In the city of Hanoi the looks of foreigners can be found from time to time. Expat foreigners, to be more accurate. Some of these lads drive motorbikes. When in Hanoi, do as the Hanoians do. And these fellas have a very particular way of driving their 2 wheeled engines. Some outsiders call it madness. Others call it pure Taoism. Others call it a traffic river. What needs to flow, flows. What needs to get smashed… well, you know the deal.
Some of the foreigners not only adapt to driving a motorbike in Hanoi out of pure necessity, but they actually come to enjoy it. And the fellas who enjoy it too much begin craving a desire. A desire for long distances. And a country the size and shape of Vietnam provides plenty of those. The most popular would undoubtedly be Hanoi-Saigon. The two Vietnamese mega cities. The ying and yang of the country’s urban landscape. The two Vietnamese metropolitan brothers who, despite all the banter and their differences in taste and vision, they still stick to each other.
I found myself to be one of those exact foreigners with an appetite for motorbike driving. In my almost 3 years of living, working, eating and sleeping in the city of Hanoi, I slowly worked my way from a scooter to a semi-automatic to a 125cc Honda engine, later upgraded to a 150cc engine.
And the day came when every single one of those 150cc had to work together to bring me from Hanoi to somewhere down south. Way down south. Because it was summer. What else can one do during a whole free summer? Go back to my home country? I think I’ll pass. I had been home before. Spend the summer in Hanoi? Arguably the worst thing to do during that season, since during that time even Satan himself would need air conditioning in that burning city. So where to go? Way down south.
I remember spending a few days of the scorching Hanoi summer with my fellow writers with whom I shared the same sense of seclusion and tranquility. Among other subject matters, we shared a common sense of complaining concerning the summer in our beloved city.
“Just drive to Saigon, man. Why are you still here?” One of my buddies said. And he was right. Why was I still there? I had no answer. But I knew I wouldn’t be there for long.
To be honest, I was a bit hesitant to do this on my own. I tried to persuade some of my close buddies but to no avail. All these guys were either too busy working or they were simply broke. There was nothing I could do about it. A solo motorbike crossing was thus agreed upon.
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After an oil change and equipping myself with the necessary sun protection items, I embarked on my beloved green Honda one Saturday morning at 6:30 am, evading the horrendous nightmare known as the Hanoi rush hour.
The first 50km were arguably the worst part of this whole 1700km+ adventure. Getting out of the glorious Vietnamese capital and its southern outskirts full of bustling markets before reaching the express road that would lead all the way to Saigon was the top priority. The rest would just go by itself.
Once out of the city area, I celebrated with a bowl of Phở bò for breakfast. What followed didn’t bear any significant encounter whatsoever. Not for two days at least. In a matter of hours, I left Ninh Binh behind, had a tea break in Thanh Hóa and stopped again for lunch somewhere halfway between Thanh Hóa and Vinh. The lack of honking combined with the relative cleanliness in Thanh Hóa city made me almost miss the chaos from Hanoi. The legend said that all the people who love honking across the upper half of Vietnam move to Hanoi just to assert their honking skills with the rest. Or maybe it was just an urban legend. I guess I’d never know. I didn’t give to much attention to such matters anyway. My main concern was where my wheels were getting me.
The road was smooth, especially in between towns where I didn’t have to dodge any locals who chose to drive on the wrong side of the road. When driving 100km+ without stopping all you have is yourself, your engine, the scorching sun and the road. To me at least, the act of driving a motorbike indefinitely was the embodiment of absolute freedom. It felt as if there were no more questions, only answers. Drunk on an endless stream of discoveries, while still in complete control of where you were going. An open road which can get anywhere and anywhere is good enough, as long as gas, food and spots to rest or sleep can be found along the way.
At lunch time I decided to eat somewhere on some beach. I was driving along the South China sea so why not? A 5km detour to stare at the ocean’s horizon while having some shrimp was something that needed to happen at least once during that whole summer odyssey.
The place I found was as empty as most cities during the first covid lockdown. But lo, for a customer arrived out of the blue. I had a hard time explaining those country folks that I wanted some fried rice with shrimp, but eventually my message came across.
