in the currency worth US $ 5.00, any
transaction was a lengthy process of counting. Some foreigners told us of
dishonest bank staff short changing them ; but if it happened to us, we never
noticed. It proved best to pay for hotels in US cash, and to keep small value
bills - there are no coins - for street purchases. ( When one remembers however
that the annual per capita income in
Telephones
and the post office were less easy to access, and their services quite
expensive. There were no aerogrammes, for example, and a postcard was almost a
dollar to send to
Local
people seemed very worried about criminals, and often warned us to be careful.
We were cautious about our personal security, but apart from several minor
incidents (losing small things from our unattended bikes) we had no serious
problems, nor did we even hear of any from other foreigners, We took the
precaution of breaking our money up into several batches, distributed about our
bikes as we travelled. We were relieved also that we had no questions from
police, immigration or any other authorities at any time.
There
were downsides. In the tropics, days are short, with sundown soon after 1800
hrs. Cycling after dark was difficult, with the state of the roads. There were
no street lights in most towns, and not much of a footpath either, and unseen
obstacles were constant for both cyclist and pedestrian. None of the cyclists
used lights after dark, a further hazard. We found we had to be ready to leave
at dawn to be sure of reaching accommodation by dark, and to avoid the heat.
Even in December, the cool season, the heat built up quickly after about 10.30,
and we soon felt sunburn unless we covered up thoroughly. Sunblock was
available in some places, but we preferred long sleeves and pants, as the
locals do. We have been told that susceptibility to sunburn may be a side
effect of some anti-malarial drugs.
We
soon realised that there was very little reliable information for the traveller
outside the main centres, and almost nothing at all for the touring cyclist. It
proved impossible to locate a train timetable, for example, and it was a waste
of time to ask the management of a hotel about accomodation in the next
town. We never saw a locally produced map of
Accommodation
was often widely spaced and relatively expensive, and as poorly maintained as
it was advertised. Our guide book here, the latest available, was out of date,
and not as useful as it claimed. Hotels were generally around US $12/dbl, ( not
much less for singles) usually with mosquito nets and clean sheets, but also
usually with faulty taps and basins that emptied onto our feet - plumbing
seemed to be rudimentary at the best of times. Not all hotels were available to
foreigners. Most hotels, in the north especially, were not privately managed,
and service was generally indifferent. In the north and in the highland areas,
hotels promised hot water, but when they didn't deliver, our small immersion
heater ( US $2.00 from
Food
in the north was basic but filling and cheap, if not particularly interesting.
Family operated street side cafes always made us feel welcome , and a good, if
simple, meal, even with beer, was less than US $1.00 each. Food was often laid
out, precooked and thus easy to point to when ordering. Only pretentious
restaurants had menus, and we avoided them, as they never seemed to serve
vegetables, or to understand why we wanted any.
We
had lots of cabbage and chicken noodle soup, indeed most things we saw other
people eating. Food was generally quite bland. We always asked for the optional
hot chillies, as a precaution against stomach problems. We accepted the ice
that came with the bottled beer in small cafes, against the advice of our guide
book. Cold "draught" beer, sometimes from second hand Australian
kegs, was also common and even cheaper ( US $0.35c per litre) than the bottled
brands, and was excellent for take away. Bottled water was of varying degrees
of palatability, but safe, ranging from US $0.30 to $1.00 per litre - working
people seemed to drink from wells. Frozen yoghurt was a treat, made from
condensed milk by small shopkeepers. We bought bananas (100 = US$ 1.00) and
fresh French-style bread everywhere, often from bicycle mounted vendors, very
cheap, and delicious with salad vegetables for a picnic lunch. We were
surprised to see French-made cheese spreads almost everywhere, courtesy of the
EU butter mountain, we supposed. Local coffee, very strongly brewed, was cheap
and easy to find, but we also made our own, more to our taste, with a small
dripper, bought in the market.
