I drove along a wide and empty beach, leaving Mũi Né and all its elements behind. My next stop was Phan Thiết, where the plan was as simple as it could get. All I had in mind was find a motel in the water front area and just sleep all day.
It was around lunch time when I reached my objective and left all my stuff into a room of my own with air conditioning and a private bathroom. It had been my first private room in weeks. After spending so many days sleeping in dorms, hearing other people’s snores, motions, walks in and out of the place while slamming doors, occasional drunken mumblings and all sorts of sounds coming from their devices, that stuff starts to weigh down on you. One needs to regain their own individuality after sitting together with so many other people breathing the same stuffy air for so long. That room in Phan Thiết had been a long time coming. Nobody else was consuming the oxygen bordered by those 4 walls and once again I could sit indefinitely on the toilet, digesting random Youtube content or simply reading whatever I could get my hands on.
After killing several hours glued on the mattress, I took a walk on the waterfront. As I listened to the waves’ tunes while absorbing the rich poignant flavor of a Thang Long cigarette, some weird sensation came all over me. For some reason, I didn’t feel like continuing this whole motorbike saga. Right there, less than 200km away from the vast world of Saigon which I hadn’t explored yet, I felt like quitting and putting an end to the whole trip.
For some unknown reason, all those miles I gathered driving from my doorstep in Hanoi all the way to that waterfront in Phan Thiết had suddenly decided to have a cumulative impact on me. It was as if in all the days driving like a maniac my body and mind were completely oblivious to the tiring factor. And suddenly, all that effort was finally offering its postponed effect on me, urging me to renounce that summer’s main objective.
I did my best to offer every single reason why Saigon needed to be reached, yet another voice was eagerly invalidating every single point I had. “What is so special about Saigon after all?” The voice would say. “It’s just another pile of concrete, soulless buildings and road madness like any other big city you’ve ever seen so far. It doesn’t have the rich history of Hanoi. It doesn’t have any ancient or royal architecture like Hue. It has no dern beach like Đà Nẵng. It has no mountains like Đà Lạt. All you heard about this city was just vacuous night life and hedonistic tendencies. There’s literally nothing for you there.” The voice would keep on going.
I was on the fence. Should I just slack a few days in that motel and then hop on the train? Or just drive to Saigon and stay 2 days, take a picture on that famous walking street and then bounce right off? I had no answer. In order to distract myself from this dilemma, I had dinner at the first stand I saw and then watched a movie in the motel, just before sleep drifting.
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I woke up with the realization that I absolutely loathed that motel. I simply needed to get out of there. One was not supposed to fall in love with motels anyway. Such places were destined for the drifters or travelers that needed to rest their souls before resuming their wanderings the following the day. Other motel goers were the ones who were doing things that never ought to leave the premises of those hollowed spots. At that point, I still didn’t know if I was a drifter or a traveler but either way, my time was off in that little corner by the city’s waterfront.
I drove away on one of the main roads and saw a traffic sign indicating the biggest Vietnamese urban center. Greeny was purring, expressing a fervent mood for a drive. The spirit of the engine made its intention clear and never before had I questioned any of my motorbike’s wishes. So I sped up in that direction like a Russian torpedo. After all, reaching Saigon still needed to happen. It was like establishing credibility with the tax authority. No matter how I’d feel about the city, I would know that it had happened. I would join the list of all those daring lads who’d decided at some point of their lives to go for this road stunt and I took comfort in that.
Halfway through the journey the rainy season from the south made its presence felt once again and offered some considerable precipitations, just in case I was missing it. I did the normal thing and stopped at one of the coffeeshops there, which the road provided plenty of. Right when the proud lady owner of that little joint offered me the cup of legendary Viet coffee, the rain stopped. And right when I was through with the drink and drove for 2 minutes, the rain resumed. It was as if it was following me.
I stopped at another establishment where I thought I could buy a drink but there was only food apparently. Some auntie there insisted that I should order some meal but I refused to do so, as I wasn’t hungry. This made her quite cross, but not cross enough to tell me to fuck off and drive through the rain, which was good enough for me.
I kept praying for the rain to stop but no deity up there seemed to have time to hear me. After a while I reckoned there was no point in requesting any divine intervention so I put my rain suit and bid farewell to the cross aunty, who seemed to be even more cross when she noticed my water proof equipment. She uttered some angry Vietnamese words, but luckily for me, as the dumb foreigner that I was, I didn’t speak enough of her language to get any of that cussing. So, I just smiled and off I went, as fast as Greeny allowed.
Things got messy when I had only 30km left. Everything turned into a crowded, noisy and industrial hellscape. At least the weather got dry. Right when I began getting glimpses of the Saigon skyline, the rush hour started to kick in. There couldn’t have been a worse timing. So I had no choice but to accept my fate of being piled up in the horrendous traffic with countless other souls and their fuming engines.
