The Marvellous Mekong: Part Two.

Ben Tre had been pleasant, a nice place to break the journey. The people had been friendly, though the age-old problem of language had prevented more interaction than just smiles and waves. Having finished the tour, I moved on to Can Tho, taking the scenic route recommended by Mr Tam of Nam Bo Tours. Ninety-seven kilometres passed quickly, punctuated by a ferry trip just before Vinh Long.

Vinh Long seemed pleasant enough but there was little reason to stay; I'd seen the area around Ben Tre and had been led to believe by Mr Tam that the area around Vinh Long was no different. I simply stopped for a coffee, watching the ferries and tourist boats on the river in the afternoon sun. Vinh Long itself was bustling, especially around the market area, with people in the streets and even what appeared to be a funeral procession holding me up.

From Vinh Long, Can Tho was only thirty-seven kilometres, in the course of which the Mekong is crossed again on the recently-built cable-stayed bridge. The bridge was opened in 2010, no doubt to the chagrin of ferry operators, but is not without its problems. During the building process, the partially-built bridge collapsed, causing sixty-four casualties. The outcome was a year-long ban on the two Japanese companies involved by the Vietnamese government, which held the corporations responsible for the accident. The bridge itself is the largest of its kind in south-east Asia, comprising two bridges which join the river banks to an island in the river. It really is an impressive structure, and ought to be at a cost of VND4.8tn (US$342,600,000)!

Can Tho itself surprised me. I know that it is the capital of the Mekong Delta, but it was far bigger and busier than I had expected. In spite of this, it still had a provincial feel, with people smiling and waving in contrast to larger places such as Saigon, while the waterfront and nearby market again gave the provincial impression.

Canh chua, a local speciality.

The Kim Lan Hotel was home here, a smart place with very friendly, attentive staff. My intention had been to go to the floating markets, of which Cai Rang and Phong Dien are the closest. The chap at the hotel told me that Phong Dien would be too difficult to combine with Cai Rang, so I had to settle for the latter, accompanied by Andreas, a project manager for Deutsche Bahn from Munich.

Cai Rang requires an early start (05:30) in order to beat the large tourist boats, which don't set off until much later. Our guide was a young Vietnamese lady named Van and she was both eager and friendly, full of interesting information both on the area and Vietnam as a whole.

The market itself was fascinating, though different to what I'd expected. Perhaps it wasn't a busy day, or maybe Cai Rang is becoming more of a tourist show, for there weren't as many boats as I had imagined. The range of produce also seemed pretty narrow, though this could of course be purely down to the time of year. It really is a water world, though, with everything from floating restaurants to men selling coffee to traders from small motorboats. It was a fascinating experience and one made all the more fun by the lack of tourist traffic at that time of day.

After the market, our boatwoman took us on to a rice noodle factory (an interesting process) and a fruit plantation, where all manner of weird and wonderful fruits are grown, including jackfruit and dragon fruit. The tour was very good, included breakfast and refreshments and was guided excellently, so it's well worth the $25. The tour arrived back in Can Tho at around 10:30, so plenty of time remained for the ride to Chau Doc on the Cambodian border.

The Marvellous Mekong.

The flight from Phu Quoc was a smooth one (I never thought that I'd be happy to fly on a turboprop 'plane) and the process of recovering my motorbike at Tan Son Nhat Airport effortless. The system there is simple, for any who might wish to leave a motorbike while they take a side trip. A smart card is issued when you leave the bike and is scanned on your return; owed monies are then paid. I think that it cost VND15,000 per night, though it could have been less.

River houses, My Tho.

 Today's aim was Ben Tre. I'd been advised by a friend (travelling chemicals salesman) of my hotel's owner in Phu Quoc that I should make sure that I visit Ben Tre, simply because it's a quieter, "more authentic" (whatever that means) city than Can Tho, which is the now traditional base for Mekong tours. On his advice, I would go from Saigon to Ben Tre, from there to Can Tho and finish with Chau Doc on the Cambodian border. The distances between these cities are not onerous by any means, allowing stops in places such as Vinh Long if the fancy grabbed me.

