Yesterday evening, with dusk all around us and still 60km short of our planned destination, we had to make a decision. We were truly overwhelmed by all the smiling faces that surrounded us, and decided to stay. To ride into the night would have been foolish, and we would possibly be missing some great scenery. A youngster guided us to a large shed that served as the only restaurant in town, which also had a couple of rooms for 30,000 Dong each.
At night, we ate with the extended family as guests of honour. They provided a large spread of local dishes, including the lovely chicken’s feet, and rice wine. When we paid up for our beds, they absolutely refused to take payment for the food.
This morning, despite being awake before five, I was struggling to leave my spacious and comfy bed. Next door, I could hear Dan packing up. He is usually happy to sleep in a while, but not today. A light sleeper, he had had issues with a local rooster that saw no reason to wait until dawn to begin his routine. I had heard it too, since before four o’clock, but it is a sound I quite like. Especially this fella, for he liked the sound of his own crow so much, he repeated it, like a broken record, constantly. The funniest part was listening to Dan crashing around, issuing threats and generally getting very worked up!
Still dark, and a heavy mist hanging in this river valley. It is the coolest morning so far, and we both put on every item of clothing we have. We saddle up, and leave this quaint little village and its friendly sleeping occupants.
The road immediately climbed into a mountain range, and the mist stayed with us. My hands became so cold I had to put a pair of socks on them, and quickly master a new technique for operating the controls.
Having ascended to a decent height, I broke through the layer of mist to a brilliant sunny day. I don’t think I have ever seen quite such a vivid blue sky, and I sat for some time to marvel at the jagged tops poking through the cloud. Dan caught up, and we rode on together a while. Several times the road deteriorated into a muddy pot-holed mess, which I enjoyed tremendously. Locals seemed baffled as they rode to avoid the worst parts, while I aimed my bike at every mud hole I could find.
I caught up with a chap carrying an interesting load on his bike; one very large sow. He had the thing strapped to the back seat, crossways for balance. It was quite a sight, but here’s the thing – when I got close up, the bloody pig moved! It was a live porker, wrapped several times around by a bungee cord to prevent escape. So it just laid there, big ears flapping in the wind, and watched the road and me whiz by.
By eleven, we cruised side by side into Dien Bien Phu, the most remote town in the country and mere 30km from the Laos border. This is one strange place. Its large wide streets are deserted, noticeably absent of the hectic Vietnamese traffic you find elsewhere. The few other motorists actually pull up at the stop lights. Most of all, it is a large town with all trappings that go with it; restaurants, internet cafes, shops – but absolutely no people. It feels like a town that has been built to cater for a large population that never quite moved here. Our problem today is that we have arrived early, but there is not time enough to cover the next leg of our journey. I suddenly wonder why we came here at all – the result of patchy research into the route. It is the most westerly point of the trip, but 80km behind us, we could have taken a road NW and cut a day off the journey. We found a hotel above our budget, and decided to treat the rest of the day as a mid-trip R & R stop. I am actually enjoying this journey so much, I really do not want it to end, and don’t care when we get back to the capital. Mr Cuong, however, is expecting us any moment now (like, today), 500km away in Hanoi. With much confusion, I manage to call them up and tell them we will be late. (Very late in fact).
Dien Bien Phu is something of a Mecca for the French, and there are many at our hotel. The reason is this: here in May of 1954, the Viet Minh defeated French colonial forces in a decisive battle that marked the end of a 57-day siege and was the final nail in the French colonial coffin. Interestingly, the USA was hankering for a piece of the action as early as this, with offers of carpet-bombing and, unbelievably, “tactical” use of atomic weapons. Thankfully, the French realised their number was up, and politely declined. If you would like to learn more about this battle, there is a link at the bottom or you can click here.
The town itself has recently been granted the status of provincial city, which may explain the large-scale development. With a population of just 25,000 folk, it carries the same importance as Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). For centuries, the town was a staging post along the caravan route (not the sort you get in Wales) between Myanmar and China. The area is now inhabited by Montagnards, mostly Thai and H’mong, which make up half of the population.
I did have great intentions of visiting each battle memorial, the military cemeteries and museums, but I had more important things to do, like buy a new hat. It turns out; all those wonderful little kids that surrounded our bikes yesterday had helped themselves to my expensive Billabong hat and my Swiss Army knife, the scoundrels. Besides, I am about as interested in French military history as I am in watching paint dry – and let’s face it; this isn’t the only place in the world where the French have been beaten. (Moreover, there will be another in late 2007 when the All Blacks get to France for the world cup).
Dan did all the sites, and reported that I had not missed all that much. Meanwhile, I made the most of my R & R with food and beer. At night, my bike buddy delivered a particularly fine performance at the karaoke bar.
Tomorrow, we go north, its gonna be a big one. |
