Christmas Markets of a Rather Different Sort...

I'm always sceptical when guidebooks recommend that you should visit a market when in non-First World countries. The implication, in today's age of supermarkets and online shopping, is that markets are an oddity only seen in the less-developed world, a place to go and take pictures of piles of fruit while the locals buy goods with cash rather than plastic. Having seen the souqs of North Africa and the Middle East, I was somehow doubtful as to whether I'd find the markets around Bac Ha that interesting from one point of view, though the colour described by Lonely Planet was an appealing guilty pleasure.

The ride to Bac Ha from Sapa was an uneventful one; the weather improved on the way into Lao Cai and then worsened (i.e. became colder) as I gained altitude. The only real events were becoming mildly lost in Lao Cai (the Vietnamese have a strange habit of giving non-specific directions ["Go down there and take a right," they gesture. Which right?]) and being pursued for three miles or so by three giggling teenage girls on a moped who, when I stopped, insisted that I pose for a number of photographs and take one of them. All this while a group of primary school children looked on, bemused by the spectacle.

For about five minutes, I knew how the Beatles felt.

Bac Ha itself is not the most picturesque village, with a temple in the main square and the Tay king's palace the main architectural focal points. The market place is very open and bordered by a number of stalls (empty when I arrived) and was populated by a number of local women selling vegetables of various descriptions. It wasn't difficult to imagine the area thronged by local shoppers and the busloads of camera-toting tourists from Hanoi every Sunday; I had missed out and would have to make do with the Tuesday morning market at Coc Ly, around twenty-eight miles south-west of Bac Ha. Having sought out Mr Nghe, Bac Ha's tourism guru, that evening, he told me that the road was fine for the motorbike.

The market place, Bac Ha.

 Christmas morning was cold and bereft of presents or any other symbols of a Western Christmas. Mr Nghe turned out to have added to the lack of Christmas spirit by failing to mention that the road to Coc Ly wasn't actually a road: it can only be described as a track, which becomes progressively worse as one approaches Coc Ly. The bike groaned as it hopped over boulders, repeatedly stalled and I was reminded of my experience on the way to Lai Chau, cursing Dr Pangloss Mr Nghe and wincing as my suspension took a battering.

I just about reached Coc Ly in one piece and proceedings were already in full flow. There was a conspicuous absence of tourists, with perhaps one party present, and there certainly was a lot of colour. I felt intensely voyeuristic as I photographed people going about their business, though they didn't appear to either notice or mind too much (I was discreet, unlike one tourist, who blatantly aimed his lens at people trying to eat their lunch, probably for an "Asians eating" album!). The market sold all manner of things, ranging from the ornate dresses worn by the local Tay ladies to pots and pans, from pigs' heads to handbags, reminding me of Sunday markets at home when I was a child, though Tay dresses and pigs' heads weren't on sale in Morecambe, strangely enough.

While a few were present, men were definitely in the minority, with nearly every stall manned by a woman and the vast majority of shoppers being female too. I have noticed this more and more on my journey through Northern Vietnam: women are very visible and engage in the most surprising tasks, lugging large loads on their backs, doing lots of farm work and selling goods. The men are largely absent or to be found doing other things (every mechanic has been a man, for example, as well as every policeman). A large group of men was grouped around livestock, so that was presumably their role in proceedings (the buying and selling of cattle/water buffalo) or they were simply catching up while their wives/relatives did the shopping...

The only negative point was definitely understandable. The market traders became animated if I lingered in front of their stalls for too long and people implored me to buy things, becoming frustrated when I said no (one lady asked, "Why do you come here and buy nothing?"). What became clear, understandably, is that tourists' presence there is exasperating, for they turn up, take pictures and leave. For the people working in the market, this is a livelihood, part of their way of life, yet for tourists it is an oddity, an attraction, a view fuelled by guidebooks.

I had met an Anglo-Kiwi couple at the market who had ridden down from Bac Ha on a scooter. We agreed to ride back together and I decided to film the way back, for going uphill on such terrain is easier and I knew the "road" a little better. All was going well until they fell into a large pile of mud, soiling themselves and the bike (footage available later). This didn't bode well for the rest of the ride, for my bike then broke down around six miles from Bac Ha, refusing to start and emitting large quantities of smoke when ignition was attempted. After the standard but futile posturing and fiddling by some passers-by, I was ignominiously towed back to Bac Ha by a xe om driver. Was the journey over?  Had my "re-built" bike died? Was I going to (justifiably, as it happens) send hate mail to Vietnam Motorbikes? No, for a mechanic quickly established that my bike was (a) Chinese rubbish and (b) wasn't starting due to a blown gasket and installed a new one for VND100,000.

The offending article.

Christmas Day was rounded off in a way which is no longer surprising me. Spending the evening in a restaurant over coffee, I was the only customer present. The owner spoke a little English and, disturbing me from my reading, very kindly invited me to eat with the family. I don't think that this was a Christmas gesture (though it might have been) but rather another extension of traditional, rural hospitality. Smiling faces greeted me at the table and smiling faces waved goodbye an hour later. After the difficulties of earlier in the day, Christmas had turned out quite well.

The Roof of Indochina.