Ben Tre by night.

The ride to Ben Tre was complicated by leaving Saigon, a difficult undertaking at the best of times. Frequent stops were needed to check that I was going in the right direction and the traffic was rather thick. Eventually it thinned out as I entered the QL1, a dual carriageway which heads towards the Mekong cities. This was all going well, until my progress was unnervingly halted by a rear puncture, causing me to skid and slide; I didn't want to hit the brakes too hard, for this would have caused more problems for me.

Coconut boat, Ben Tre.

A passing motorcyclist slowed and told me that there was a garage nearby which could repair my tyre for me. I went in and began to explain the situation but was interrupted by the return of the passer-by, who wanted to ensure that the mechanic didn't overcharge me. He'd dropped his wife at home and come back, buying me an iced coffee while we awaited the repair of the tyre. It also emerged that components of the rear wheel mechanism were also broken, so I had to have those sorted too. The passer-by was in fact an accountant and lived nearby, so we talked at length, with his evident pride in his family coming through in all that he said.

When the mechanic had finished, he charged me VND180,000 for the work and I was on my way again. The road was fine - largely flat and conducive to quick riding, which was on the agenda again now that I had regained my pre-crash confidence. Foreigners on motorcycles seem to be a rarer sight in this area than I'd envisaged, for the waves from the roadside and from passing buses were both frequent, sincere and surprising.

The first stop was My Tho, dubbed the "gateway to the Mekong Delta" by a number of publications. This was my first exposure to river life and it was a magnificent sight, with the Mekong flowing in its grubby grandeur through the centre of town, myriad boats visible in transit or at rest. I also saw river houses, built on stilts, something which was new to me. Coming to this area gave me a sense of completeness in terms of viewing the Vietnamese patchwork quilt, so to speak. I'd seen the hard mountain life of the north, hectic urban scenes, the lush central highlands and even an island, so now the river and its concomitant abundance almost completed the set. The passing boats carried all manner of goods, mainly fruit and timber, but it was still a refreshing sight and an indicator of why the Mekong is viewed as the breadbasket of the nation. My Tho also yielded my first experience of hu tieu, a delicious Vietnamese noodle soup not dissimilar to but distinct enough from pho. 

Spot the boatman (impromptu repairs)...

On to Ben Tre, then. The hotel was comfortable enough (Hung Vuong, US$25) and situated on the river beside a tourist wharf. There's not a whole lot to do in Ben Tre, for the attractions lie around rather than inside the city. That said, some excellent food vendors are on the riverfront towards the market area and the ambiently-lit promenade makes for a pleasant place to sit and read or meet locals in the evening. The same is true of the rooftop terrace at the Ham Luong Hotel, which yields excellent views of the river and has an extensive drinks menu. I decided to plump for a durian smoothie, amusing the waiters when I gave it back after battling manfully to enjoy it. The durian to me tasted like someone had blended onions with ice, while the smell was equally repulsive. It was frankly disgusting.

Tours from Ben Tre run with Nam Bo tours, whose office adjoins the Hung Vuong hotel. The owner, Mr Tam, is a good source of local knowledge and the tours are very good indeed. I paid for a five hour river tour (VND500,000 per boat) and was very impressed, taking in a brick factory, coconut candy factory and a sleeping mat "factory" (ladies weaving at home). Transport was by motorboat (a highlight being the disappearance of the skipper over the side of the boat into the water in order to unblock the engine), rowing boat, tuc-tuc and bicycle. Lunch and refreshments were included and you can buy various bits of local produce along the way, including handbags made from coconut wood and coconut candy. Coconut is the dominant product in the area, as you may be able to tell.

Phu Quoc.

After highly enjoyable trials and tribulations for four and a half weeks, it was time to relax for a couple of days. Phu Quoc lies off the south-west coast of Vietnam, an hour's flight from Saigon, and made for a pleasant place to regain my senses after a hectic few days.

Fishing boats, Duong Dong.