I was very appreciative of the food and I couldn’t really take it down anyhow. However, for Vietnamese standards, if that fried rice with shrimp would be a lottery ticket, it would definitely be that ticket saying: “try again”. Still, no complain. The friendliness, kindness and heartwarming hospitability delivered by those people made it up for the lack of flavor. Really sweet people.
With a belly full of rice, shrimp and the ubiquitous bitter flavored Vietnamese tea (Trà đá), the journey went on. I didn’t stop until Vinh city, where I had a mango smoothie break. I was officially 300km away from home. Never before had I driven so much. And I wanted to drive more. And that I did. I had no definite objective for that first day in particular. There was only one statement in my mind: DRIVE. And oh boy, I sure did some driving. Despite my bottom getting numb on the saddle, I just kept on going. YEE-HAW!
50km later I found myself in Ha Tinh city, capital of none other than Ha Tinh province. I stopped at some place to have Miến Lươn, the well-known Vietnamese eel noodles. There were some funny lads sitting there, enjoying some bia hoi beer. They invited me to sit with them and have some cold ones. I pointed to the motorbike and told them I had to pass. They still persuaded me, though.
One of those guys went to have a closer look at my motorbike, for which he showed great interest. As I was eating my noodles, I handed him my keys and told him to give it a go. He didn’t think twice, so he revved up the engine and drove away. Just like that, I had just given my motorbike to a dude who I’d known for maybe 20 minutes. Would he return? I didn’t even know his name. A complete stranger he was, and I watched him driving my motorbike down the road that was connecting Hanoi and Saigon. Was that the end of my trip? Should I get a train? The man could’ve gone anywhere. Except he didn’t.
After 3 minutes he was back. Right when I was considering if I should switch to the train or simply hitch hike my way down south. I guess my trip was not over after all. The Honda engine was still mine to keep. For a while at least.
I finished my noodles and right before I left one of the guys who wanted to give me a drink offered me a phone number. He told me it belonged to a lady that would do anything for 200.000 Vietnamese Dong (8$). The others laughed and winked at me. I appreciated that. If you venture to some other city and some locals gives you a phone number of a local prostitute, it means they really like you and that’s a fact. It’s a high form of flattery.
I told the guy that I had other things going on, that I was on my way further down south. Still, if I ever found myself in this life in Ha Tinh city, I knew I could get a piece of ass for 8$ and I took a weird sense of comfort in that.
After 10 minutes I forgot about the phone number and all those lads. It was getting dark. I was 360km away from home. My ambition was to make it to 400km. I just had an urge to do it and I couldn’t explain why. It just felt nice to have that achievement. I knew I would never do it again. Not in Vietnam and not with only 150cc at least.
That night I also realized that I would never drive in the dark on Vietnamese national roads like that. Not when so many drivers would have their flashes on constantly. It was a miracle I didn’t go blind that night.
I stumbled upon a motel and rested my soul after 405km of driving. I just had to do it. I ticked that off my list and called it a day. I was so tired that not even the loud Vietnamese family with little kids that stayed across my room couldn’t stop my sleep drifting. The kids screaming, the moms scolding them and the slammed doors were no match for my body’s call for rest.
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I got up with the sun. Sol Invictus was inviting me to step out. Another day, another drive, another revving up of the engine. As I was approaching the middle of Vietnam, I could see the subtle changes in the country’s landscape. The food was getting spicier. The sand was getting brighter. The ocean was getting bluer. The air was getting breezier. The flavors were getting spicier. The food was changing, adding more and more creatures of the sea to the menu.
The breakfast was the first surprise of the day. I saw many eating places on the main road as I was on my way to the city of Đồng Hới. My eyes shimmered when I saw “Bún chả” on one of those food stands. I could eat some Bún chả any time of the day or night. If Bún chả was a lady, I would make sweet love to her until my body would be dust on canvas. Bún chả Hà Nội was one of the reasons I was still living in that hectic capital.
There was one thing I didn’t know, though. The Bún chả I encountered at that place on the road in central Vietnam was not the same as the Bún chả up in Hanoi. I learned that the hard way, when I saw what was brought to me. It was basically a broth with rice noodles and two sad crab meatballs tossed together in a bowl. Whatever that was, it was clearly not Bún chả. There could be only one Bún chả and that was Bún chả Hà Nội.