With Christmas drawing near, I was feeling distinctly un-Christmassy, in the main due to the sunny weather and lack of decorations around the place. However, the Vietnamese seem to have a rather odd relationship with this festival, for it has appeared sporadically without seeming to mean anything whatsoever. Some of the restaurants I have visited have played Christmas songs re-hashed in Vietnamese (my favourites being "Jingle Bells" and John Lennon's "So This is Christmas?"), while some of the towns, notably Son La, have had Christmas lights up in the street. I shouldn't expect a communist state to sponsor the celebration of a religious festival, given that doctrine's relationship with churches of various denominations, and so I have found the whole thing queer to say the least.

The Tran Tom Pass.

All of this changed when I reached Sapa. No, there weren't Father Christmases running around or reindeer in the market-place, but the climate suddenly felt like a British winter. My arrival there was rather inauspicious, for my bike was making the most horrible noises when accelerating. A number of mechanics along the way had been at a loss to explain it, so I entered a mechanic's shop four miles (six kilometres) outside Sapa with some scepticism over whether he could fix it. How wrong I was! The young mechanic diligently checked my bike and then took it for a ride. The answer was simple: it was, in essence, about to fall apart, such had been the battering it took during its sudden transformation into a dirt bike. He must have spent an hour on the bike and only charged me VND100,000 for tightening the bike and fixing a couple of other odds and ends, while he clearly knew what he was doing, so I thoroughly recommend. He is located four miles from Sapa on the approach from Lai Chau.

Sapa is a pleasant little town in which to spend a couple of days, though my own reason for coming here was not for rest and relaxation (too cold for that!). No, I was here to climb Fansipan (10,311ft/3,143m), the tallest mountain in Indochina. I arranged this quickly when checking in at the Sapa Hostel, where I didn't end up staying, instead being moved to the owner's sister's guesthouse two doors down (VND150,000).

The church, Sapa.

Sadly, most of what Sapa was no longer exists. The French, attracted by the town's European climate, turned it into something of a resort for the colonial administration, and by all accounts a number of attractive buildings. Viet Minh activities and, later, French bombing raids put paid to those, however, with much of the town being destroyed and having to be re-built afterwards. The result is not unpleasant, with the central lake providing calm amid the touristic hubbub. The town has become something of a honeypot, with a number of local ethnic minorities now calling Sapa home in pursuit of tourist money. The result is reasonably-priced accommodation and food, together with the odd polite attempt to sell you things by colourfully-dressed women.

The lake, Sapa.

Fansipan required an early start, and an early start it got. My guide for the day was waiting for me outside my accommodation at 06:00 (it was still dark) with his moped, ready to take me to Tran Tom, where the walk started. My guide was a twenty year old Black H'Mong called Su, the youngest of four children in a Lai Chau family. The ride to Tran Tom was miserable. It was cold, wet and foggy; none of which changed for the remainder of the day. There were very few foreigners on the mountain (I saw four), though Su informed me that he had taken two British tourists up the day before ("They were very fast; I let them go ahead because I was tired!"). I couldn't believe that he was going up again a day after his last ascent, though my shock was lessened when he told me that this was his twenty-sixth walk up Fansipan since he had moved to Sapa four months ago; he'd also managed to learn English on a two week course.

The walk is straightforward enough for anyone of reasonable fitness, and I struggled to see why a one or two night trip may be required. The ascent is not technical in any way, with wet, slippery rocks being the main difficulty to overcome. Furthermore, I found that both campsites were pretty dirty, with rubbish strewn about the place and the shelters looking distinctly unappealing; and seeing this made me pleased that I was going up and down in one day.

The summit was around two hours from the second camp; we reached it around six hours after we had set out. The views were non-existent, for the perma-fog was obscuring everything, but I didn't mind; the sense of accomplishment was enough for me. As I hugged the summit marker gleefully, Su casually smoked another cigarette, congratulating me for my effort and berating his countrymen, who seemingly celebrate reaching the top by scattering litter there. He wasn't too complimentary about Vietnamese walkers in general, adding that they were lazy, slow walkers and that he preferred to walk with foreigners.

The descent was also straightforward enough, even if it was hard on the knees. The main difficulty at this point was the darkness, which had crept up on us, and we ended up walking for perhaps an hour in the dark: one day walkers should bring a torch. By this point, the cold really was biting and, as I looked forward to a hot shower and dinner, you can imagine my horror when there, in the pitch black, Su managed to snap his motorcycle key in the ignition. Thankfully, we'd overtaken the "lazy" Vietnamese group on the way down and, displaying yet more commonplace kindness, they gave me a lift home.

A Bumpy Ride.

Having had to stay in Dien Bien Phu for a day longer than planned, I had lost Shawn, who had headed to Muong Lay. My intention was to meet him, though this plan was scuppered when the bank took an hour and a half to process a Western Union pick-up.

The trip from Dien Bien Phu to Muong Lay was largely the same as the others so far: the road was good and the scenery both pleasantly bucolic and imposing. On the approach to Muong Lay, it became apparent that a good deal of building work has gone on in the region, and in the city itself the roads were in various states of repair. There was nothing to detain me here, especially after a mechanic engaged in the now routine pastime of mocking my motorbike! That said, the lake makes for some excellent photography...