The island possesses a shiny new international airport, for it aspires to be the next big south-east Asian destination, and the ride to Duong Dong was punctuated by glimpses of half-built roads and resort building. The road passes by Long Beach, home to Phu Quoc's array of large resorts; I, however, was staying at a small "resort", the Phu Quoc Peace Resort ($10 bed and breakfast), which was nowhere near the beach but possessed of peace, quiet and friendly staff, who gave me a free breakfast since I'd arrived so early. The rooms were pleasantly spartan but everything needed was there: mosquito nets, good showers and electricity. The owners are extremely friendly, as are their children, and I drank a fair few beers with the man of the household, who didn't ask for a cent in return. Very kind indeed.

Sao Beach.

Ong Beach.

The beaches are pleasantly unspoilt and there's something for everyone. Sao Beach, on the south-east coast of the island, is one of the more developed, with jet skis buzzing around on the water and beach bars pumping out music. Ong Beach, a few kilometres north of Duong Dong, is extremely quiet; I only saw one bar and a man selling beverages from an ice box. Further north, Cua Can and Vung Bau are also largely deserted, with perhaps one or two tourists for company. The latter also has a restaurant manned by friendly, attentive staff. Lastly, Long Beach is lined with bars and restaurants, while the sand is the most heavily populated of all. It still didn't feel too crowded, though that may not last for long! I would have seen the more northern beaches but the road was blocked when I tried, so I sadly didn't manage it.

Sunset, Ong Beach.

Eating on Phu Quoc is also a treat, largely due to the presence of the night markets, which are brimming with stalls selling a vast array of seafood options. All seemed to be much of a muchness and all were filled with locals alongside foreigners. Other highlights included the banh mi from the stall beside the wooden bridge in Duong Dong and the abundance of refreshing coconuts.

Two days definitely weren't enough: an extra day to go snorkelling would have been very welcome but no more really felt necessary. Getting around by scooter is extremely easy and affordable, though the roads can be confusing, mainly because they're still being built!

A Long Beach sunset.

Monkey Business in Cat Tien.

The Cat Tien National Park lies around one hundred miles to the north of Saigon on the road from Dalat. The road from there to the park was an excellent, scenic one (a frequent description, I know) and the journey free of trouble, though the greater volume of traffic closer to Saigon meant that caution had to be exercised.

There's not much to say about the park itself without falling into inane descriptions of what I did: it's far better seen rather than described! It's lush, green and, in pleasant weather, an excellent place to unwind for a few days. The government-run hotel inside the park is a little expensive, but I consoled myself with the (perhaps incorrect) thought that the proceeds were going towards the upkeep of the park.

There's apparently plenty of wildlife around, but I didn't see much of it due to only spending two nights there. A night safari yielded a couple of deer and a porcupine (a massive diesel engine and full beam lights don't help, I suppose), while treks into the park enabled sightings of langurs, yellow-cheeked gibbons, squirrels and pheasants. The crocodiles of Crocodile Lake are allegedly only generally seen at night, so the trek over there wasn't what I had hoped for, though being active after weeks on Kim Jong-Il was very welcome!

The highlight was, of course, seeing the gibbons. The park runs a guided gibbon trek in the morning, which involves a 05:30 start in order to catch the apes. Gaiters are provided to prevent leeches and the park also sells repellent to be smeared on one's shoes (I didn't see a leech while there but others had...). 

The guide told us that the gibbons wake early, eat for a few hours and then sleep for the remainder of the day. Going into the jungle as the sun rose, the gibbons began singing, which led us to them. This involves going very far from the path through vegetation but it is completely worth it: we were greeted by the sight of a couple swinging from the branches between bouts of leaf-eating. The female was by far the more conspicuous, being gold, while the male was a little harder due to his black colour.

The park is also home to a monkey rehabilitation centre. Around Vietnam one can see animals kept in captivity and this is often illegal, for a licence is required to keep animals other than the usual pets or livestock. The centre saves primates from captivity and rehabilitates them ahead of their release back into the wild. Many of the apes in Cat Tien have been saved, though they are endemic as well. Non-native apes are sent to their respective habitats when they have been sufficiently treated. The depressing thing, according to the guide, is that poachers continue to come to Cat Tien in order to catch fresh victims, even setting snares on the island where the centre is located. The guide also told us that illicit possession of animals often goes unpunished, since money wipes clean the memory of the authorities.