◆◆◆
The roads of Saigon soon appeared. And oh boy, were they big and wide. I couldn’t recall seeing such massive infrastructure anywhere else in the whole country. I thought about the time when Americans were roaming the place and some general or officer or whatever high-ranking gentleman told some Vietnamese authority to build big roads. I could imagine the guy saying it with a Texas accent while smoking a cigar: “Listen here, fella. Every great country needs great roads. By great roads I mean wide, solid and smooth as butter on toast kind of roads. So, no matter how big the car, truck, bus or motorbike going in and out of the city, anyone can drive here and there with ease and comfort. You hear me, fella? That’s what every great country needs. A big ass road network to get everyone goin’. We Americans take good pride in them roads and you should do the same in this beautiful land of Vietnam you be having here. Roads are made to connect all the people from every darn place. North to south to east to east, up and down and sideways. A good road can make all the goddamn difference, boy. Imagine you’re finishing work after stretching yourself a whole dern day and you return home using one of them lousy, messed up bumpy roads that doesn’t let you drive more than 20mph. It would take you ages to get back to your wife and children. If you have proper roads you be getting’ home in no time and get to play with yer kids in the evening and later on play with yer sweet special lady as well! See how much difference a good road can make? Roads are the backbone of every darn nation, keeping everythin’ together.”
Right when I could see the wharf of the Saigon river and its waters shimmering in the sunset, something happened. It was that one thing that I had been expecting throughout the whole country crossing but never really occurred, making me feel like one of the luckiest men there was. But my luck also had its expiration date. Greeny had finally let me down. The motorbike needed a transfusion, as it became lifeless. The chain also fell down and there seemed to be a problem with the gear box, which made an unholy sound that I’d never heard before. I tried revving up the engine a few times but to no avail. The spirit of the engine seemed to have left me in the midst of the traffic bedlam which was peaking. I had only one more mile to go to my hostel, but Greeny just couldn’t take it anymore.
That motorbike’s greatest mission to date had just been accomplished and to be honest, I was glad the engine gave up on me there, in the center of a mammoth mega city like Saigon and not in some barren nature spot on some dodgy serpentine. The final destination had been reached and despite the situation, I was somehow glad. Concerning Greeny, there had to be a cure out there. I just felt too tired and even lazy to act on the issue for the time being.
What to do? Of course, I did what most people would do when faced with the situation. I pushed my motorbike on the pavement and stared at it for a few good minutes, waiting for an idea to struck me, as I was completely clueless. I was in Saigon’s District 1, where all the tourists, rich and important folk came to have themselves a time. On the other side of the pavement, there was a fancy hotel where a butler was standing at the entrance. He noticed my presence and came next to me to see what was going on. I shrugged my shoulders and then he responded in the same manner. It felt as if we were in some goofy cartoon scene, trying to make sense of something that we didn’t know much about.
And then, as if out of nowhere, this old geezer puffing a cigarette in the corner of his mouth came around to change my situation, both for the better and for the worse. He gestured with his hands that he knew a place nearby where I could get some help with my seemingly deceased motorbike and that he’d push me. The man didn’t speak a word of English and looked quite ancient and a bit ragged, driving a rickety motorbike which looked even older than the man himself. As skeptical as I was, I didn’t have much of a choice, so I got back on the road and the guy drove from behind, pushing my motorbike with his foot. It was quite an adventure doing that in the rush hour, but it worked out. He would give me a shout or some sort of mumbling to indicate what turn to make and which exit to follow. We most definitely pissed off a bunch of tired people who were just hurrying back home after a hard day’s work, and I wish I could’ve personally apologized to every single one of them. But when Greeny lets you down, it really lets you down.
Eventually, after facing the wrath of a few impatient drivers on the road, we arrived at this corner where some guys with dirty and oily hands were doing God’s work to bring back to life troubled motorbikes like my own. I parked mine there and added it to the queue.
I looked at the old fella who’d just helped me, as one of the mechanics started inspecting Greeny. He’d been so cool about pushing me and bringing me to that place that I wanted to reward his behavior. I was in a good mood so I gave him 100,000 VND (4$), which was quite generous for his 20-minute assistance through traffic.
When the guy saw the bill that I handed him, he looked as if I had just insulted his entire lineage. He began bitching straight away, telling me that he deserved at least 400,000 VND. That greedy old dirt bag really meant business, and he wouldn’t give in that easily. I showed him my wallet, which had nothing left but 50,000 VND more. I was literally out of cash. At least my wallet was. My backpack had a fistful of Dollars deep down one of its pockets but that dodgy scumbag didn’t have to know about it.
Despite my evident lack of funds, the guy was more persistent than ever. Luckily, one of the mechanics there had enough of that prick and pushed him away, telling him to piss off and to take my 150,000 VND, which was already a generous sum. So off he went, never to be seen again, hopefully reevaluating his whole way of life. Or maybe not.