From Muong Lay, I decided to follow Lonely Planet's advice and take the route to Lai Chau via Sinho, a village deemed "worth a trip" in the guidebook. The drive to the village was definitely worth it, with the road winding up the side of a mountain through a number of little villages, where the reactions of the inhabitants (especially the younger ones) suggested that outsiders don't pass by often. The road isn't one to be sped along, though, so anyone planning to go up there should take it easy: the surface can be very smooth in places and I nearly came off a couple of times on the bends.

On arrival in Sinho, I saw what the guidebook meant about the "you're not from round here" looks given out by the people. The excited cries of "Hello!" did not ring out from the children, while my arrival in the main square (where a volleyball tournament was being held) was met with cautious, awkward glances from those around. After meeting David, a Spanish cyclist whom I'd met in Dien Bien Phu, I decided to explore some more. It was, however, strangely impossible to get anything substantial to eat from the many restaurants, and I had to make do with some peanuts and some water. The whole place had a "League of Gentlemen" feel to it, so I decided to move on.

This was where things became complicated, and this information is key for anyone planning to take this route in the near future. My Vietnamese road atlas indicated that the road from Sinho to Lai Chau was a   decent, sealed one, so I calculated that I ought to cover the forty miles or so in around an hour, arriving comfortably before daylight. How wrong I was! About four miles out of Sinho, the road disappeared, leaving only the most rudimentary of dirt tracks. "Fine," I thought, "it may take me a little longer." Bumping along the track with the locals, it got worse, and worse, and worse, to the point that I was riding over huge rocks, pulling the bike through mud and smashing my suspension as I went through deep ruts. In short, the road was being built, something brought home to me as I dodged the steamrollers, bulldozers and diggers along the way. At least the workmen were pleased to see me!

The sun was falling lower and lower in the sky and I was getting nowhere fast. I cursed Lonely Planet. I cursed my road atlas. Before I knew it, it was dark and I was still sliding through mud and slime. The workmen were knocking off and watched me pass by their shacks as they ate their dinner. They shouted things at me, possibly words of encouragement, possibly accusations of lunacy but, in all honesty, I had no choice but to plough on grimly. The bike was holding up well, though it was beginning to squeak a bit. To anyone planning this trip: leave plenty of time for this section or, simply put, don't bother with it!

An ominous, if beautiful, sunset.

Eventually, the "road" became a road again and I was able to build up some speed and eventually came to Lai Chau after hurtling downhill, with only my dynamo-powered light directing me. I was weary and so was the bike, as evidenced by its struggle to pull away from a dog, which seemingly wanted to savage me for daring to stop in a dimly-lit street.

Another tip now: Lai Chau is difficult to navigate in the dark. I spent around twenty minutes wandering around trying to find the hotel I wanted, having to be taken there (act of commonplace kindness) by a petrol station attendant who clearly realised that I would never be able to follow his directions. The Tay Bac Hotel (VND150,000 for a private room) was a welcome journey's end.

Dien Bien Phu - Hanoi - Dien Bien Phu in Sixteen Hours.

The previous day in Dien Bien Phu had ended rather surreally. My negative experience in Hanoi (alluded to earlier) was robbery; someone had pick-pocketed me and taken my bank and credit cards, among other things, on my first day in Vietnam. During the course of the day in DBP, I had learned that my replacement cards had arrived in Hanoi. I was faced with a dilemma: should I head back to Hanoi that night and fly back the next morning or wait until I reached Sapa? The former won, simply for convenience.

It meant a very hasty departure from Dien Bien Phu, made all the more hasty by my vacillation. At 19:00, I decided to leave, with the last bus to Hanoi at 20:00. Ho really came into his own here, despite being thirteen years old. He called Vietnam Airlines to arrange the flight back from Hanoi the next morning but was told to go to the office, which we did in a taxi at 19:35. This was especially ludicrous, since the centre of Dien Bien Phu operates a 30km/h speed limit in the centre, so the trip to the booking office was like something out of a bad comedy, with me urging the driver to go faster as I was racing the clock. All turned out okay and the lady booked me onto the 11:10 departure from Hanoi to Dien Bien Phu the following morning.

The night bus passed without incident, surprisingly (I hated them last time I was here), and I slept all the way to Hanoi, which was unpleasantly drizzly and cold in stark contrast with the sunny, warm weather in Dien Bien Phu. Bus stations are always miserable places, especially early in the morning, and My Dinh is no exception! Upon reaching the hostel, I received my cards (thanking Westpac for an early Christmas present), collected my police report and left for the airport, all before most of the clientele at the hostel had woken from their alcohol-soaked slumber.

On arrival at Noi Bai Airport, the news was predictable, given some of my luck so far: the 'plane was delayed. Staying positive, I decided to draw some money with my new bank card and excitedly approached the ATM. I put in the card, keyed in the PIN and watched in horror as the machine displayed the following message:

INVALID PIN. CARD RETAINED AT THE REQUEST OF THE ISSUER.