The flavor and texture were fine, but not outstanding enough to bear the sacred name of Bún chả. But hey, I can’t complain. It was alright for a frugal breakfast at 7:30 in the morning. As long as the engine was running and the weather was dry, I had no pretentions whatsoever. And as long as the meals that I had didn’t give me food poisoning or anything that could compromise my trip, I could eat pretty much anything.
The second surprise of the day was a rusty, abandoned, shabby looking Eiffel tower I came across in the town of Đông Hà. There are many Eiffel towers across the world and one does not simply pass by indifferently when one of those Eiffel towers appears in sight. I took a picture with the green Honda and the monument. I had to spread the word. The world had to know about the Đông Hà Eiffel tower.
After the little taste of Paris, nothing really significant came along the way. Only at the end when I reached the first major stop of this whole ordeal. It was time for Huế. And one does not simply go through Huế as through the average provincial town. Not one who has any slight idea of what Huế stands for.
The city of Huế has 3 sides. One of them is the previous capital of Vietnam, a symbol of the celebrated Nguyen dynasty, the epicenter that once united the whole country, an embodiment of ruling and royal refinement. A place of kings and all their customs, traditions and displays of power. A place where the princess drinks her tea and the king sips his wine while the queen walks into the garden in a silken Áo dài dress.
Another side of Huế is the bastion of Vietnamese culture and arts. An architectural gem where temples, ancient monuments and traditional residences come together. A richness in aesthetics that pleases the eyes of any visitor, traveler or passerby. Add the few locals that walk around clad in traditional outfits and the immersion back in time is finally complete. A different era welcomes anyone who ventures within the walls of the old city. Thus, the miracle of entering a different civilization whose memory is kept alive awaits indefinitely within the city limits of Huế.
The final side of the central Vietnamese metropolis is for the food enthusiasts. Notorious in the whole country as being a culinary delight, the city delivers to the ones who embark on a flavorful journey. The exquisite ways of designing shrimp dishes, noodles, desserts and the legendary Bánh mì left their mark in the entire nation.
Knowing all that, I felt compelled to dedicate my time to each of those sides. That was the plan and there was no reason not to stick to it.
The hostel where I checked in reflected nothing of the 3 sides mentioned about Huế. The circumstances compelled me to pick that spot, as I was just passing by, exhausted, famished, and unable to spend any more time postponing the most basic of my needs. My human body could handle only a limited amount of starvation and lack of shelter.
By pure chance, traveler instinct, intuition or whatever one would call it, my motorbike brought me to the most touristy side of Huế where beer chugging, pot smoking, nightclubs and western fast food were the norm. I didn’t mind any of that though, as I was happy enough to park my motorbike in a secured place and it so happened that I checked in at 5:30 pm, during the one hour free beer policy from that particular place.
I obliged for the beer, which satisfied my hunger for a bit. I finished the bottle at 5:59pm sharp. By the time I went to the bar to exchange it for a second one, it was 6:00pm already. Boy, was I close.
Anyway, I still needed actual food. And since my batteries were way too low to walk around looking for a Vietnamese street food place with the proper street food price, I got a lousy portion of pork noodles at an overpriced bar restaurant lying just around the corner. It was the most depressing portion of Vietnamese food I’d ever had in my life. The flavor was good, but the amount was simply appalling. It was far from the big, generous, welcoming portions I had along the way. It still didn’t matter though. I was just glad I got rid of my borderline starving condition. I felt more or less rejuvenated.
The remaining part of the night was dedicated to get that missed rest I postponed all those 650km+ driven from my porch to the middle of Vietnam. I remember watching the football game with some English fellas from the hostel. England and Slovakia were playing against each other in the round of 16 at the Euro 2024 football championship. I was hoping Slovakia would win, just to see the faces of the English lads in the aftermath. That was the kind of sadist I was. But they still made it to the next round at the very end, in extra time. Lucky bastards.
The following day was meant for walking only. Walking in the real Hue, blending in with the actual heritage. The green Honda needed a day off. And my legs needed to make some steps. I fell asleep thinking about the following day. There was a whole lot to see and a whole lot of walking ahead.
Part 2: https://andyvansen.com/2024/08/motorbike-notes-part-ii-hue/