A 120ft tree.

Tragedy in Dalat.

Dalat makes a pleasant spot for some rest, repose and decent food. The fresh mountain air provides respite from the hotter, more humid surroundings; respite is also needed due to the concussion-inducing road on the way in!

Datanla Falls, Dalat.

The city is famous for its status as a resort town, popular with the French and then, later, the Vietnamese: it's said that during the war both the South Vietnamese and North Vietnamese/N.L.F. agreed to spare the city from attack, with South Vietnamese officers going there on leave as well as their V.C. counterparts. French influences in the form of villas abound, while there are a number of attractive churches, restaurants, bakeries and landscaped features which give Dalat a distinctly European feel. Sights include the Crazy House, Bao Dai's palaces and some nearby waterfalls, the latter two providing the main content for this post.

The cathedral, Dalat.

The Crazy House.

Bao Dai's summer palace, a 1930's Art Deco building, made me think a little more about this little-known, tragic figure. Bao Dai was the final Emperor of Annam (most of modern-day Vietnam), though his power was entirely dependent on his French colonial overlords. Crowned in 1926, he abdicated from 1945 after being persuaded by Ho Chi Minh that his association with the French would be too damaging in an independent post-war Vietnam. Of course, a king would also be in the way of Ho Chi Minh's intended Communist state - monarchs and communists don't seem to go together too well.

Bao Dai's Summer Palace.

Bao Dai became a puppet in many ways, firstly as the pre-war proxy of the French, then under the Vichy/Japanese government during World War Two and, finally, as the leader of South Vietnam until 1955, effectively as a Franco-American figurehead. In this year, he was ousted by Ngo Dinh Diem, whose rigged referendum established him as president of South Vietnam. Bao Dai had by this time left for Paris, retaining influence in a number of Vietnamese political circles and even being approached (unsuccessfully) by the North in 1972 to become a member of a coalition government. He died in France in 1997. He was unpopular with the people, due to his pro-France ideals and collaboration with the government. Of course, the modern narrative is skewed, for the Party has decided which aspects of the Emperor's life are known...

As I walked around the palace, seeing the pictures of the king, his family and their various belongings around the place in some sort of time capsule, I couldn't help but feel sorry for a man whose life was ill-starred from the beginning, becoming the leader of his country (in name at least) at the most fractious time possible. I always find deposed monarchs to be incredibly sad figures: born to lead their peoples, they find themselves hated or despised by their nations, usually due to the machinations of others and often extreme ideologies. Dalat was Bao Dai's favourite retreat, and thence came my first tragic sentiments.

The second incidence was a rather more sobering, shocking experience. Around six miles outside Dalat is the Prenn waterfall, a popular destination for locals where they can have their photos printed on plates, go in horse-drawn carriages and dress in period clothing. I emerged from the park to find a large crowd gathered on the road. The entrance to the park is mildly complicated: a wide, multi-lane highway passes by and traffic coming from Dalat has to take a slip-road which passes under the highway in order to enter the park. However, someone had failed to heed the signs.

The Prenn Waterfall.

The scene which greeted me was incredibly saddening to say the least. A van had stopped on the road, its windscreen shattered, and the remains of a scooter were mangled beneath its front wheels, various parts of it scattered across the road together with flowers from nearby bushes. The rider was nowhere to be seen.

The bystanders told me what had happened. A Thai national had failed to take the slip-road, instead turning left into the oncoming traffic, which was a van travelling at high speed. The motorcyclist had absolutely no chance, hitting the van head-on and being dragged beneath it as the driver tried to stop. The bystanders said, ruefully but in a resigned, matter-of-fact fashion, that he had died, losing his foot in the process. I hadn't seen the accident and there were no vestiges of such a gruesome end on the road, but I felt sick to the stomach, especially in light of my own accident the day before, from which I had emerged unscathed. The roads can be unforgiving places and those intending to use them should exercise extreme caution, this being the second such tragedy I've witnessed in my two visits to this country.