I could not believe my eyes. Here I was, at the airport, in possession of my cards again, and this had happened. My feelings were a maelstrom  of fury, despair and disbelief, raging in my mind as I checked in for my flight. I was so shocked, I think, that I passed out for the duration of the one hour journey back to Dien Bien Phu.

Walking disconsolately towards the terminal, my spirits were soon lifted. As I entered the arrivals hall, I heard a familiar voice shouting, "Hey, you! You! Hey, you!" Raising my glance, I saw the same blue singlet which I had seen for the last two days and could not help but smile. Ho and his father had come to meet me at the airport (another commonplace act of kindness) and led me to the motorcycle parking, where Ho's bicycle, complete with go-faster tassels on the handlebars, was parked beside his father's moped. I was touched, but was soon laughing hard as we went along the road to the hotel, poor Ho being left in the dust as he attempted to pedal his bike after us.

Shawn couldn't believe what had happened and I encouraged him to leave, partly for his own good in terms of his trip and partly because I needed to sort things out by myself. He left for Muong Lay as I talked on the 'phone with my bank, who claimed not to have changed my PIN despite no one else having done so. The result of it all was a cash transfer from Mastercard and another night in Dien Bien Phu. Bored of being on the 'phone all day, I decided to go for a joyride before leaving the next morning. Here it is:

Dien Bien Phu.

The entrance to Dien Bien Phu had resembled the battlefield of 1954, I imagined as my bike chugged through crater-like potholes, since the road had been entirely dug up to facilitate the laying of a new one.  We checked in at the Viet Hoang Hotel (VND150,000 for my own room), where the owner's son provided great entertainment. We walked through the door to find no adults around, only a young boy clad in a blue singlet sitting behind the counter. He was extremely worldly-wise and had something of Del Boy about him as he demanded our passports while taking phone calls, cracking jokes and laying down the rules of the hotel to us. I asked him if he was the boss, at which he laughed, and eventually his mother and father appeared, beaming proudly at their son. The reason for the thirteen-year-old Ho's prominence was of course his English language proficiency; he proudly informed me of his attendance at school before asking me to help with his homework. I had thought that I was on holiday...

The Muong Thanh Bridge.

Dien Bien Phu has fascinated me for the reasons to which I alluded in my Singapore post. It's a seminal, oft-forgotten event in the twentieth century and was ground-breaking in what it signified. Martin Windrow said in his book The Last Valley:

"[It was] the first time that a non-European colonial independence movement had evolved through all the stages from guerrilla bands to a conventionally organized and equipped army able to defeat a modern Western occupier in pitched battle."

For the uninitiated, the Battle (or Siege) of Dien Bien Phu took place between March and May of 1954. The French were trying to re-assert their supremacy in Indochina, whereas the Viet Minh were striving for an independent Vietnamese state, and a confrontation was inevitable. Since the Viet Minh were running supply lines to and from Laos, the French decided to disrupt this by building a fortress in the then-village of Dien Bien Phu, hoping to draw Vo Nguyen Giap, the general of the Viet Minh forces, into a pitched battle. The rationale for this lay in a previous encounter at Na San in 1952, where Giap had attacked a French outpost and failed miserably, and in the French commanders' belief that Giap could not bring heavy artillery through the mountains and jungle to Dien Bien Phu.

Although the city has changed a lot since 1954, it is easy to see its strategic significance. It lies on a plain close to the Lao border, surrounded by mountains and hills on all sides. The Vietnamese government has, in recent years, pumped a lot of money into the city in order to develop it as a regional capital, and it is clear, from the outside, that the city has a bright future. And yet, despite this, it is its past which remains at the forefront, with vestiges of those brutal two months everywhere in the shape of museums, cemeteries, memorials and battle sites.

The Battle of Dien Bien Phu was effectively won by the Viet Minh before it had even begun. Giap had learned from his mistake at Na San, which was to make a full-frontal assault on French positions without heavy artillery. Recently armed by the Soviet Union with this weaponry, Giap had cunningly arranged for porters carry the artillery in pieces through the jungle and, upon reaching Dien Bien Phu, had ordered the guns to be positioned in dug-in emplacements (on the advice of the Chinese), which were immune to counter-fire and air raids. The battle began in earnest on March 13, 1954, with Viet Minh artillery bombardment of French positions. The French had assumed that the Viet Minh could not carry out such a strategy and were distraught when the reality faced them, with the French artillery commander, Colonel Charles Piroth, committing suicide in his bunker when he realised that his artillery was helpless against that of the Viet Minh. 

The site of Col. Piroth's bunker, where he blew himself up with a hand grenade.

Under pressure from the Viet Minh, Col. de Castries, the French commander at Dien Bien Phu, received paratroopers to reinforce the French positions. However, supplying these posts became more and more difficult due to the Viet Minh's possession of anti-aircraft guns, so supplies were being dropped from greater heights and were not necessarily received. The situation became increasingly desperate for the French, with rumours of insubordination by de Castries' lieutenants and the Viet Minh forces remaining strong and loyal despite incurring huge casualties in full-frontal infantry assaults on French positions.

de Castries' bunker.

