I'd slept restlessly, with dreams of lost passports disturbing my sleep. Vietnamese hotel operators are absolutely crazy for your travel papers. They so badly want to hold them hostage so that you won't run off with their sheets and towels. They all claim that the \"police\" must see them, but I have yet to see any hotel personnel run them to the station house. What they do is copy some information onto little slips of paper and then lock them in a drawer, press them into a notebook or use them as drink coasters in the hotel lounge. Normally we insist on having them the night before we leave a place, but on this occasion we were unable to persuade the management to give them to us, thus inspiring my dreams.
After a breakfast of yogurt, mangos and Cliff Bars while staring at the most spectacular view from any hotel that I've ever stayed in, we hit the road. We had to contend with a surprising amount of traffic as we made our way to the Chinese border. Huge trucks full of coal fought tour busses for space on the road. The tourists, largely Vietnamese, were on their way to the border town's free trade zone to buy cheap Chinese goods. Soon after leaving Hon Gai the road and the houses lining it turned to coal-dust gray. From the palette we could have easily been in Belgium.
The people were gray as well. We passed a threesome of children that were so dirty it was hard to distinguish them from the anthracite dust itself. We could hardly criticize their hygiene, as we were both sporting black skunk stripes down our backs and a thick layer of coal dust had adhered to our sweat-covered bodies. When we stopped for drinks the locals were amused by our ragtag appearance. When we could look past the gray road undistracted by the busses and trucks we saw the rounded limestone hills covered by thick green foliage. It felt as though we had already passed out of Vietnam.
The people seemed far less refined. In all other parts of the country even the poorest peasants seem somehow civilized. This day their shouts from the roadside seemed vulgar and obnoxious. When we reached Tien Yen \--our intended day's destination\-- we were unable even to eat our midday meal in peace. The restaurant's staff occupied the tables around us, pointing and laughing at us while we tried to eat. A visit to the only hotel in town revealed a shockingly dirty and overpriced hellhole. I voted to continue on to Mong Cai by bike or bus and Andy grudgingly agreed. We would have stayed had the villagers been nice or the town charming, but neither seemed so.
After a half-hour wait (during which a handful of locals poked, prodded, pinched and petted us in awe) we were on a bus. Our bikes were secured up top and we were underway to the border after riding nearly 100 kilometers in the blazing sun. The bus itself was not one for tourists. It was filled with peasants, many of whom had been on the tiny thing since Hanoi. At times it seemed that the crew (there were at least five) and the passengers were a family; they displayed such familiarity. Just before we reached Mong Cai all available space seemed to fill with giggling girls who stared and laughed at us for the best part of a half-hour.
Mong Cai was hardly more beautiful than Tien Yen. The big dusty cement market town had the appearance of being built yesterday. Getting off the bus we were greeted by twenty motorcycle taxi drivers vying for our business despite the fact we had our own transportation. They stood in our way as tried to load our bikes and press onward. Other \"helpful\" types rode along side of us as we toured town hawking hotel rooms. In the end a Chinese-Vietnamese businessman helped us find comfortable lodgings and we settled in before seeking a pre-dinner BikeBrat snack of ice cream. Dust, dirt, inhospitable surroundings, brusque people, average food all hosted in an ugly town.
This seemed a weird way to end our stay in Vietnam and at odds with the rest of the visit. I wondered if this was what lay ahead of us in China fearing the worst. Mong Cai was a disgusting hell-hole, but our visit to Vietnam was probably our most interesting one in Asia to date. Part of the appeal was that Vietnam was new to both of us and neither of us had any idea what to expect, except the worst as we were warned by other travelers and our guidebook. Our last hotel in Vietnam was hardly worth remembering except that it encapsulated two favorite pastimes of the Vietnamese: karaoke and cavorting with whores.
I was certain the wailing sounds of the former would drown out the cries of the latter. There were at least three karaoke rooms that had windows on the same airshaft as our room. The songs mingled and echoed, rendering sound concoctions that ranged from horror movie soundtracks to dogs copulating. Somehow through all the dust, dirt, dinge and Chinese influence there was some essence of the Vietnam I'd come to like. Curious kids uninhibited by our strangeness still approached, bustling market fringed with cafés beckoned and friendly folks of all sorts greeted us. I was truly sad to be leaving Vietnam and was counting the days until I might return.
Perhaps we will have to ride from Saigon through Cambodia afterall?!