The Road to Saigon

The next day I headed out on a 3-day package tour of Ha Long Bay from my hotel for a dirt cheap $45. Included were all meals, 3-hour bus ride to the coast and back, a night sleeping on a boat in the middle of the bay, a tour of a cave on an island in the bay, a hike up a mountain on Cat Ba Island, a 3-hour kayaking tour through a fishing village, and a night in a hotel on the island. Unbelievable. Giant limestone karst peaks like jagged teeth rose out of the bay and tourist boats shared the seas with fishing vessels of all shapes and sizes. I met a French couple and a French-Canadian couple on the boat. The French couple had just finished a two-week stint volunteering at an orphanage outside Hanoi. When asked about traveling, the kids there dreamed of one day visiting Hanoi, barely 50 miles away. Here I am, 8,000 miles from home with a backpack that costs more than they see in their entire lifetimes.

I give my highest recommendation for traveling to Vietnam. The country was phenomenal. I might not recommend taking a bus down the length of the country from Hanoi to Saigon, though. Pressed for time, I had to skip everything in between the two big cities, taking a 34-hour sleeper bus for the nearly 1,100 mile distance...

The trumpet horn sings out at the pavement ahead, announcing our presence and intentions to oncoming trucks and scores of shoulder-hugging motorbikes. Streets lined with storefronts, mini-markets and foodstands pass by; families and neighbors sit at plastic tables above dirt floor patios; straw cone hats bob among rice patties, bamboo shacks as sentries to pink flowered gardens; the road bends with the passing hills, lined with windmill-shaped ferns, palm trees and a background tree-lined mountain ridge; low-hanging white cottonball clouds floating, suspended at the mountain ridge mid-level; silk-masked women carrying baskets by motorbike; a lone child in a yellow t-shirt carrying a plastic bag full of groceries; rivers stretching and vibrant greens swimming; dark green army helmets strolling roadside, arm around a friend, neighbor, brother; snaking up ascending skyward mountain road, twists and leaning bodies bouncing, sun shining, reflecting, scorching; chimes blaring through bus speakers to a video of colorfully robed opera singers; water buffaloes grazing, basking, stone walls crumbling, railway workers sweating, laundry lines hanging, shirtless children wading; a periodic breath-stealing poison stench from the bus lavatory; a pothole smash and the darting swerve of an overtaking minibus; the swing of a hammock and the swirl of a distant rising smoke, higher up over and around twisting, white lines tracing, vast lake revealed: reddish sand outlined, at once disappeared and back returned; road falling down, hugging a water's edge; gazing at mountains looming; boats of rust and rot and bamboo poles emerging; scattered graves standing with rocks and sand under a canopy; colored triangular roofs above a narrow building; a tunnel approaching, yellow light consuming, the long darkness swallowing; out again and the sea welcomes- factories, warehouses, powerlines and rock piles; hillsides carved and brown grass growing; propaganda billboards like traffic signs while giant brown nets hang over water with four corners hoisted by long bamboo poles; rickshaws of long construction lumber and cafes with curbside motorbikes parked as horses to a trough; garages and bookstores, baseball caps and breathing masks, tire piles and fruit stands. The bus pulls into Da Nang town. Fuel, rest, heat. 16 hours and counting.

The trumpet horn sings and the road to Saigon rolls on.