While Greeny was having its mechanical surgery, I bought a pizza from this corner place and ate it on the pavement, watching the city’s motion right before me. I began to slowly get a feel of that bustling new metropolis. Some of the most productive moments of my life were spent on a pavements, eating whatever or smoking one or two fags, zooming out and inspecting everything going on around me. Detached from any concern, I was facing only the pure essence of the moving pictures entangled right before me. Every car passing by, every shop operating, every person coming in and out of my vision field in whatever direction and everything in between was observed thoroughly.
It was Vietnam where I was, but clad in different garments. Less tradition, yet more capitalism and consumerism. Less communist symbols, yet more business banners. Things seemed to revolve in another direction. It felt as if Singapore and Hanoi had a baby together. And then New York and Paris had a baby together. And then those two babies had one baby of their own, which was Saigon, a world of its own, a melting pot that I was about to dive into.
◆◆◆
I thought the motorbike would take a while to be revived. But once again, I had underestimated the magic touch of the mechanic who knew an engine inside out just too damn well. I didn’t even finish the pizza that the green two-wheeler was again up and running, purring like the mean machine that it was.
I drove to the hostel and my friend, the rain, came down from the clouds to check on Saigon again. I took all my stuff upstairs, at the top of what looked like an old block that had been initially designed as an apartment building, but later on repurposed to be full of cafes, restaurants, travel agencies and on the very top of it, a dorm for backpackers like myself.
The place was right on the most famous walking street in good old Saigon, Nguyễn Huệ. At one of its ends, the Saigon river and its promenade would greet you. At the other end, a respectable statue of Uncle Ho would wave at you, as it stood right in front one of the city’s many splendid buildings erected by the French.
However, all that splendor would become obsolete when the relentless rain would assert its wrath like it did that night. And I had to drive through such a rain, once again, to find a proper motorbike parking. And only once I had been done with that, I could finally make myself comfortable at the hostel. All that hassle from that day, with the motorbike letting me down in the midst of the rush hour, that old sonuvabitch trying to scam me and getting soaked around 3 times due to rainy season, just made me feel sleazy and disgusting.
After sitting in bed and doing nothing for about an hour or two, I went outside to check that walking street, since the rain kind of abated. I mean, it was still a bit rainy, but after all those years living in the Netherlands, it was just a trifle. “Je bent niet van suiker. Je smelt niet.”[1] The Dutchies used to say.
I walked up and down the good old Nguyễn Huệ and for some reason I just couldn’t climax. I saw a bunch of huge ass led billboards advertising different brands. And concerning the people, they all seemed to be dull-witted tourists who couldn’t see anything because of their phones used to immortalize every single bit around them. The atmosphere felt shallow. The aesthetic was spotless, though. There was far less of the Hanoi style ricketiness and dirt lying around. There wasn’t any tile missing. The place was really taken care of. However, despite all that, the general vibe bore an oozy superficial fragrance. All the faces around me were drunk on the illusions of dopamine infusing materialism and self-gratification. An abundance of style was dominating the scene, only to make up for the lack of substance.
Putting together all the bad luck, shitty weather, and lack of climax, the first impressions of Saigon weren’t too favorable. The first night was coming to an end and I was booked for two more. I would probably spend the rest of that time walking around the center, taking pictures, like the most average tourist would. And then I would down one, two or three cocktails at one of those posh sky bars before finally pissing off all the way back to Hanoi where I’d figure out what to do with the rest of the summer.
The following day came and something really weird and unexpected happened. I walked outside and just stood in the middle of the street. The sky was as bright as it could get and there was a soft morning breeze keeping everything cool and fresh. There was something in the air. Some energy or whatever mysticism doing its thing, making me enjoy that moment beyond explanation. And I can sure tell there were no drugs involved, as I hadn’t consumed anything until that moment. Not even a glass of water. So it couldn’t be that.
I got me some ice tea from the Circle K where the young girl working at the counter cracked some joke with me and we both laughed, which wasn’t really the expected Circle K interaction. Not in Hanoi at least. I carried on with my stroll outside, still high on that atmosphere. A bunch of random strangers smiled at me and I smiled back.
The night before I was absolutely loathing that very same place and was making plans on how to keep myself busy until I’d finally get the hell out of it and never come back. Yet again, as usual, time makes fools of us all. I reconsidered my perception of the city and I began to actually love it. All those beautiful high rise modern skyscrapers and belle epoque French structures looking all bourgeois and stylish were simply shining and inviting me to dive deeper and have a better look through the streets of Saigon. It was one of those classic comedy bits when you have a bad start that makes you hate about everything in a brand new place, just so in less than 24 hours you eventually begin adoring it and all the stuff that had initially seemed rotten was just water under the bridge.
[1] “You’re not made of sugar. You won’t melt.”
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Illustrations by Andy Vansen