I I struggle awake with that taste in my mouth; the one that registers that I did indeed drink far too much rice wine last night. It is the first time in eight days we have not been up before sunrise, but today it does not matter. Unless something diverts us (quite possible), this will be our last full day of riding.
The mountains that loom over this town, wherever we are, are shrouded in thick cloud, and so we are in no hurry to move off. A long breakfast is followed by a quick check over of the bikes. The leaking fuel tap has now reached ridiculous proportions, so I wander off to try to get professional help. I also am still in need of decent camera batteries, which so far have not been forthcoming. I have been managing on cheap copies, which do not even fit the camera properly. With much adjustment, I can get them working, but they last less than an hour by daylight. I failed on both counts – two mechanics simply offered blank faces and the only batteries were the same copies. With no hope on the fuel tap issue, I commandeered a garage and looked through their pile of parts on the floor, until I found a spring washer. I fitted this, along with a fibre washer I had also found, and it helped a little. But basically, the entire tap is worn out and simply needs replacing; which I am not going to do on the last day.
By ten o’clock, we were fuelled and ready to leave. The first couple of hours of riding climbed gently into the hills. We both begun to question our information, as by now we had covered possibly 50km and though all very nice, the scenery was not nearly as good as earlier on the trip. But then, had we overdosed on landscapes? It can happen.
We stopped for lunch at a surprisingly large town, where I finally managed to locate some brand-name batteries, and could at last get trigger-happy with my camera again. Moving on, we passed through a creepy area under construction. It had wide new roads, large four story buildings and absolutely no people. It was a completely new town in the making – who for, I guess we will never know.
Just 40km from destination Sapa, we were once again surrounded in a mystical mountainous landscape. It is from here on that the route is much famed, and we were not to be disappointed. The road continued on a steady climb, for perhaps three hours. We passed through a few remote villages, less often as we gained elevation.
The tight bends reduced our speed, and it was dusk by the time we reached the pass. At 2000 metres, this is the highest road in Vietnam. A bone chilling wind cut through the gap, and after the obligatory photo, we wasted no time in moving off. The pass marks a border between provinces, and immediately the road deteriorates into a potholed mess. The mountains on this side appear dark and sinister, their jagged peaks climbing steeply into the darkening sky. The highest of them all, Mount Fansipan, is Vietnams tallest peak, rising to 3143 metres. With all my available clothing already on, I am still cold, so I concentrate hard in my dim headlamp. Low on fuel, I free wheel down the steeper parts as quickly as I dare, letting the engine idle enough to supply power to the lights. Whatever Sapa has to offer, we both intend on a large meal and a few beers. If that’s not enough to concentrate a bloke’s mind, I don’t know what is.
Despite having continually descended for the previous hour from the pass, the small town of Sa Pa (population 36,000) remains 1650m above sea level. It begun as a hill station as recently as the 1920’s and sits close to the Chinese border in a beautiful valley. Conflict with the French and the Americans over the decades had left the town run down and forgotten, and bullets were still flying during a border scuffle with China in 1979. As Vietnam opened up during the eighties and nineties, and became known for much more than bullets and bombs, tourism has breathed new life into Sa Pa. Today, just a ten hour overnight train ride from Hanoi, it has become one of the country’s premier destinations. The surrounding hillsides are home to a colourful assortment of hill-tribe people who wander into town to buy, trade and sell. Travellers wishing to experience this will find themselves well catered for.
Personally, my prime motive for being here tonight was not to trade with any hill-tribes. I have eaten a lot of rice and noodles lately, and as much as I love Vietnamese food, I was looking forward to something stodgy and filling. Where there is tourists, there is always gonna be tourist food.
Throwing a spanner in the works, as I sat on my parked bike by the roadside, was the fact that Dan was nowhere to be seen. Several locals who sensed I would be looking for accommodation had already apprehended me; even they had become bored of waiting and wandered off. Just as I was wrestling with the idea of backtracking to find him, a single white light approached. The reason for his lateness was obvious – the light was coming from his head-torch, all his lights and, get this, even his horn, had failed on the way down.
That must have been one tough ride for him; it was not a nice road even with lights. There wasn’t much I could say to consol him, other than “Lets go find some food, shall we”?
We quickly located some pleasant and very cheap digs, and the streets of Sa Pa were all ours. We found a fantastic restaurant that not only serves brilliant food, but trains and employs disadvantaged children off the street. The not-for-profit organisation, run by Hoasua School, is funded in part by government grants and private enterprise, and seeks to train the youngsters to a standard where they can be placed in employment. It works well, and what’s more, this is not some shoddy soup kitchen. It is a high-class restaurant with mouth-watering food, in pleasant surroundings, and the young folk provide impeccable service that could shame many a hotel I have stayed in.
While we chowed down, whom should we meet? I am ashamed to say, Jeff from Quebec, the guy on a bicycle I passed a few days earlier, had beaten us here!
Now who is laughing? |