Dinner, Doctors, (slight) Disappointment and Dalat.

Having come round from my accident-induced haze, I ventured out into Buon Ma Thuot, a town given at best lukewarm reviews by Lonely Planet. Perhaps they didn't stay there, for my experiences were anything but that.

Returning to my hotel from the Acoustic Café, I ran into a group of men of various ages drinking tea by the side of the road. One of them, who had been drinking something which wasn't tea, came to me, shaking my hand vigorously and talking at me in Vietnamese. His comrades laughed and waved me over and, not wishing to appear impolite, I sat down. One of the young men spoke good English and I established that three of the five worked at their family's restaurant over the road. I was, now unsurprisingly, invited to join them for dinner at their house, which was just what I needed after the day's events.

After a short motorbike ride, we reached Thuan's house, which was situated by a river. Although it was dark, we were clearly in a lovely spot; the river was still, the adjoining reeds whispering slightly in the wind and fish occasionally plopping on the surface. The house itself was very small, home to Thuan and his brother, while they shared it and the garden with a number of chickens and a raft of ducks, who reminded us of their presence with incessant quacking.

A hearty meal was prepared and washed down with a delicious liqueur, which Thuan told me was made from bananas. We chatted about football, my lack of a girlfriend, his intentions to marry his girlfriend and football, which led to me being dubbed "Rooney" for the umpteenth time this trip. Thuan was a genuine young man and he was clearly pleased to have met me. He was something of a rarity in that he had been abroad, working in South Korea for some time, and, proficient in English, Korean and his native tongue, I couldn't help feeling that this warm, affable young man has more to offer the world than working in a restaurant. By 01:00, I was sleepy and Thuan's friend took me home, while Thuan promised to take me to a doctor the following morning, for he was anxious that I might be more seriously injured than I appeared to be.

Thuan wasn't at the restaurant at the meeting time and I perplexed a younger relative by asking for him. Instead, I went to the doctor myself, where the experience was altogether positive. With Vietnam being a communist state for so long, I had anticipated crumbling, dirty facilities and inefficiency everywhere. Perhaps the colour of my skin helped, for I was seen quickly and efficiently. The doctor deemed my knee worth of an X-ray, which was carried out presently, and then ordered a nurse to clean and dress the grazes again, watching and criticising as she did so. A round of anti-inflammatories, anti-biotics and enzymes to aid healing were all prescribed and dispensed by giggling young girls who asked for my 'phone number (that's never happened in the pharmacy before). In and out in less than hour at a cost of $13, I was mightily impressed.

I was shouted at in the street as I walked towards the bank: it was Thuan. He'd not met me earlier due to a hangover, so he'd been watching out for me. I was beckoned over, sat down and smiled at by all of his customers, while he asked how the doctor had been and how long I would stay in Buon Ma Thuot. When I said that I would leave that afternoon, he understood and wished me well, before he ran off and returned a minute with a wooden bead bracelet, giving it to me as a memento of my time there and a reminder of his friendship. I was touched and promised to come back before I went away.

Time was flying and I had things to do. The next task was Von's flowers, which were actually plastic, a real florist being hard to find in BMT. I expressed my desire to thank someone for a good deed done, but the florists assumed I wanted a bouquet for a special lady, so a large one composed mainly of roses was put together. Walking away with it, women gasped, pointed and giggled as I proceeded along the street, wondering who the lucky recipient of the Westerner's flowers would be. Unfortunately there wouldn't be one, for Von was out when I reached her shop, and I, disappointed, had to leave them on the side with a note thanking her for her kindness. More kindness came from Thuan before my departure, piling my plate high with food at his restaurant and charging me less than the going rate for my lunch despite my protestations. I said goodbye to yet another extremely kind Vietnamese, humbled as I rode towards Dalat.

Great guy.