In
the south however, food prices rose sharply and we found ourselves having to be
careful not to be "overserviced" ( and overcharged) by less honest
traders. Many (but not all) shopkeepers and vendors now wanted to
"bargain", asking ridiculous "first prices" for their
goods, usually marking up 50 % or so when they saw us coming. To ask for food
in a cafe was to be offered the most expensive items available, and it was
sometimes difficult to order simple food rather than rich and expensive banquet
style dishes. After a couple of times we tumbled to this tactic, but then found
the constant negotiation, even for trivial things like cups of coffee, wearing
to the point of irritation. While prices were still cheap to us as
"rich" foreigners, we wondered why the much poorer people of the
north had been so much more straightforward and helpful.
The
"pandemonium" factor also increased markedly as we cycled south, with
choruses of seemingly demented children, adolescent boys and even adult men
screaming at us from their houses and shops. These shouts may have been well
intentioned, but they sounded derisive to us, more cat-call than friendly
greeting, especially when the cat callers began to throw stones, as they
sometimes did. We decided that being on bikes here, far from
"camouflaging" us as part of the local scene, only made us more
accessible to the more inane elements of a modernising society, the layabouts
displaced from the agricultural workforce, with nothing better to do than watch
the passing traffic. In one rough town, I had to fend off a lighted cigarette
thrust forcefully into my face as we cycled through. People sometimes despised
us for having "only" bicycles, and several times offered to help us
equip ourselves with motor scooters. We were, apparently, so ridiculous
sometimes that teenaged boys would swerve their bikes into our path even at
speed, just for the devilment of it. We began to realise that in the south,
while many people spoke some English and plied us with silly questions, almost
no-body listened to our responses, and our own questions to them rarely had an
answer. We were not seen as "real", we began to feel, even when we
were a centre of attraction. Just like goldfish with someone tapping repeatedly
on the bowl.
The
South had some pleasant areas, however. The steep climb from the coast to Dalat
was worthwhile for its views. Dalat itself was pleasantly cool, though very
noisy - in the hilly terrain, the locals had changed from cycles to motorbikes,
with the usual results. Vung Tau was another pleasant town, popular with the
As
to the war, relics were frequent but by this time less obvious than one might
expect, even subtle. Craters around bridges, the remains of US bombing, were
blended into the landscape as duck ponds; block houses had become storehouses
for charcoal. One is reminded that for the Vietnamese, the war lasted 40 years
and more, and that we are familiar only with the part they call
" the American war " - as distinct from those against the French,
*
Our
advice would be, forget the idea of traversing the Hanoi-Saigon route with a 30
day visa. It's too far, 1800 km, leaving aside the far south. Besides, Saigon
was awful, a real disappointment, with bikes rapidly being edged out by
scooters and cars, ( petrol is only US $ 0.30/litre) a noisy jumble of
importunate rickshaw drivers, beggars, touts and pickpockets preying on a self
centred tourist rabble, and of little interest, especially after the beauty of
the countryside. People in the South seemed to be complaining a lot, but to us
it seemed as though the south had won the war, for all the
private business activity, galloping development and conspicuous consumption by
the elite we saw all around. Even the cycle market was a mere shadow of the one
in
If
we go to
*
Our
last cycling day in Vietnam, from Vung Tau to Saigon by a back way, was one of
our best, an unexpected delight as we passed down a narrow, single lane road,
for once totally free of buses and trucks and their air horns, through what
seemed to be a continuous village for 40 Km or so, winding along through the
jungle as we neared Saigon. We had been told we couldn't reach
We
had arrived !
Grace
Newhaven 1994 - revised 2000
Bibliography
:
Michael
Dwyer 2004
http://www.teatreetourers.com/vietnam2003.htm
Mike
Blackwell of
See Australian
Cyclist 99:10:46 & 97:08:30
"Highway
1" Australian CYCLIST Magazine, Vol 17/6 , p 19
"Through
Mr Pumpy bikes
The CIA's 1998 entry
for
Background Http://www.delphi.com/vietnamweb