The Viet Minh enjoyed great success against the French, over-running most positions and inflicting heavy casualties on them, mainly as a result of their tactics (including inducing the Tai troops to desert their French comrades, which was successful) and French blunders, which had included using fatigued battalions rather than fresh ones. Soon, however, the battle reached a stalemate, since French rearguard action and devastation of Viet Minh regiments with artillery had checked Giap's plans, leading to trench warfare not seen since the Great War, the remnants of which were still evident on A1 Hill (Éliane to the French).

In short, despite the French resistance, the Viet Minh proved to be too strong for their would-be overlords, over-running the final French position on 7 May, 1954. Eleven thousand French Union personnel were captured and Ho Chi Minh went to the Geneva Conference the next day with his hand mightily improved. The French had been utterly destroyed; the grovelling letters in the Dien Bien Phu Museum from French soldiers to Ho Chi Minh, begging to go home, are startling to say the least. Until that point, the French had been the colonial overlords. Now they were at the mercy of Ho Chi Minh, whom they addressed as "Monsieur le Président" and to whom they apologised for taking his time by bothering him with their letters.

The Vietnamese, according to themselves, lost only four thousand troops, while the French estimate that they killed twenty-three thousand Viet Minh. The majority of these casualties are interred in the Dien Bien Phu War Cemetery, a monumental graveyard in the centre of the city. The exterior is classically Vietnamese and includes an outstanding frieze which documents the Viet Minh victory, from the lugging of the artillery through the jungle to de Castries coming from his bunker, hands up, as a Vietnamese soldier waves the flag on the roof.

The French memorial is a rather more low-key affair. In fact, it wasn't unveiled until around eighteen years ago, mainly because the French had attempted to forget this nadir. Also, the French dead at Dien Bien Phu were buried beneath what are now rice paddies, so a cemetery was out of the question. The memorial lies off the same road as the Muong Thanh Bridge and de Castries' bunker, though it is on the opposite side of the road to that indicated by Lonely Planet's map.

Finally, overlooking the city and visible from the main boulevard running in and out of town, there is a monumental statue which illustrates the two sides of war. One side of the statue illustrates the joy of victory, with soldiers waving a flag and holding a child aloft. The other side of the statue features a grim-looking soldier holding a machine gun, a potent reminder of the nation's readiness to meet all comers head-on.

Why have I dwelled for so long on Dien Bien Phu? Well, the first reason is its historical significance on a global scale. The Viet Minh's destruction of French designs on Indochina represents the first time a colonised people evolved from guerrilla resistance to a fully-equipped army capable of defeating Western armies on the battlefield. This was huge: the damage done to France was so great, in my view, that she never fully recovered from it, mainly in terms of global standing. Her allies viewed the defeat by Vietnamese communists as disastrous and rather embarrassing (the Americans saw it first-hand, for they were aiding the French at Dien Bien Phu), while in France a political crisis sprang up (precipitating the creation of the Fifth Republic) and other colonies saw their chance to get away. Morocco and Tunisia had broken away from France within two years, Algeria within six and the French Union had disintegrated within ten years. For the Vietnamese, the victory gave them national pride, dignity and sovereignty, something which they were loath to relinquish, as the Americans found to their cost ten years later (seemingly disregarding the French's experience when entering the Second Indochina War). There are some parallels with my comments on Britain after Singapore, but the key difference is that the Japanese were an established power, whereas the Viet Minh had long been regarded as little more than a Communist militia.

The museum, Dien Bien Phu.

Secondly, the people of this city are more than aware of its significance in their country's history. A number of people in Dien Bien Phu asked me what I thought of the city and, when I replied that I thought that it was very pleasant, they would earnestly mention its history, encouraging me to visit the sites. Such pride and awareness is both refreshing and compelling; in my view, anyone wishing to understand the birth of this nation must visit Dien Bien Phu, for this is really where it all began for modern Vietnam, and it helps to contextualise much of what happened later in her turbulent history.

Prisons and Weddings: Son La to Dien Bien Phu.

Fresh from the aforementioned act of kindness the night before, we prepared to leave Son La for Dien Bien Phu, thinking that Son La may actually be the most friendly place on earth. Our fellow-karaoke singers, the lady in the pho restaurant and even the ladies in the hotel had all been extremely generous and friendly, leaving a distinct impression; it's always nice to leave a town feeling that you've seen the best of its people.

Before we left, however, a visit to Son La's former prison was in order. The prison had been opened by the French colonial government in 1908 and was a rather small affair, quite like a regular prison. However, due to Son La's position in Vietnam (relatively remote at that time but within striking distance of Hanoi, a revolutionary hot-bed), the prison soon expanded, being used to house political prisoners not deemed serious enough to be sent to the Con Dao Islands off Vietnam's south coast. 

The entrance to the prison.

The view from the guard tower.

The prison gained a fearsome reputation throughout Vietnam and it was not hard to see why when walking around the place. Although much of the complex lies in ruins, the foundations still remain. The cells are extremely small and seemingly lack sanitation (though that could, of course, be a result of the ruin rather than how it was), whilst the underground cells, presumably for more serious political prisoners, were incredibly small, with only a small grille on the door giving interaction with the outside.

An underground cell.