 The road to Dalat is a scenic one, steadily climbing through the mountains to the resort town. The scenery is largely rice paddies, with long stretches of tree-lined road and the occasional lake (complete with the odd floating village) breaking up the journey. Beware, however, of the road approaching Dalat itself; it is littered with large, deep potholes, which was most unpleasant when riding in the dark, something necessitated by my late departure from BMT. I'd been strangely confident again and Kim Jong-Il was showing no ill-effects from his fall.

Bump and Grind.

I’d been robbed, I’d experienced extreme acts of kindness, I’d seen remarkable scenery, natural wonders, sampled cultural smorgasbord and eaten delectably varied cuisine. There was, however, one thing missing, given that this is a motorcycle trip. Yes, that’s right, a crash. I had been pleased with my ability to stay out of trouble, with nothing to speak of thus far. This came to an abrupt, skin-tearing halt near Buon Ma Thuot.

The ride from Kon Tum had been frustrating, due to a combination of a bone-juddering road surface and the erratic driving of others; I simply wanted to get off the bike and relax. Around eight miles from Buon Ma Thuot, the road widens to a six-lane highway, with the middle four lanes reserved for vehicles and the outer two for motorcycles. The motorcycle lane was rammed, but the vehicle lanes were empty, so I decided to take advantage by building some speed on the now smooth, flat and straight road.

This strategy was working very well, for the motorcycles were separated from me by railings and the middle lanes empty. Coming to a junction of sorts, I could see the bright yellow scooter of two girls coming towards the turning, clearly intent on doing a U-turn. In preparation, I moved to the far edge of my lane, leaving them what was in effect two lanes to make their manoeuvre. This, however, was seemingly not enough, for they swooped in a wide arc across both lanes, and I saw the gap between them and the railings closing quickly. I beeped the horn frantically. I shouted at them. They didn’t hear me. At 50mph, this was most unwelcome and there was no time to stop. My heart sank, resigned to my fate and, within seconds, I was skidding along the tarmac, skin and clothes ripping. I’d hit their front wheel, narrowly avoiding the railings and fortunately landing on my side rather than my head.

I lay on the ground shocked and unable to move, with the various shredded parts of my body hurting greatly. My leg hurt; had it broken when it hit the railings? The girls stopped to take a look and then rode off, while I promptly passed out, presumably from shock. I came round later to the sight of a crowd of bystanders congregating around me, two of whom had removed my helmet and were cradling my head.

After getting up shakily some minutes later, yet more kindness quickly came to the fore. A local lady, called Von, came and asked if I was alright. I’d crashed outside her beauty parlour and she wheeled my bike across the road to the nearest mechanic (smashed lights and mirrors, bent gear shifter and foot peg) before beckoning me inside and cleaning and dressing my grazes. We chatted as she pulled glass from my knee and I felt terribly sorry for her, since her husband had died some eight months before, leaving her by herself with a young daughter. After checking that I was okay for the umpteenth time, she allowed me to go slowly on my way; I would return the next day with a token of my appreciation.

After checking into my hotel, I simply lay for an hour or so, taking in the gravity of what had happened. I had become very confident on the bike and had perhaps been a little complacent, but that didn’t excuse the shockingly careless driving of those who had collided with me, nor did it excuse their flight when I lay stricken on the road. One possible explanation for their vanishing act is that they would have suffered the wrath of the locals; Von (having observed the crash from her door) said disparagingly that they were minority girls; perhaps this local attitude precipitated their hasty departure. It was either that or they simply weren’t bothered, I suppose. In any case, this episode was a timely, painful and oh-so-nearly costly reminder of the hazards of the road.

The Ho Chi Minh Highway East.

From Phong Nha, it is possible to pick up the Ho Chi Minh Highway. This road was an ambitious project by Vietnam's government to give the country a second major artery in addition to Highway One (AH1), with undoubted strategic benefits close to the Lao border in mind as well. The Highway has two branches, East and West, with the former running through the heart of the Central Highlands and the latter running closer to AH1.

Officially, you're not supposed to be able to reach the Highway from Phong Nha, since it requires entry to the national park via an entrance which is not open to the public. It's the same entrance through which we had entered the park on the tour, but this was due to a "special arrangement" between the Farmstay and the local government. I was told at the Farmstay that I wasn't allowed to go but, if I wished to (wink, wink), maybe a present for the guards would secure my passage. I was also warned to have my bike checked before I left and to take spare fuel and water, for the road is very isolated.

