Today we crossed the Red River delta, one of the most populated places on Earth --a fact that was hard to forget as we crossed the people-filled plain. Yesterday's \"rest day\" in Ninh Binh went by all too quickly (as rest days have an annoying tendency to do). We spent the greater part of it cycling out to Tam Coc, the region's principal tourist attraction, where we were treated to yet another sweaty rowboat ride through intensely beautiful scenery. We foolishly elected to take another route back to town, along unimproved roads and tracks. While it was interesting to see the primitive conditions in which most Vietnamese live, my butt didn't need another beating after the abuse I subjected it to the previous day.
This morning we got an extra-early start, having convinced the hotel to have breakfast ready for us an hour before regular operating hours. Our bellies full of yesterday's stale baguettes, we rode out of Ninh Binh in the dawn drizzle, plowing past *cyclos*, oxcarts and clouds of slow-moving bicycles. A Vietnamese guy we met in a backpackers café yesterday told us that the road to Haiphong was \"bad, very very bad\" so we were expecting the worst. But in actuality it was all right --a little bumpy perhaps, but at least it was paved, straight, and flat as a board. We made good time to Nam Dinh, 29 kilometers away.
The town came as somewhat of a surprise after the rural aspect of the road. The place was hugely crowded, bursting at the seams with teeming humanity, Asia at its most intense. Somehow we made it through the mess (basically a giant bicycle jam) and out to the ferry that would take us across the Red River's main branch. Since demand for this decrepit old ferry far exceeds capacity, we had to dig in our heels and wait while seven thousand pairs of eyes focused on us and us alone. Fortunately a tall, intellectual-looking local took us under his wing and helped us schmooze our way to the head of the line.
He said he was on his way to nearby Thai Binh but spent most of his time in Brussels. Thai Binh is another huge Red River delta town. Our route fortunately skirted around the center, allowing us to admire from a distance the big Spanish-style church dominating the city's skyline. We made a beverage stop on the way out of town, gulping down many liters of liquids and using the newly-installed bathroom facilities that were obviously the owner's pride and joy (he insisted on providing us with clean towels and gave us a detailed tour of the sparkling clean plumbing). Though I've grown used to it over the past several months, I still find it amusing to walk through someone's house --the kitchen, the bedrooms---in order to use the toilet (which is invariably located in the back yard with the chickens, the laundry).
It allows an intimate glimpse of how these people live. Usually there's someone crouched over a cooking fire, a couple of kids playing on the cement floor and a grandparent asleep in a cot in the corner. How do Asians manage to make so many kids with such an utter lack of privacy? A glancing tailwind blew us the next fifty kilometers to a crossroads at Vinh Bao. A sign indicated a shorter route to Haiphong to the right; but having a rich experience in failed shortcuts, we proceeded with caution. Miraculously a young shopkeeper approached us and started speaking in perfectly pronounced German.
He said he had lived in Germany before (presumably the eastern part) and that the shortcut was definitely the way to go. Though my German is limited at best, I understood that the road was well-surfaced, that we should turn left over the second bridge and that there would be a ferry. After so many weeks of making futile attempts at sign language, it felt great to be communicating verbally again. We did well by taking the shortcut, which turned out to be an absolute dream of a road. A narrow ribbon of asphalt running alongside a canal and carrying only bicycle and foot traffic, it wouldn't have looked out of place in Holland.
During this bucolic 28-km pedal into town Fred developed his theory that Vietnamese --at least those living in this crowded region---are actually Smurfs. Supporting evidence included the miniature houses and boats, and the generally diminutive (not to mention friendly and fun-loving) nature of the people. Whatever the case, it felt wonderful to be away from truck horns, the only sounds being those of children playing, ducks quacking, creaky old bicycles pedaling along, and the ceaseless roar of the wind. If only all our routes were like this... At one point we passed a one-legged man pedaling furiously. He blew us both away by keeping up with us for several kilometers, beaming proudly all the while.
Another guy we saw was pushing a bike so heavily-laden with eel traps that it looked like a moving mountain of wicker rolling down the road. Our second ferry of the day was even more crowded than the first, with no effete Brussels-dweller to buffer us from the teeming, curious masses. We had to fight tooth and nail for a tiny spot at the rear of the boat, jammed against motorbikes bearing crabs, pedaling ice cream vendors and yolk-carrying peasants of every stripe. Not long after landing on the other side we were lost in the tree-shaded labyrinth of Haiphong, Vietnam's third- or fourth- largest city, depending on whom you ask.
With more than the usual communications difficulties, we managed to find the port and book passage to Hon Gai, also known as Halong City. The following two-and-a-half-hours unquestionably constitute the best three-dollar cruise I've ever taken. Standing on the bow of a boat in the golden hours before sunset is always a magical experience for me, and doing so among the dreamlike islands of Halong Bay touches on the sublime. Hon Gai is much more spectacularly situated than its more touristed neighbor, Bai Chay (a.k.a. Halong City West), where we had been with Wendy precisely one week earlier. For one thing, it is set right amidst the karst formations for which Halong Bay is famous.
But perhaps more picturesque is the substantial floating village which clogs the harbor. Boats --most of them oar-powered--- glide this way and that, bearing all manner of goods, animals and people. The town itself is like a miniature Hong Kong, jam-packed and oriented vertically towards the mountains and the sky. After two nights in a shithole, our lodgings in Hon Gai feel like a major coup. It is our first accommodation in Vietnam calling itself a \"mini hotel\" \--an appropriate moniker given the postage-stamp sized towel, the Lilliputian furniture and the \$13 price tag. Included in this rate is a drop-dead gorgeous view of Halong Bay, which we were able to appreciate for all of five minutes before darkness fell.
As I write these notes, I'm hoping Fred won't rustle me downstairs before dawn tomorrow so I can get another peek.