The "Three Room Camp" was an area used by the Party to educate the prisoners about (i.e. indoctrinate) Viet Minh ideology, and a sign in this room triumphantly declares the following:

It appears that the French created exactly what they didn't want: a hive of indoctrination where the Viet Minh trained and educated its future members. In the museum area of the prison, pictures of prominent communists and inmates, including Truong Chinh (General Secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam 1986), Le Duan (General Secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam 1960-86), Nguyen Luong Bang (member of the Communist Central Committee), Van Tien Dung (military second-in-command after General Giap), Nguyen Co Thach (Vietnamese Foreign Minister 1980-91), Xuan Thuy (chief negotiator, Paris peace talks) and Tran Huy Lieu (Viet Minh leader) are proudly displayed. Ahead of my journey towards Dien Bien Phu, a place I have greatly looked forward to visiting for various reasons, I wondered how many of the Viet Minh fighters at that place had either been inmates at Son La or had been influenced by those who had. Today, the prison serves as a place for school trips and tourists; indeed, a school group of very young children arrived while I was there.

Dien Bien Phu now beckoned and, especially since I had wasted time going back to Mai Chau, I wanted to push things along. Simply put, the AH13 between Son La and Dien Bien Phu is a stunning road, especially resplendent in the sunlight which again graced our journey. We made good time, stopping only for air in our tyres, where a mechanic's wife tried to help us in her husband's temporary absence with amusing results (trying to pump up tyres without the compressor switched on, Westerners politely not saying anything until their tyres begin to deflate).

On the road between Tuan Giao and Dien Bien Phu, however, a truly marvellous befell Shawn and I. We paused to take some photos from a bridge and, having taken my photo, I shot off, believing that Shawn was some way ahead of me. After swerving around a water buffalo about three miles down the road, Shawn pulled up beside me:

"We've been invited to a wedding!"

"Really?"

"Yes, they're very keen for us to go. Come on!"

With that, we duly turned around and went back to the bridge. I had noticed a party going on there, but had not realised its nature. We parked the bikes and walked down the slope to the party, where it became clear immediately that this was a White Thai wedding (the hairstyles and dress of the women being a giveaway). A couple of men ran up to us, welcoming us to the party and imploring us to sit at a table heavy with food. Slightly embarrassed, since everyone was now watching us, we sat. The obligatory rice wine glasses appeared and the toasts were raised enthusiastically, before one of the men started serving the food into our bowls. As we ate (under the firm gaze of our chaperones, who kept filling our bowls at every pause), various men from the party came to us, introduced themselves and insisted on a toast. After this happened for the tenth time, I started to worry for our prospects that day...

The rice wine flowed, our bowls never became empty and we were everyone's best friend. Numerous men told us things we didn't really understand, the older women smiled graciously, the younger women smiled coyly and the younger men cajoled each other into coming to speak to us. As the electro music pounded and my head became mistier, the happy couple appeared to thank us for coming to their reception. The bride looked lovely in a traditional dress, the groom had clearly had a skinful and they asked us to take a photo, which we duly did.

The day was wearing on and, as much as I was enjoying myself, I didn't want to fail to reach Dien Bien Phu for a second day in a row, so I had to politely refuse offers of accommodation and emphasise through sign language that I would have to stop drinking rice wine due to my motorcycle. Even this was met with understanding and grace, for one of the men who had been looking after us herded me over to another area, where tea and water were the order of the day: he was clearly trying to sober me up and he succeeded! I was again touched by the generosity and hospitality of the Vietnamese people, which has been manifest on a number of occasions. After being asked to take some photos, I went on my way.

From there, the road continued to amaze and so did the people, with groups of schoolchildren shouting, "Hello!" everywhere I rode and people waving or pipping their horns. Despite running over a child's football (it passed unscathed under me), the trip passed without incident, for the road is a fast, not-so-busy one, possessed of an excellent surface and stunning scenery. I entered Dien Bien Phu thoroughly content.

To Mai Chau, and back to Son La.

I had realised the night before that I had left my laptop charger in Mai Chau, which was extremely frustrating. Having called the lodge, I had ascertained that it was there, so I resolved to return and pick it up. Also of great frustration was my need to have the oil changed on my "re-built" bike after two days of riding.

Retracing my steps to Mai Chau was unfortunate but far from unpleasant, for I think that a road looks different every time you pass along it. The scenery was resplendent for third day, with the sun shining again, and the road easier as I recognised most of the twists and turns from the day before. Aside from an incident involving a pothole and an over-zealous calf between Yen Chau and Moc Chau, the journey was fine.

Around the corner was a lovers' hideaway. The evidence was indisputable.

We did, however, spot something which we'd missed the day before. A wooden suspension bridge spanned a small river and we simply had to cross it on the bikes. To my surprise, the bridge had been built in 2008, despite it looking much, much older. I would later find out that it had been a 'gift' to the local people from the military, who had built it.

Unsure of whether my bike would make it across, my fears were assuaged when a young boy crossed on a sled pulled by a large water buffalo, so I gave it a go.

We made good time to Mai Chau, where we discovered to my chagrin that my charger had been sent to Hanoi by mistake. The good news was that it would arrive there the next morning. Here I met Truong, a tour guide from Hanoi who was there with a group; he agreed to answer a few questions for the blog, which shall be printed here soon as part of the "Perspectives" series. We rounded off by watching some tribal dancing.