On arrival at the guard post, I was pulled over by those posted there. They asked me a few questions about where I was going ("Khe Sanh," I answered) and what I was doing in Vietnam. After about three minutes, I was allowed to progress, the only condition being that I took my camera off my helmet (presumably to avoid any valuable fauna being recorded and put on YouTube for Chinese medicinal practitioners to earmark). The bribe (a bottle of rum) in my bag was not needed, since the guards asked for nothing in return. This was, to an extent, a jump into the complete unknown, for guidebooks don't cover this area in much detail at all.

Day One: Phong Nha Ke-Bang to Khe Sanh.

This route is a straightforward one, with the isolation and scenery making it one of the most enjoyable routes I've taken. After the guard post, the road winds through the national park (past a number of the tour sights) and crosses a bridge, where Khe Sanh is clearly signposted. The road passes through lush, green jungle and steadily gains altitude; there are very few other vehichles. Until I had left the national park and headed down towards Xu Bien and Rinh Rinh, I counted two mopeds and a couple of logging trucks, in addition to the rangers at their outposts. 

The people along this section of the road rarely see foreigners and are very pleased to see them. This was seen on my arrival at one village during school break time, when about forty children streamed from the playground to come to me at a nearby cafe, standing agape when they got there and running away excitedly whenever I moved!

Khe Sanh itself was a pleasant enough place, where the people were friendly and the food more than fine. Lonely Plant suggests that one would only stay there if one had to, but that is unfair. My hotel, the May Long, was cheap and comfortable, while some excellent chao ga could be had around five minutes' walk from the hotel along the main strip.

The Combat Base was also well worth the visit, almost being the site of America's Dien Bien Phu. In the summer of1967, the PAVN commenced a number of small attacks on the base, home to America's III Marine Amphibious Force. This turned into a far greater attack in January 1968, when two PAVN divisions attacked the base, forcing desperate American and ARVN rearguard action, with Westmoreland increasing total American strength during the battle to 45,000, including the 6,000 Marines at the base. By the end of the battle in April 1968, the American and South Vietnamese forces had suffered 7,480 casualties and the PAVN between 10,000 and 15,000, with the result being American abandonment of the base despite repelling the PAVN.

All that remains now is the perimeter of the base, which contains some American vehicles and aircraft, along with recreated bunkers and a museum, which was closed at the time due to renovations.

Day Two: Khe Sanh to Prao.

Heading east towards Dong Ha, the Highway resumes at a suspension bridge fifteen kilometres outside Khe Sanh. The road climbs into the mountains and on this day I experienced both sun, rain and fog. The people along the route are again very friendly, with children waving and adults smiling and nodding as I passed. The road follows a river as far as Da Krong before coming to A Luoi, a town suitable for a lunch or coffee stop. Here I saw a couple of younger people missing limbs and assumed, rightly or wrongly, that they were victims of the Agent Orange sprays down here during the war. I was yet again humbled when they cheerily waved a stump, smiling, as I passed.

The Central Highlands are the domain of the Easy Riders, whom I spotted more and more as the day wore on. These motorcycle tour operators can be found in a number of cities, principally Dalat and Hoi An but also Danang, Hue and Nha Trang, and offer tours of any length around the country. They often ride Honda Masters, which are 125cc cruisers, though the less established use Chinese copies. I met one such man at a tunnel on the road to Pleiku, intending to stay there that evening. His name was Mr Chau and he was carrying a British couple with a Vietnamese colleague. Friendly, charismatic and amusing, Mr Chau enquired as to where I was going and, when I said that I was going to Thanh My, he immediately told me to go to Prao instead, it being more pleasant and closer. By this stage I was rather wet, so I said that I'd think about it.

