‘No.’
‘Sir, I just…’
‘No.’
‘But what if…’
‘No.’
‘Would you…’
‘NO!’
It was high time to face it – this was a dead end. The stern military officer in front of me didn’t only have the last, he had the only word in the matter. And his decision was as clear as it was final.
Two full days of working some of the worst roads I’ve ever come across had almost taken me the whole way to Cambodia. Completely marinated in sweat and dust, I now had a mere 20 km to the border. And the only way from here was back. Back for a 160 km detour still taking me to that very same border crossing.
Damn it.
With arms folded across his buff chest, the tall officer glared down at me. I looked back at him. All I wanted to do was to flick that stupid military hat off of his disproportionally tiny head.
Sure, the last hours I had been peddling along with this melancholic feeling of leaving too soon. During the last days I had been introduced to a completely different world compared to the loud and chaotic Vietnam I had first entered, and I wasn’t really ready to leave it. I knew that this guy was sort of doing me a favor. But fact remains, I am a cyclist. I hate going back.
Especially when people in uniforms are telling me to do so.
–
Sorry, I’m skipping ahead here. Of course weeks of Vietnam had been leading up to this. Great weeks! A recap of which would look something like… this.
Crossing in from Laos I got a mighty welcome. Central Vietnam bombarded me with limestone mountains, flowing rivers, stunning caves, and picture perfect rice fields as far as the eye could see.
Phong Nha Cave
The beauty of this country is obvious. That was not what really hit me coming in though. With a population more than tenfold that of Laos, the shift in tempo was a given. The lovely friendliness with which I had been welcomed to Laos was just as present all through Vietnam, though the style was completely different. Regardless if it came to children cheering me on from across the street, a lady selling bananas or a car honking before taking over. Everyone and everything here was just – louder.
And it would be impossible to write this post without mentioning them. The motorbikes.
With 40 million registered motorcycles in the country, almost 1 out of 2 Vietnamese people (grandmothers and infants included) have their own motorbike. This is a country on two wheels, a fact which you’ll not only be reminded of while on the road. It’ll wake you up in the morning, keep you company during day, and finally rock you to sleep at night. The sound of 40 million roaring two-stroke engines. The soundtrack of Vietnam.
The coast is where the number of people and tourists (and motorbikes!) skyrocket. With the crowds come everything from heavy traffic to hassling, and all the things I usually try to keep on arm’s length. However, after being landlocked for what literally seemed like forever. I could not not make my way out to the sea.
On top on the Hai Van Pass
Thumbs up!
A brief coastal ride gave me just what I wanted – a few days of epic views and salty hair. Saving my true beach rides for Thailand though, I headed west up the highlands first chance I got.
In some places finding the feeling of going off the beaten path basically just means not riding on the major highway. In other places you have to work for it a little (or a lot) more. Vietnam is one of them. And in search for my very own corner of this quite crowded country, I found just what I was looking for.
My Vietnam.
Possibly the friendliest corn lady in South East Asia
Still unaware of that the path I was on would eventually lead me straight into sensitive military frontier headquarters, I spent a bunch of truly amazing days on the bike. Slow going on bumpy roads, relative solitude, perfect camping and people that don’t expect to see you. All I ever wish for in a ride.
Writing this though I realise that maybe I should also add ‘being caught rambling around inside restricted frontier areas’ to that list. Because that part, simply got me more of all of the above.
If nothing else, I would say an apology is in order. Here it goes.
–
I’m sorry, Mr. Military Man. Sorry for those things I called you inside my head. And for wanting to flick that cap off of yours. Which by the way, is totally of the appropriate size.
And thank you, Mr. Military Man. Thank you for standing your ground. And for sending me back to this.
–
Tailwinds,
Fredrika
