January 4, 2017
Chance encounters: Binh Sum to Ho Coc
IT'S been a while now since Steph has been stopped for a picture - maybe she is on so many Facebook pages that her blond hair and blue eyes are no longer a novelty - but that hasn't stopped the world yelling and waving.
Usually it's "Hallo!" or "What's your name?". Today, a girl of nine riding the other way on a pink bicycle raised the stakes.
"Hallo!", she called. "What's your telephone number?"
All three of us laughed out loud at the novelty and we were still chuckling as we parted in different directions.
For a country where language is such a problem for westerners longing for contact, we have nevertheless exchanged a surprising number of e-mail and Facebook addresses. The latest came today when a craving for comfort and pity drove us into a superior roadside café, with tables and chairs for once not directly under the wheels of passing trucks.
Today was one in which a dose of self-pity wast justified. We waved goodbye to Matheas and Karin, our two Germans from the previous night, and set off south. All was ideal. The road was smooth and as quiet as any road in Vietnam is likely to be. We hummed along with a good-natured wind, the East China sea tumbling on unspoiled sand beyond pine trees to our left.
It stayed like that until the tip of a modest promontory, on which stood what the map promised was the oldest and highest lighthouse in the country. And then it changed. Half an hour later, we were on a potholed, dusty, busy and noisy road that ran for ever through a commercial jigsaw of shops and workshops. There were metal-beaters and fertiliser suppliers, motorbike-menders and hairdressers'. Two Englishmen on a desert island will start a club; two Vietnamese will open a hairdressing salon apiece.
It was horrible and not what the map suggested. Truck and bus drivers frustrated by having to weave and bounce across holes became even crosser when they encountered us doing the same. Over and over they blasted their horns and over and over - because there was nothing else we could do - we made them crosser by not getting out of their way.
Luckily, our inner goodness brought it all to an end in time. And, Vietnam being a land of contrasts, we moved from roads as rough as a decayed molar to a silky highway pleasing to all who travelled upon it.
It was there that we stopped at the open-fronted café and dripped and dribbled over the plastic tables. Instantly, we were joined by one of the world's friendliest women.
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Loan Tran appointed us the highlight of her day, perhaps her life. Of course, she spoke as much English as we understood Vietnamese. She bubbled with questions and gestures, laughing all the time at the foolishness of it all. She translated questions and held up her phone for an answer. Sometimes the translation made sense, sometimes not, which made her laugh even more.
We were asked our ages. Were we married? Did we have children?
She said she was 53.
"Are you sure?", we wrote on her phone. Perhaps she had transposed the numbers.
Her husband dropped by to shake hands. He wore grubby blue work clothes with grease streaks.
"I am a garage mechanic", we understood him to say.
And then "Faba?", Tran asked.
"Faba?"
We all laughed.
And then, "Oh yes, Facebook!"
Sometimes, 20 minutes of your day will stand as a beacon of happiness long after much of the rest is forgotten. For years now, we will say, and Tran and her husband will say, "Do you remember that day when...?"
And isn't that why we going cycling in the first place?
Today's ride: 98 km (61 miles)
Total: 1,605 km (997 miles)
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