On reaching Prao, Mr Chau was right; it was pleasant and the people were very friendly indeed. I spent around an hour and a half in a small cafe, discussing the world map with a number of young children and being offered someone's daughter. The accusations/suggestions that I looked like Wayne Rooney again reared their head here, with them becoming a feature of my time with Mr Chau that evening at the Dung Thuy guesthouse ($10 private room), who reminded me every few minutes that he thought that I resembled the Manchester United striker: perhaps I was his brother or we had the same father. I've heard all of this before in Morocco and am certain that I look nothing like him, except that I have short hair and am white.

The irrepressible Mr Chau and the Manchester United and England striker, Wayne Rooney.

I spent the evening playing rummy with Juliet and Jonathan, Mr Chau's guests. We were harassed by a little boy running around us, whispering things in our ears and running off. He calmed down when I gave him and his older sister a Choco-Pie (the food of the gods) and kissed me on the cheek when I departed. I felt guilty for having viewed him as a harasser rather than a little boy.

Day Three: Prao to Kon Tum.

Mr Chau had also found fun in laughing at Kim Jong-Il, my trusty bike, denouncing him as Chinese. It was there no surprise when I came downstairs to find him sitting on the Korean warhorse, rocking and laughing as his Easy Rider companion looked on. I left with his warnings that Kon Tum was an impossible 350km away ringing in my ears.

Kon Tum was in fact 275km (170 miles) away and the ride was very easy, aside from some unpleasant side winds and the increasing volume of traffic. In fact, this had been the first day on which I became expressively angry at other road users, principally open tour bus drivers, who threw their buses around bends as if they were rally drivers, the weight of the bus pressed firmly onto the outside wheel as they screamed past. Other malefactors included minibus drivers, no less psychopathic as they came around corners, overtaking in ludicrous places and behaving as if they'd been playing the computer game "Carmageddon" too much. There are many places to stop along the way, including Dak To, a city of decent size containing hotels, places to eat and a large Bahnar house beside a monument commemorating the town's capture in 1975.

The city itself is pleasant, though there is not a huge amount to see. Kon Tum is the centre of the local Christian diocese and here churches become a regular feature of the landscape. It is also the convergence of a number of hill-tribes, mainly Bahnar, M'Nong, Ede and Lao, though traditional dress is seen nowhere nearly as frequently as in the north, mainly because, according to various organisations, the minorities here have suffered at the hands of the government, presumably due to their fighting alongside South Vietnam and America during the war in the CIDG. 

Kon Tum is also a centre for eating goat meat, with a number of restaurants serving it (it's delicious).

Grill-your-own goat.

Day Four: Kon Tum to Buon Ma Thuot.

The ride to Buon Ma Thuot was punctuated by pockmarked roads, terrible driving, increased volume and my own levels of frustration rising to their highest so far. It was bad enough dodging potholes, almost sustaining concussion on some sections of road (particularly after Pleiku) and dodging swarms of wasps (yes, one hit me), but the hazardous driving here simply exacerbated the difficulty of my undertaking.

It was in this spirit that I passed through the various coffee plantations, with the farmers' wives selling produce by the road. Today I had had enough, having ridden around two hundred miles per day for the past four days. Distance in itself is not an issue, but when each corner conceals a potential unsubtle assassin in the form of a psychopathic open tour bus driver or a gaping pothole, it begins to take its toll. I was desperate to reach Buon Ma Thuot and, finally hitting a six-lane, wide, smooth road, I was on the home straight. Imagine, therefore, how all that could have been brought to an abrupt halt.

Yes, I had an accident. Two girls on a moped deigned to pull out in front of me and, at fifty miles per hour, I had nowhere to go other than into their front wheel. I shall give a fuller account of this in my next post.

The Victory Monument, Buon Ma Thuot.

After recovering my senses and being patched up, I took the wounded Kim Jong-Il into Buon Ma Thuot, whose centrepiece is the "Victory Monument", a statue erected to commemorate that city's capture by PAVN and NLF troops in 1975. The Thanh Binh Hotel was comfortable and local restaurants fine despite Lonely Planet's disparaging comments, while the Acoustic Café at 116 Ly Hoang Kiet made an enjoyable place to spend a couple of hours in the evening, with live music on most evenings.