Although I hadn't intended to go back to Mai Chau, I was pleased that I had, for I had gained insight into a young Vietnamese's view of his country, which is rare given the widespread lack of English language skills. The charger arrived the next morning and it was time to head back to Son La. However, taking a trip to a nearby cave in the morning meant that we didn't leave until 15:00, which was a serious error, since it resulted in us riding for nearly fifty kilometres in the dark, an experience which I don't wish to repeat in a hurry: patchy road surfaces, terrible driving and my motorcycle's dynamo powered light make for an experience bordering on the very scary.

The cave was worth climbing one thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven steps...

In Son La, which was resplendent with Christmas lights, we took the first hotel we could find, the Rose Hotel (VND200,000 for a twin room). Everyone was very friendly there and the room was cheap enough, so we took it. When I went to the café downstairs, I was perturbed to find three ladies sitting in the room. After ordering a coffee and beginning to read my book, I noticed that one of them was sitting rather close to me, attempting to read over my shoulder and be generally distracting. All became clear when another woman came in, enthusiastically asking if I wanted a "massage". I could have slapped myself in the face there and then: we were staying in a brothel. For God's sake. They made a mean coffee, at least. It's probably best to avoid this hotel if you're not interested in being "massaged".

Dinner brought yet another act of random kindness, the sort which is rapidly becoming commonplace rather than random! We struck up conversation with a group on the next table over another bowl of pho bò, joining them and toasting one another. Having enjoyed their company awhile, the lady informed us that they were leaving. She went to the back of the restaurant and came back, telling us that she had paid our bill and refusing our insistence on paying for ourselves. She climbed into her car outside with her three companions, leaving us dumbstruck in the restaurant. Given our karaoke experience here, it would seem that Son La is just about the friendliest place in Vietnam!

Rice Wine and Karaoke: The Road to Son La.

It was another beautiful morning in Mai Chau when we set off, heading for Son La, some one hundred and sixty kilometres to the north. I had, however, noticed something which angered me: my front wheel was buckled, something which I had missed when purchasing my motorcycle in Hanoi. Given that I had bought an apparently "re-built" bike, this was extremely frustrating (more problems to come) and led me to survival tip #2: check the bike thoroughly before you buy! Honda Wins are always in need of TLC but I shouldn't have had to carry out a repair on the second day.

Morning in Ban Lac, Mai Chau.

After watching the mechanic remove all the spokes, attach the new rim and spokes, detach them after putting them on incorrectly and then finally get it right, we left for Son La. The bike felt a lot better, since I was now more used to it, but progress was again halted when we had to stop for roadworks. As part of road improvement measures, sand was being shoved by diggers from the top of what might be called a cliff onto the road below, where it was being re-arranged by another digger. We were a source of curiosity for the queuing locals, with plenty of smiles, hellos and bemusement at the camera sticking out of the top of my helmet! We waited for perhaps twenty minutes before being allowed through, when carnage ensued. Lots of motorbikes, lorries and bicycles competing for the same narrow stretch of wet, sandy, gravelled road made for an interesting experience, but all escaped unharmed, somehow.

The road to Son La is a fast one, though bumps, potholes and random stretches where the tarmac has been stripped for work are all frequent, so expecting the unexpected becomes second nature. I'd watched the footage of the day before's ride and Shawn had advised me on my technical errors (approaching corners from the wrong areas), so I was now applying his advice and finding faster cornering much easier and comfortable. Traffic was relatively frequent but, it being a weekend, it seemed that a lot of people were staying at home. Trucks remained a problem, with some comical driving forcing me into defensive manoeuvres, but overall it was a comfortable ride punctuated by waving children and breathtaking scenery.

A view from the road to Son La.

As we closed on our target, we stopped in a village not far from Yen Chau. By now, we were firmly in rural Vietnam and the difference from the city was marked. The main indicator of this was the appearance of the local women, mainly of the Thai ethnic minority. The ladies all wore their hair in the same manner, with a large top-bun, and some covered them with black, colourfully-patterned headscarves, completing the look with white, floral blouses and long, flowing black velvet skirts. The men looked the same as the others I've seen in Vietnam, though their warmth and friendliness was unlike anything else I've experienced in this country. This was seen when I broke a chair (I weigh two hundred and nine pounds) at a coffee stop, the result being laughter all round and then a weigh-off with a local bruiser. I rode off unsure of whether I ought to be pleased at being the heaviest man in the village...

Vietnamese war memorial on the road to Son La.

We reached Son La shortly before dusk, checking into the Truong Sinh guesthouse (on the way into town) before heading for dinner. After being followed down the street by laughing children shouting, "Hello!" and, "How are you?" we headed to a traditional-looking restaurant for dinner. Sitting on cushions on the floor around a table, we were waiting for our food when a man from the neighbouring group came to sit with us, holding a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses. He gestured for us to join him in a toast, which we did. The effect of this was that the other eleven men each came in turn to our table, insisting on a toast and serving us our own food. We then joined their table, where the spirits continued to flow (though, peculiarly, the effects were not particularly strong, probably because the measures were in fact half shots) before we were invited, as their new friends, to karaoke! We initially protested that we had to sleep before our ride the next day but they were having none of it, since we were their guests and friends, so in the end we less-than-reluctantly agreed to go. After pulling me over for a faulty light on the way, I was relieved that the only thing which I received from the assembled policemen was a plethora of smiles. Phew. On our arrival, we found two crates of Bia Ha Noi waiting in a room with a large screen, microphones and a massive songbook. Suffice to say that I can't sing in Vietnamese (nor can I in English) but a lot of fun was had. I was again touched by the generosity of these men, who refused to accept money from us, insisting that we were their friends and guests.

In video:

On the Road.

My experiences in Hanoi had been varied, but I was finally in possession of my motorcycle and raring to go. I'd also acquired a riding partner, an experienced motorcyclist called Shawn from Essex, whose nous I thought would be valuable given my own lack of experience on the bike! After the customary last-minute preparations, we were ready to roll to Mai Chau, a town some one hundred and fifty kilometres west of Hanoi.

I meant business.

However, we were immediately faced with the problem of how to get out of Hanoi, for there is a conspicuous absence of road signs. After much vacillation, we enlisted the help of a young man on a motorbike who guided us through the Hanoi chaos (see the video at the bottom) and onto the open road. Survival tip #1: don't try to ride too quickly through the traffic. It's extremely unpredictable and gaps quickly close up, as you can see from the footage!

Once we were clear of the city, the road opened up more, though the traffic was still ridiculous. Shawn was flying through the cars, lorries and motorbikes with variable results (see the video), whereas I was a little more measured to begin with, especially as lorries were randomly pulling out into my path and coming onto the wrong side of the road, beeping their horns as though I was somehow on the wrong side of the road! The road culture is simple: the biggest has right of way, everyone else lets them through and you go where you like or have to! The bike was proving simple to ride and, as I said before, a competent car driver can ride a motorcycle with ease. Even with a pack on the back and a driver weighing in at two hundred and nine pounds, the bike handles nicely and accelerates well, certainly enough to get out of any trouble.

What struck me most about the journey was how the landscape changed so rapidly. The day was a grey one in Hanoi and this was reflected in its immediate environs, where the buildings and road seemed to mirror the colour of the sky. As the day wore on, the road climbed into the mountains, becoming more winding and, frankly, interesting as we rode further. Also striking was the behaviour of the people, which had shifted from indifference in Hanoi to active friendliness: people waved, children shouted, "Hello!" and the traffic was slightly more accommodating. Regional agrarian life also became more apparent, with women lugging huge baskets of wood and sugar cane on their backs or selling local produce by the side of the road. We stopped in Hoa Binh for lunch, where more friendliness readily manifested itself in the form of fellow diners, who insisted that we drank rice wine with them. This could very easily have got out of hand, for they kept pouring more and more shots of wine, but they relented when we explained (through sign language) that we still had a number of kilometres to ride to Mai Chau. We left soon after, though they were showing little sign of stopping!

The smiling assassins. Can be very dangerous if self-restraint is not exercised.

After a couple of hours, it was time to pause for a drink and a photo or two. I pulled into a lay-by and met my second (very random) act of friendliness. Coming to a stop, a young Vietnamese lady came running towards me, screaming excitedly and brandishing a camera and mobile 'phone. Slightly perturbed at first, I then realised that she wanted a photograph and my 'phone number! She was accompanied by two male friends who found the whole episode intensely amusing, as did Shawn. "You handsome," she said, pushing her 'phone into my face and gesturing that I should put in my number. I was unable to give her the number, not knowing it, but we exchanged details and many photographs before going on my way. I think that I laughed all the way to Mai Chau afterwards.

East-West rapprochement.

The road continued to wind towards Mai Chau and, after another two hours of riding, we were greeted by the following view on the approach to the city:

Reading about such scenery was largely why I decided to take this trip and I was staggered to find that the reality was no different. As we admired the view over a Coke, we were greeted by an equally amazing sight. A cyclist came into view and came to halt at the viewpoint. As he dismounted, I noticed that he only had one leg! His name was Ludo and he had been cycling since April, when he had left his home country of Belgium, with the aim being to reach Australia. He must have been in his mid-fifties and had lost the lower half of his left leg in a motorcycling accident, which he told me in a cautionary tone. Seeing this reminded me that, as enjoyable as my trip is, there are those out there accomplishing far greater feats and that disaster potentially lies around every corner.

We moved on, finding that Mai Chau is picture-book Vietnam and provides a stark contrast with Hanoi. Stilt houses abound and the people are largely engaged in agriculture, with the conical Vietnamese hats poking out from the rice paddies wherever one casts his gaze. 

It had been an awesome day, made better by the unexpected excellent weather (I had been told in Hanoi that it would be colder out this way) and, after checking in at the Mai Chau Nature Lodge (VND100,000 for a communal room), I went to sleep content with my day's work.

The Video.

I've been recording the rides with a Sony ActionCam mounted on my helmet. The results have been very good, though sometimes the changes in temperature on mountain roads result in fogging of the lens. When clear, the picture is of extremely good quality; here's my first offering: