I have been housebound like most of the world for the past two months because of Covid-19. Now that spring has come to Japan I am getting anxious to go on my next trip. It appears that the situation is starting to take a turn for the better. I am hoping I will be able to go on a trip in June. In the meantime, I released a new episode of the Wayfarer Pedalcast. Episode 10 features and interview with my daughter, Pearl. She went on a unique trip in March to visit here friend in the neighboring prefecture of Chiba.
When Pearl asked me how far it was to Kamogawa in Chiba I told 100 kilometers. When anyone asks how far it is to someplace I have two stock answers. 30 km or 100 km. If I feel like it is close I say the former. If I feel like it is far away I answer with the latter. It would probably be better if I just admitted that I don’t know or just told the questioner to go look it up.
Many countries in the world were already in life or death battle with the corona virus. So some readers of this may already be getting into a lather and ramping up into a rant over how irresponsible it was for us to allow Pearl to go on a trip at a time like this. Buy you have to realize that despite Covid-19 being all over the news, Japan was still relatively untouched by the disease. We still had only reported deaths and the number of infected was still well below a thousand people nationwide. Compared to other nations this was no worse than seasonal flu outbreak. Of course, we were concerned but it still seemed like the worst of the disease would pass over Japan. We now know better. But at the time it
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]]>2019/12/019
It was my last day of cycling. I was just a day’s ride from my final destination in the Mekong River Valley, Phnom Penh, the capitol of Cambodia.
I ate my croco-sant and 2 of my mystery fruit for breakfast. (Check out the video to learn more about croco-sant and mystery fruit. No spoilers here.) I planned to exchange some more dong for riel at the front desk when I checked out. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk was not the same as the young fellow from the previous afternoon. He didn’t seem to understand English but he was able to say enough that I understood that he would not change any money. So once again I was pedaling through a foreign country with almost no useable cash in my pocket. On the bright side I still had two mystery fruit and a lot of water. I filled up every bottle I could find with filtered water. Altogether I think I was carrying about 5 or 6 liters of water. The bottles were piled up on my rack and tied down with bungee chords. There were so many in my precarious pile that occasionally one would fall off when I hit a bump. I am pretty sure that at least one bottle went missing in action during the morning.
My route took me back over the big yellow bridge again. Fresh from a good nights sleep it was a lot easier climb than the night before. On the other side I pointed my handle bars to the north. This section of the road was equivalent to the day I spent riding on National Highway 91 except now I was on the famous Asian Highway 1 That connects Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. I noticed fewer bicycles, more cars, ambulances, motorcycles pulling big trailers loaded with good and materials and lots of tuk tuks.
Tuk Tuks
Tuk tuks are cute little 3 person, 3 wheeled vehicles that are used as taxis and are ubiquitous in Phnom Penh and the surrounding towns. Even the name is fun to say. Try it! Tuk tuk. Tuk tuk. See what I mean the most fun you can have with your lips by yourself. When I first considered traveling to Cambodia I saw pictures of tuk tuks and fell in love with them instantly. I was wondering if I would get a chance to ride in one. It didn’t seem likely as I brought my own transportation with me. As the morning wore on I lightened my load by wetting my whistle from my stock of water.
I’m going to say it straight out. The most interesting thing I saw on the road that day was not tuk tuks. It was two pigs and some cattle. In Cambodia a common way to haul goods is on a flatbed trailer pulled by a small motorcycle (maybe only about 100cc or 150cc). The trailers are 3 or 4 times longer than the motorcycle in some cases. I passed by a motorcycle with an unexpected cargo. (By this time I don’t know why any kind of vehicle with a load would surprise me but this one did.) I passed a motorcycle and trailer parked alongside the road. The motorcycle was pulling a trailer with a big cage on the trailer. As I passed by I looked down and saw two enormous hogs in the trailer. They were laying down with barely enough room to standup. At first I thought the hogs were dead but when I doubled back to get a better look I could see that they were awake. I don’t know if they were drugged or sleepy or just a very placid pigs. I think they probably weren’t drugged because the hogs were way too big to get in the cage if they weren’t alert enough to walk into the cage under their own power. The unexpected doesn’t end there. As I looked up I saw a woman and a little girl trying to lead two cows and a calf across the busy road. Now Cambodian cows are not old Macdonald’s rotund, sloe-eyed gentle dairy cows. Cambodian cows are tall, slender legged, you could even say svelte, humpbacked behemoths. The woman held rope halters for all three beasts and directed them with her voice and a judicious tugs on the rope while the little girl walked along side with a thin stick. I don’t know if she used the stick to motivate the cows or if she had just picked it up for fun as children around the world will do. It is a universal law that if a child sees a stick on the ground they will pick it up and swing it around when their parents are not looking. (How do I, as an adult know this, you ask? Because of the other universal law that says all parents have eyes in back of their head until their children are old enough to move out of the house.) The calf was taller than the girl and the two full-grown cows were taller than her mother but somehow the woman got herd and offspring across the road safely.
By the time 11 am rolled around I felt like I was making good enough progress to take my lunch break. I learned the day before that Buddhist temples are a good place to take a break. They are generally quiet places. That is not to say they are somber places. Buddhism in Cambodia looks very different from Buddhism in Japan. Besides the obvious differences in architecture and the use of color (Cambodian temples are very colorful. Some might even call them gaudy.) To my mostly uninformed mind Buddhism in Cambodia seems more like a living religion where in Japan Buddhism is respected for its historical and cultural value but it is not a thing Japanese people believe in. I think some of the differences are sectarian. I am sure the general precepts are the same but the feel is different.
In any case, I found a quiet bench where I could eat my mystery fruit and swig H2O and watch strays dogs fighting over some unknown canine grudge. Later, one of combatants limped over to share my patch of shade. While it didn’t cozy up to me neither did it show any fear of me. Mostly it just displayed indifference. If I had tried to pet him he most likely would have displayed his teeth. We left each other alone and neither of us was the worse for the experience.
Phnom Penh
I still had enough water left and I felt that Phnom Penh was just around each corner and just over the horizon. It wasn’t but I got there in good time. I was happy when I saw the sign saying welcome to Phnom Penh. Phnom Penh is a big city. (Though, not so big as Tokyo me thinks.) Just because you have entered the city does not mean you have arrived.
The traffic in Phnom Penh was the heaviest that I experience during my whole trip. More cars, trucks, and tuk tuks than Saigon. (Actually there aren’t any tuk tuks in Saigon.) At a bridge leading into the center of the city I got embroiled in a traffic jam because of road construction on the other side. I think this bridge would have been a bottleneck anyway. I found myself wheel to wheel with tuk tuks and motorcycles. Traffic jams are not particularly dangerous for bicycles in the sense that it is moving really slowly. I was caught in it just long enough to get over the bridge. Once on the other side I dropped out and cut north following my route.
As I got near my hotel I realized that I had a problem. I hadn’t mapped the route all the way to my hotel. This is because I wasn’t exactly sure where I would be staying in Phnom Penh until about a week before leaving. I was trying to arrange another Warmshowers host but all of my attempts fell through. Not only did I not have any local currency I did not have any kind of cell receptions in Cambodia because the SIM card that I bought at the Ho Chi Minh City airport stopped working at the Cambodian border. I knew the general area where my hotel was located but I hadn’t mapped it out on my offline maps. Without cell reception I couldn’t just look it up on Google Maps and follow the directions. Finally, when I thought that I was close I approached a foreign couple I spotted on the sidewalk and asked them if they could look it up for me. I took a snapshot of the route displayed on the man’s phone. Somehow, I was able to reach my destination.
#10 Lakeside Hotel
The #10 Lakeside Hotel has been a misnomer for the past decade. It used to be on a lake until the Cambodian government leased the land to a developer who filled in the lake and built condominiums on top of it. I lies tucked in a back alley off of the busy Monivong Boulevard next to other backpacker hotels. The first floor is a semi-open-air restaurant and lounge. It has an air of neglected Franco-Indochine decadence in a very small place. The cost for one night was about $5. It was here that I realized that Phnom Penh wants dollars. All the prices were listed in dollars. Of course, I had neither dollars or riel. The front desk allowed me to pay in dong and exchanged enough for me to get dinner which was about 15 dollars. They changed an exorbitant exchange rate. I figured I lost ten dollars of valley because of their liberal policy of rounding calculations in their favor. I found that a lot of rounding goes on in Cambodia. If I were changing a lot of money a 10 dollar surcharge would not have been such a big deal but I was on a shoestring budget and 10 dollars was the difference between eating breakfast the next day or not. The whole experience soured my feeling about #10 Lakeside Hotel and gave it an overall impression of seediness.
Lessons Learned
1. Map out your entire ride, including your alternative routes and download to your phone when you have connectivity.
2. Check the exchange rates before exchanging money.
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]]>2019/12/19
Border Crossings
In the morning my new friend, David, led me out of Tan Châu on his motorcycle. He set a quick pace but I was able to follow him to the ferry terminal and out of the city. On the other side of the river we parted company in front of the school where he teaches. I wish I had had time to visit his school too.
I really enjoy taking the ferries. They aren’t monstrous affairs like the Staten Island ferries or the Oshima Island Passenger Ferry. They are basically small platforms with a motor and a wheel house. I hope that in Vietnam’s drive to modernize they don’t replace them with bridges.
The ride from the ferry terminal followed the course of the main branch of the Mekong River to the border. As I road along I wondered what kind of people lived so close to the border and if they were all that different from those who lived farther away.
David described the border crossing to me. But despite his description and reading about other travelers’ experience I still wasn’t prepared. The only other land border I had ever crossed before was between the U.S. and Canada and that only just barely counts as crossing into a foreign country.
I found the Vietnam border station at Vĩnh Xương just as David described. The border station is a building built about 20 meters from the banks of the river and connected to the shore by a short footbridge. This location allows those crossing by boat as well as those crossing by land to be processed. I parked Mini-V on top of the river bank and walked down to the border station. If the river side is the front then I entered through the backdoor. On the bridge leading up to the door there were four very official military types sitting in front of the door and drinking coffee. They had all the appearance of government employees on their break. I walked past them assuming there would somebody on duty inside. When I got inside there was no sign of a border official. There were a dozen or so foreign tourist lounging around in a waiting room with a very nice view of the river and a tour boat docked to the river side of the border station. In the waiting area there was a glass case with snacks for sale and a woman willing to sell you Oreo cookies and chips. Nearby was a table where a young woman would exchange Vietnamese dong for Cambodian riel. But no border officials on duty.
For some reason I was under the mistaken belief that I had to take a boat to cross the river and the border. I asked a young Australian sounding couple, or maybe they were Kiwis, who can tell the difference?) where to catch a ferry across the river. They asked me in turn if I was with a tour and said the boat docked to border station pier was their tour boat. Nobody knew anything.
Not knowing what to do I went back out the way I came in, past the lounging border guards. They seemed completely unconcerned about my coming and going. I walked back up the bank to my bike and pedaled back up the road I came because, as David had explained, the real land crossing was on side road a couple of hundred meters before the border station. I went through the first gate, more like a rail crossing guard than a gate, to a building. There a Vietnamese guard indicated that I should follow him. I pushed my bike behind him as he led me back to the border station. The guard spoke not a word of English so I was still in the dark about what was going on.
Back at the bank above the border station I met two Indonesian men who had just pedaled across from the Cambodian side. I spoke with them briefly. They told me I needed to get a stamp at the border station. When I asked them about their trip they told me that they had ridden from Indonesia through Thailand and Cambodia. I asked them how the roads were in Cambodia. The warned me that they were good but dusty. Our brief conversation was interrupted by the guard waving me down to the border station.
I went down and the man took my passport. I thought, “Now I am finally getting somewhere.” Inside the office which I was not allowed to enter I could see that they had pulled up my picture on a computer screen. I supposed they had scanned my passport or I was already in the system from when the visa was issued by the Vietnamese Embassy in Tokyo. After a few minutes they gave me back my passport and once again I followed the guard. I notice there was no one in the waiting room and no one manning, or should I say womanning, the exchange table or snack stand. No Oreos or riel for me.
This time the guard led me back to the gate on a motorcycle. We went through the gate into the no-man’s land that I believe exists between all countries. At the railway crossing gate on the Cambodian side of no-man’s land he passed me off to a Cambodian policeman who was also on a motorcycle. This man told me in English to follow him and follow him I did to another gate and another side street where he handed me off to another policeman who took me to the Cambodian border station. Like on the Vietnamese side, the Cambodian border station was on the river though set back from the waterline a bit. The Cambodian border station was like a walled garden or park. Quite pleasant. The police on the Cambodian side all spoke English to some degree. I was processed with a boat load of tourists who had approached from the river side. The tour guide helped me out a little bit when the policemen’s instructions were lacking in clarity. They took my picture and my fingerprints, stamped my passport and I was done.
All of this took no more than an hour. It was probably closer to half an hour. I was really worried about entering Cambodia because the night before I noticed that my Cambodian visa was dated for the day after I was planning to enter Cambodia. I don’t know if this was a mistake on my part or the Cambodian Embassy’s part. Regardless, the date was wrong. If the border guard was a stickler for rules and details the mistake would be grounds enough to deny me entrance. There were three possible outcomes. 1) I would be denied entrance until the next day. In that case I would have to ride back across the border to Tan Châu and find a hotel. 2) I would be forced to pay for another visa with the correct date which would be problematic because I didn’t have any money that I could use. 3) The policeman didn’t notice the later date or didn’t care that I was trying to enter the country one day early.
I suppose there was a fourth possible outcome. The guard noticed the date was for the next day, decided I was just too suspicious and introduced me to the hospitality of a Cambodian jail cell thus extending my vacation. Fortunately, fate favored the third outcome. Like the Mekong River, humans and fate choose the path of least resistance.
After getting my passport stamped I was standing on the road outside the entrance of the border compound taking a few pictures and video of the communist party banner fluttering in the wind when a different guard approached me. While inspecting my passport he asked, “Where are you going? I know you are going to Cambodia, but where are you going?” I answered, “Phnom Penh.” This seemed to satisfy him. I think he just wanted to talk to the idiot foreigner riding a mini-velo through his country or perhaps he decided that a tourist taking pictures in front of the border station was suspicious. I asked him to take a picture of me and Mini-V and then a selfie of the two of us. Weird but cool at the same time.
On the Cambodian Side
Safely through the border crossing I continued on my journey up the Mekong River. I immediately noticed a difference between Vietnam and Cambodia. While many things are very similar some are different. For one, there were fewer chickens and more households had two or three head of cattle. Another difference was that people seemed very interested in greeting me. Every couple of hundred meters someone was waving to me or saying hello. This was fun at first but as the morning wore on and I got hotter and more tired, constantly greeting people became exhausting and a nuisance.
As I rode along I was reminded of the Indonesian bicycle tourists’ warning about dusty roads. Within a few kilometers of crossing the border the soil seemed to become sandy. Also, there were stretches of unpaved road that showed evidence of road construction. Even though it was a weekday I didn’t see any workmen. Maybe it was a holiday.
For an hour or two I road through a semi rural area parallel to the Mekong River though it was mostly just out of sight. I got the feeling that all the houses and businesses were lined up along the road and if I detoured onto a side street I would quickly find myself all alone in the countryside.
After a while the rural road fed into a highway. This is the famous Asian Highway 1. Like Vietnam, there seemed to be no restrictions on what kind of vehicles (or livestock) could use the highway. One significant difference was that I saw fewer motorcycles being used for transportation (still many used for hauling cargo) and more Japanese and American cars.
The Kindness Of A Stranger
I was making reasonable progress towards Neak Loeung, the first town I would stop at in Cambodia. The heat was really wearing me down and I was running low on water. All along the road from the border crossing I saw large signs advertising Ganzberg Beer. The thought of a cold beer was tempting. Unfortunately, I had no currency that I could use to buy beer or anything at all. When I was about 10 km from my destination I really needed to take a rest break. In Tokyo there are lots of little municipal parks and if you are in the countryside you can just pull over to the side of the road and sit in the shade but I couldn’t find a quiet place away from the road to take a break that wasn’t someone’s home or business.
Finally, I pulled into a beautiful Buddhist temple to get out of the sun and rest in the shade away from the dust and noise of the highway. I found a pavilion with a table and benches. There was a monk napping on the bench by the table. I took a seat on a bench in the shade a few meters away not wanting to disturb his nap. I took my shoes off and ate some trail mix I carry for emergencies and drank my water. I was probably experiencing borderline heat exhaustion.
Eventually, the monk roused himself. He must have thought I looked bad because he pulled out of his bag a can of soy milk and gave it to me. I accepted gratefully. It was the best soy milk I have ever had. I didn’t know if his religion would allow him to eat it but I offered him some of my trail mix in exchange. He turned it down. I don’t blame him. It had been reheated in the sun several times by now and I noticed that tiny ants had gotten into when I was in Long Xuyên. The monk went an extra 2nd mile. He offered me a bottle of water and an energy drink. Apparently, Buddhist monks can and do drink energy drinks. I am sure he wasn’t carrying it around just in case he found an exhausted Westerner intruding on his nap. We didn’t share a common language or culture but he shared with me kindness that crosses borders, culture, and politics. In a world that is becoming more polarized and divided we need to reach across all of our borders. Ideological, economic, ethnic and social.
Enough pontificating. Thanks to the monk I was revived enough to continue my journey. Looking at the map it was clear that I would have to cross the river because Neak Loeung and my hotel were on the other side.
It turns out the bridge crossing the Mekong River has two names. The obvious name is taken from the nearby town, Neak Loeung. The less obvious name is Tsubasa Bridge. There are some of you gentle readers who might be thinking that tsubasa sounds distinctly Japanese and you would be right. Tsubasa means wing in Japanese. The bridge was donated to the Cambodian government by the Japanese government as part of a larger project to improve Asian Highway 1 from Thailand to Vietnam. During my travels in Cambodia I crossed two other such bridges. I’m glad I had a chance to cross it as my tax yen helped pay for it.
There are three outstanding features of this bridge. First, the bridge is the longest bridge crossing the Mekong River at 2.2 km long. Second, going over the bridge represented the steepest climb of my entire trip through the Mekong River Delta at around a 4.5% grade. The third and most outstanding feature is that the suspension cables are bright yellow.
Now, I have to admit my faithful, little Mini-V is a wonderful bike on the flats but she has a hard time going up hills with her little 20 inch wheels and lack of granny gears. But her and I did our best and managed to get the top. Partway Mini-V insisted that we stop to take a picture and some videos. I happily obliged her whim without remarking that she might be too tired after riding 50 km in the hot, Cambodian sun. One does not want to get on the wrong side of one’s bicycle.
After crossing the bridge, cursing out the inconsiderately placed rumble strips on the downhill side that I thought were going to taco my front wheel when i hit them at speed, it was a short ride into the town. Fortunately, my hotel was on the near edge of town.
At the hotel I was able to exchange enough dong for riel to get dinner at a nearby cafe, a beer at the tavern across the street and some mystery fruit. (Watch the video to learn more about the mystery fruit.) I should have exchanged more but I thought I would be able to in the morning.
Money Makes the Wheels Go Round
The challenge of traveling in a foreign country for the first time is that you never know how much money you are going to need. Ideally, you want to exchange just enough so that you have very little left when you leave the country. All during my stay in Cambodia I miscalculated how much money I would need. I kept getting Cambodian currency and Vietnamese currency mixed up in my head and my wallet. I think I even accidentally payed for something with a 10,000 yen bill instead of 10,000 in riel or dong. 10,000 yen in Cambodia and Vietnam is a princely sum.
Neak Loeung
My hotel in Neak Loeung was at the edge of town overlooking a swampy area. The hotel staff led me to my room on the second floor. The room was clean and brightly appointed. When the woman closed the curtains I didn’t think much of it at the time. I later opened the curtains so I could get a look out of the window and never closed them again because the only thing outside my window was open space. The room came complete with a television. I turned it on and started surfing the Cambodian air waves. The reception wasn’t very good. First, I found a sports channel with English sportscasting of a sailboat regatta. Boring. Then I found what appeared to be cock fighting. The screen was so staticky it was really hard to see what was going on. I finally gave up and went to the next channel. Click. A Cambodian soap opera. I don’t want to watch soap operas in any language. Click. Now we are talking. Crystal clear reception in English! Oh wait, it is the RT News Channel. The Russian Times News Channel. Why does the only channel that gets good reception in Neak Loeung have to be the Russian propaganda channel. I watched it for a while because it is always good to know what your adversaries are saying. It was just as bad as watching Fox News (only better produced) and I turned it off after 15 minutes.
Enough television. I took a shower then went next door to a restaurant for dinner called the Rio Cafe. The restaurant looked like it could have been plucked out of New York, Tokyo or London. At the same time, very comforting and very uninteresting. The menu was in English and the prices were in dollars. I felt like the prices were on the high side. My meal cost a whole 2 dollars. After dinner, I risked life and limb to cross the street to an open-air tavern where I got a beer so patriotic it was named in a burst of inspiration Cambodia Beer. The beer was outrageously priced at a dollar fifty. I pet the tavern cat and drank my cold Cambodia. After imbibing I strolled next door for mystery fruit and a crocodile shaped pastry. (To see the croco-pastry and the mystery fruit check out the video on the wayfarer.bike YouTube channel.) The pastry and fruit were for breakfast.
Too Many Bugs For One Gecko
I got back to my room well after dark. I turned on all of the lights in the room as one does. I didn’t pay any heed to the open curtains. I settled down to write a few words and delete a few pictures. Before I knew it there were little flies swarming all around. Fortunately, they weren’t the biting kind. They were just the annoying kind. They weren’t doing so well. The bed sheets and floor were peppered with dead flies. Earlier in the evening I noticed a gecko hiding in the curtains and periodically making forays along the walls. A little known fact about geckos. They make chirping sounds like song birds. Actually, more like newly hatched birds that can’t carry a tune yet. Mr. Gecko was in good company because I can’t carry a tune either. I spotted another one clinging to the outside of the window. I’m glad I was able to provide them with the equivalent of a smorgasbord. I wished they had brought all their friends and relations too. Finally, I made the connection between the open curtains and the room lights. I closed the curtains and turned off all the room lights except one on the far side of the room. I worked this strategy out with Lt. Gecko. Closing the curtains would keep more flies from getting in and the light would lure them away from the bed where Mr. Gecko would ambush them. It seemed to work. In the morning there was no evidence of living bugs. The floor and the overhead light were littered with the carcasses of fly soldiers that didn’t survive the night. I don’t know if my compatriot, Capt. Gecko (He surely deserves a promotion after his heroic efforts during the battle of the bugs) survived. There was no sign of him in the morning.
Lesson Learned:
1. In Cambodia, Buddhist temples make great resting places.
2. Kindness is colorblind and tone deaf. It knows no boundaries or obstacles.
3. If hotel staff close the curtains it is a good idea to leave them closed.
4. The sound of geckos in the night is comforting but don’t ask them to sing campfire songs. They just can’t do it.
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]]>2019/12/17
Day 3
My trip from Long Xuyên was a very interesting one. While the distance wasn’t the longest the miles were the most varied.
The adventure started before I even left town. The plan was that I was to cross the river at least three times during the day. Not all of those crossings were strictly necessary. I just thought, when I was mapping out the route from the comfort of my computer in Kodaira, Japan, that it would be more interesting. What I didn’t know then was how interesting those crossings would be or that they weren’t bridge crossings.
Getting Taken For A Ride
The first crossing was near my hotel in Long Xuyên. The ferry dock, which I had found the previous night while looking for my hotel, was located in a busy market. When I got there at around 8 a.m. business was already booming. While I was still scoping things out a man approached me with a business card. He was trying to sell me something. I had no idea what he was saying and I didn’t take a very close look at the card before turning him down but I did notice the word Dien. The local name for the branch of the Mekong that flows past Long Xuyên.
I rolled my loaded bike to the ferry dock where the man and two others approached me again. This time I thought, okay maybe this guy is trying to tell me about the ferry or maybe a water taxi. So, through the power of Google Translate, I asked him how much and whether I pay before or after. I understood him to say 15. Based on my limited experience in Vietnam that usually mean 15,000 dong. I thought that was a bit high for a ferry as I only paid 2,000 the day before. But what do I know? I am far from being an expert on the Vietnamese ferry system.
I agreed to the deal. I rolled up to the dock and watched as a ferry came in. I watched motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians and even a car disembark. Just as I was about board the man came alongside in a wooden sampan (I’m not sure that his the proper word for it. Normally, this landlubber would call it a skiff.)
My next thought was, “Okay. That’s not a ferry. Did I just contract for a private water taxi?” There was a good reason for why I thought this. Just moments before a similar boat had docked in front of me with a small boy and a woman with a load of fruit.
The boatman loaded my bike onto his boat then I boarded. Across from the ferry dock and the market was an island which, according to the map the ferry would go around on the downstream side to another larger island on the other side. My boat captain headed downstream and appeared to be following the ferry route. So far, so good. But that was all just coincidence. The sampan continued downstream past all the working boats on the river. I realized I was being taken for a ride.
There are many boats of varying sizes and types on the river. You might even say the river is crowded with them. They mostly hug the shoreline which in this part of the river is choked with water plants. (Watch the video from this part of the trip to get the larger story of this part of my tour.)
At one point the boatman shut down the motor to clear the rotor of water vines that had tangled around it. The other astonishing incident was when he idled the motor and walked to the back of the boat where I was sitting. He opened a hold behind me and pulled out a dead duck. Mumbling he threw it down on the floor in front of me with a very annoyed look on his face. I don’t know if he was annoyed because he was trying to keep it alive or because the bird somehow interfered with his boat and died or some other reason.
The final surprise came when we returned to the ferry dock about a half hour or so after we left. The boatman and one of his compatriots on shore lifted my fully loaded bike out of the boat. I pulled 15,000 dong out to pay the man. Through gestures and pointing at the money in my wallet he made it clear that price was not 15,000 dong. The price was 150,000 dong. Wow! I got taken for a ride in more ways than one. When you say the price in dong it seems high but when you do the conversion is comes to about 750 yen or 7 dollars and 50 cents. Not much but when you consider that ferry I was planning to take would have cost about 15 cents I can’t help feeling that I got scammed. However, looking back I feel like it was money well spent. It gave me a rare view into the lives of the people who live and work on the Mekong River.
After my river excursion I decided I had spent enough time on boats and the cool morning hours were burning up in the sun. I made the decision to cut out the first two ferry rides that would have just brought me back to the same side of the river. The route change would shorten my day by only two or three kilometers but boarding ferries would take considerably more time than just a 3 km detour represents. It turns out that there were still 2 more ferries ahead of me that I couldn’t avoid so easily.
After finally leaving Long Xuyên I followed Highway 91 for awhile. Just when I thought it would be highway riding all the way I came to another ferry crossing. This one I managed to take without unsolicited river tours or exorbitant fees. The road on the other side of the river took me through a village that seems to be 5 km long and a 50 meter wide stretch on the east side of the river. This area has a booming incense cottage industry. The street was lined with shops drying sticks of incense in the sun. I also passed a few places drying cattle dung in the sun. And in case you are wondering, no, it didn’t stink. Around 11:00 it was starting to warm up and I began looking for a cafe where I could take a break and get a cold drink. I came upon the only grocery store I found during my entire trip. I really like grocery shopping so this was as good a place as any to take a break. I bought a 2 liter bottle of water, a Coke, and an orange.
Since I had just had a snack and I thought that I would continue riding through an area where I could easily find a restaurant or street food I decided to take a lunch break around 1:00. Little did I know that the environment would change drastically in just a few short minutes.
Lunch On The Hoof
Only a few meters from the grocery store was the second and last ferry for the day. Within 10 minutes of crossing the river I found myself peddling along a dirt track parallel to a small branch of the larger river amongst rice fields. The land became sparsely populated with little farmsteads. I passed rice fields, duck farms, and what I think was a fresh water shellfish farm but not a single cafe or street vendor.
At first I wasn’t worried because I knew I was going to a large town and I assumed I would see more businesses sooner or later. It turned out to be later. 1:30 rolled around and there still wasn’t anything like food anywhere in sight. Cafe or no, I was hot, hungry and thirsty. I had to take a break. I noticed from time to time there were water cooler jugs placed alongside the road. When I found one of the jugs and a rotten, makeshift bench being guarded by two placid looking head of cattle I decided to stop for a break. Check out the video to see how all of this goes down.
Warmshowers Homestay
I stayed the night in Tan Châu with David, a warmshower’s host. He and his extended family were very kind and gracious hosts. It was my first time using warmshowers.org. Warmshowers.org is a web site where people who are willing to host bicycle tourists for a night or two can register. The response from most of the would-be hosts was very poor except for David, who responded quickly to all of my messages. I feel very lucky to have been able to stay with him. It gave me an opportunity to see past the front door of all the houses I passed on my bike. I was welcomed into the home and the private life of my host for a brief space of time.
David asked me to visit his English classes. I was glad to make a guest appearance. It was a small price to pay for hosting me. And if my appearances helped enhanced his reputation as a cool teacher that can bring interesting foreigners to the class then I am glad to have helped.
I don’t want to talk too much about my experience with David because I fear it would be revealing too much of his private life. I do want to say that he fed me dinner and breakfast, provided me with a shower, a bed to sleep on, and I was able to wash my clothes which was a big help.
I realize that I didn’t take many photos or videos of his home and in retrospect I glad I didn’t for reasons of respecting his privacy. I will describe his front room as this is visible from the street and if you happened to pass by you could see what I am about to describe.
The front room is a large multipurpose room which is completely open to the street during the day and can be closed off by a metal shutter at night. The family uses it as a dining room, a living room where the family can relax, a place to entertain guests, and David uses it as a classroom for his private English classes. Because one wall is completely open to the street it is bright and airy. And because it is open the geckos are free to come and go as they please. During dinner I counted 9 geckos clinging to the wall facing me. I think the army of geckos are to thank for the lack of bugs in the house.
Lessons Learned:
Pack a little extra food in case you find yourself far from any restaurant or store at lunchtime.
Map out grocery stores and restaurants in advance.
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Day 2
I was really reluctant to leave Nguyen Shack near Cần Thơ. I had such a good stay there that I wanted to stay longer. But, alas, I had a schedule to keep and the hostel was full the next night. I had no choice but to move on. I bid farewell to the hostel’s cat and puppies and set off for Long Xuyên and promptly took a wrong turn. The riding was so pleasant I neglected to check the map. I went a considerable distance out of my way before I realized my mistake. If I had properly mapped out this segment of my tour I could have cut out 10 or more kilometers. Ah well, these things happen.
Since I had come somewhat away from the main branch of the river (Sông Hậu River, a branch of the Mekong River) I worked my way back towards National Highway 91. In Vietnam the National Highways are accessible to all manner of vehicles, including those being pulled by animals. For cars, buses and trucks there is a toll in some places but bicycles and motorcycles can use them for free. In fact, at the toll booth there is a special lane next to the shoulder where two wheeled vehicles can get through without paying the toll.
Almost the entire day was spent on Highway 91. When I say highway you may be picturing a four lane divided highway with exit and entrance ramps and trucks and automobiles whizzing by at 75 miles an hour. It is nothing like that. You would be closer to the real deal if you pictured a county highway going through the outskirts of a small town. But even that image misses the mark. All along the road there are cafes and restaurants, street vendors and even clothing sellers. There aren’t many side roads between the towns so it feels like all the life of the country exists within a few dozen meters of the highway or in the cities and towns. I know this isn’t true but that’s the way it feels when you spend all day on the road and can’t see much beyond the buildings that line it. Perhaps I should have taken more detours off the highway. Maybe next time.
I don’t know what the speed limit on the National Highway system in Vietnam is as I never saw any speed limit signs the entire time I was in Vietnam but it seems like traffic was going no faster than 50 or 60 kph. At no point did I ever feel like I was in any danger. There are so many motorcycles, bicycles, and carts being pulled or pushed by people that I think drivers are used to slow moving vehicles. Something that is noticeable right from the start is that Vietnamese streets are noisy from all of the horn honking. There are many different tones and rhythms to the honking. Trucks, cars and motorcycles all have their own sound and there is a lot of variation among types. If this were in North America or Japan you would assume that the drivers are always impatient and irritated. But that is not the case. Honking the horn is just a way for faster moving road users to say to slower road users, “I am coming up behind you and I am going to pass you so stay where you are. Don’t meander.” I sometimes wished I too had a klaxon when I passed slower moving cyclists and pedestrians. Unfortunately, on the busy streets it is impossible to tell who is beeping at who.
For people who come from orderly, rule based countries Vietnamese streets may seem, at first glance, like chaotic places where there are no rules. I saw very few traffic lights during the hours I spent on National Highway 91 and the city streets of Can Thơ and Long Xuyên. Intersections seem chaotic but they are a lot easier to navigate than you would expect. The key to getting across the street is move slowly, steadily and in a predictable manner. This is true for pedestrians, bicycles and even motorcycles and 4 wheeled vehicles. If others can predict where you are going they will adjust their path to flow around you just as you are adjusting your path to avoid them. It just works. Just like Adam Smith’s invisible had.
You would be tempted to think that there were frequent accidents with serious injuries. During my time in Vietnam I didn’t see any accidents. I did see a woman have a little incident with her scooter in Long Xuyên. I heard a crashing noises. When I turned to look, I saw a woman picking her scooter up off the ground. I don’t know what caused her to dump her ride but she didn’t appear to be hurt and I didn’t see anyone else involved. I think one factor that might prevent a lot of serious injuries is the slower speed which traffic moves at. The axiom that speed kills is very true.
Another thing I noticed is the ubiquitousness of free Wi-Fi. Putting the dangers of free Wi-Fi aside, it was easier to get a Wi-Fi connection in Vietnam than it is in Tokyo. I stopped for lunch at a roadside eating place that advertised free Wi-Fi. (Calling it a restaurant would give you the wrong impression.) I asked the lady running the place for the password because I didn’t see it posted anywhere. She took my phone and entered the password herself. That was an interesting meal. I didn’t really have any idea what the place offered. Through the power of Google Translate I said something like “I would like something to eat. What do you have?” The woman said something I didn’t understand and I said “Okay”. I had no idea what I was going to get. It turned out to be a plate of rice with some barbecue meat (my guess is pork) and a little bowl of soup. It was delicious. While I was sitting at a low table eating my lunch, the woman’s little boy, no more than 18 months I would guess.) was toddling around the place. He was clearly curious about me but was a little shy. I smiled at him and made funny faces at him and soon he ventured to my table. As I said, the table was low and the boy could easily see me across the table. Without understanding each other we spent a few pleasant minutes playing.
A very common establishment along National Highway 91 are cafes. I saw many signs that said “Cafe Võng”. I saw so many of them I thought it must be a chain store. I found out later that it is not a chain store. It is just a type of cafe. The outstanding characteristic of Cafe Võng is that they usually have hammocks for the guests. You can get a cold drink and rest for awhile in a hammock. These are popular along the National Highway because it is tiring work riding a motorcycle along the highway. Riders like to pull off for a while and take a rest before continuing on with their business.
Thanks to my wrong turns and detours in the morning I road 80 plus kilometers. I arrived in Long Xuyên in late afternoon. Fortunately, I was able to find my hotel without too much trouble. I stayed at a place called Amidi Cafe and Homestay. The name is a bit misleading. It’s true, there was a cafe on the street level but it wasn’t a home stay. It is a good thing that I wasn’t expecting one. The girl working the front desk led me to my room on the second floor and gave me a card and a key. The card was for turning on the electricity in the room. The key was for the padlock on the door. That’s right. A padlock. The room didn’t have a proper doorknob with a keyhole. It had a handle and on both sides of the door there was a place to pass the padlock through to secure it to the door jamb.
I laid down on the cool floor for an hour and inspected the inside of my eyelids for light leaks. For about an hour I found no evidence damage. As the sun went down I heard noise like a big party coming from across the street. When I looked out the door I discovered that I was across the street from 2 large open-air restaurants that were doing brisk business. I went down to the front desk to ask the girl which restaurant was better. With broken English she told me that they were the same and that there was another restaurant around the corner that was better. Taking the word of the local I went around the corner and found a very large, somewhat opulently decorated restaurant that was empty. I thought maybe they weren’t open yet but the waiter welcomed me in. That’s where it got difficult. Problem one: the menu was written all in Vietnamese. Problem two: there were almost no pictures. Like you see in many restaurants the main menu was a nicely bound book of several pages. Inserted into the menu book was one page of specials with pictures. This was kind of fancy restaurant so the prices, I feel, were a bit higher but I thought they were acceptable. I ordered the cheapest thing from the specials menu because the food in the picture looked like some kind of stir fry and I ordered a beer. It is good that I ordered a beer because the dish I ordered was a bit too spicy for me. I did my best to eat as much of it as I could but I had to order another beer to put the fire in my mouth out. I also spent about 20 minutes looking up words on the main menu with Google Translate until I found a dish I could understand. Spinach! I ordered the spinach dish as well. I was expecting a small to mediumish dish of boiled spinach. What I got was a large, heaping plate of spinach. It was good but far too much for me to eat. When I asked for the bill the waiter asked me if I wanted to take it with me. I considered only for the briefest of moments but I rejected the idea because I had no way to carry it.
Lessons Learned
1. Properly map out any side excursions and the route to and from your hotel in advance.
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Day 1
I give the Ngoc Lan Hotel 5 stars. What qualifies a hotel for 5 stars? That’s a fair question. I’m glad you asked. I was able to check in at 11:00 at night even though my reservation was canceled. The room was clean, free Wi-Fi, air-conditioned, on the first floor, spacious, everything in the room functioned properly. What more could you ask for? Maybe you would downgrade the rating because the fixtures weren’t solid gold, no concierge service, pool, workout room, breakfast or caviar in the mini fridge or a newspaper hanging on the door in the morning. Those are good things and who doesn’t like to be pampered once in a while. But none of that matters when you tired and sweaty and on the verge of a what may be an epic great trip or an epic failure. A comfortable bed, a warm shower and a safe room to sleep is all you really need. You can hear all about how I got to the Ngoc Lan Hotel in Soc Trăng by listening to my podcast or watching the video.
I awoke to to the rooster showing off his vocal abilities somewhere in the distance. I thought it was curious that there would be chickens in town but gave the topic no further thought. What I didn’t know is that chickens are everywhere in Vietnam except maybe Ho Chi Minh City.
The first order of business was to reassemble Mini-V. I took her and most of my gear out of her cardboard enclosure. I was grateful that she wasn’t any worse for the wear. It took me about an hour to get the old girl back together and loaded up with my gear. Since the hotel did not have any breakfast service I decided to get breakfast out on the road. I straddled my iron pony and stood at the edge of the road and watched the steady stream of traffic and I wondered two things. One, which way do I go to start my journey? Two, how was I going to get across the street if my route required a left turn. I convinced myself that the way I needed to go was to the right. I think I was just intimidated by the traffic and wanted to ease my way into the flow. As soon as I started rolling the GPS on my phone got a solid fix and showed that my instinct to go left was right and my desire to go right was wrong. I took a right turn down a side street hoping I could loop back to my route. It didn’t work out that way. I ended up doubling back and retracing my tire tracks. On the way back I found the chickens and roosters that greeted me so vociferously earlier. They were under large wire cages that looked like a basket turned upside down. The owners can easily lift up the basket cage when it is time to take their chicken for a walk or steal their eggs.
I could no longer avoid making a left turn across traffic and you know what? It wasn’t so bad. I definitely survived. With that small victory behind me I gained confidence that carried me through the next couple turns. Uh oh! Trouble ahead. A huge roundabout! Thanks to my deep research on the topic of roundabouts (I listened to a Stuff You Should Know podcast about roundabouts and I have experienced roundabouts in such exotic locations as New Jersey, Australia and Kunitachi), I was ready for this. I boldly went where no mini-velo has gone before…across the street. It was a piece of cake. The traffic just flowed around the idiot on a bicycle. More evidence to back up my theory that no sane motorist really wants to run you over. So long as you are a predictable and visible bicycle rider your odds of surviving are better than your odds of surviving a double tall triple mocha espresso at Starbucks are?
As I rolled on to the National Highway 1 I couldn’t believe I had actually done it. Somehow, I had gotten myself and my bicycle all the way from Kodaira, Japan to Soc Trăng, Vietnam using trains, buses and taxis. I was cycling in Vietnam! I was so excited and fascinated by everything I saw during those first couple of hours that time and the miles flew by. As the morning began to warm up I realized I hadn’t filled my water bottles before leaving. I pulled off the road at a little general store where I could buy a couple bottles of water.
At this point I think it would be enlightening to talk about National Highway 1. It isn’t a highway in the same way that I-5 is or the Autobahn is. There is a toll but there are no exit ramps or entrance ramps, no high speed traffic. The road is lined with street vendors, cafes, motorcycle shops and businesses pressing hard on to the edge of the road. It is easy to pull off at any point for an ice coffee, a motorcycle repair or load up your motorcycle, pushcart, bicycle or ox cart with goods and materials.
Around 11:00 a.m. I realized that in my excitement I had forgotten to eat breakfast. I took a break at a roadside cafe. A word about Vietnamese architecture. Most buildings are wide open on the side facing the street. They may or may not have a shutter to close them up at night. This design allows for easy access from the street and breezes to cool off the interior. Many establishments have hammocks strung up. Sometimes the hammocks are for customers sometimes they are not. It appears most establishments are family run and the building does double duty as business and home.
Back on the road I pedaled for another two hours before the heat of the day started to wear me down. I took a break at a petrol station to rest for a bit in the shade before continuing on. I eventually left National Road 1 and the Sông Hậu River to find my lodgings.
I booked a bed at a hostel called Nguyen Shack. From the time I made my reservation I knew this place was going to be a great place to stay. The reviews for it on the booking site were all lavish with praise and the pictures were enticing. Nguyen Shack did not disappoint. The staff spoke English and were very friendly and helpful. The food was delicious and the atmosphere was relaxing and homey. Nguyen Shack is a hostel so it might not be everyone’s cup of team. While there were private rooms I opted to share a 4 person room. There were two men whom I guess were German but were listening to French music and what sounded like French language lessons. I don’t know what was up with that. I didn’t ask. They kept to themselves and I didn’t intrude. Amiable indifference. The other fellow was a Frenchman named Fabrice. We had a wonderful evening swapping stories and playing the hostel’s acoustic guitar. He was truly talented while, at my best, I’m just a ham-handed hack. I met other interesting travelers in the dining/lounge are. A retired couple from Washington DC who were traveling with a Vietnamese fellow who seemed to be working as their private guide. The American man was stationed in Vietnam during the war and seemed to be genuinely interested in how the places he knew as a soldier had changed. Then there was the young British couple that had been traveling in Vietnam for 9 weeks. They would stay in a city until they had seen and done all there was to do for touristsand then move on to the next. I also met a Spanish family of 4 who had come to Vietnam as part of a larger tour around Asia. For more about my stay at Nguyen Shack check out my videos and photos.
Lessons Learned
Sometimes you have to leave a place when you don’t want to. If you can, build some extra days into your schedule so you can be more flexible.
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Here it is. The entire collections of articles, photo galleries and video the Great Annual Bicycle Adventure Along the Wisconsin River (GRABAAWR) on in one convenient to carry package. All the links for my GRABAAWR adventure and the events leading up to it are. As always, try to resist the urge to watch the video before reading the articles. But if you simply can’t wait to hear how it ends and must skip to the last page of the book at least read the Pre-roll articles and Day 0 first.
Also, coming soon! Audio interviews with the owner of Bike Wisconsin and the mechanic for GRABAAWR! Stay tuned to this Bike Channel.
The Video
Podcast: Inverview With Rob Layton
Podcast: Interview With Jorge Creespo
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Trip Log 15: GRABAAWR 2019: Pre-Roll
They say that getting there is half the fun. I am not so sure about that but it certainly isn’t half the trip. Sometimes getting to the start of the journey is harder than the journey itself.
Trip Log 16: GRABAAWR 2019: Pre-Roll Countdown
Counting down the days until the start of an epic tour.
Trip Log 17: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 0
This is officially the first day of GRABAAWR though we don’t actually do any riding. I am calling this Day 0. All we did was check in at Northland High School where we will be spending the night and got our orientation speech and our cue sheets and t-shirts. Really cool t-shirt.
Trip Log 18: GRABAAWR 2019: The Name
I have given every bicycle I have ridden since at least high school a name. So I couldn’t neglect naming a bicycle I would be riding across Wisconsin on. But choosing the right name is easier said than done.
Trip Log 19: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 1
I chose to ride the Century option that goes up to the Upper Peninsula and unofficially to the headwaters of the Wisconsin River. It probably wasn’t a good idea to ride so far on a bike I had never ridden before. I wasn’t just battling the hills and the weather but I had to struggle with the bike too.
Trip Log 20: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 2
The journey from Rihinelander to Wausau.
Trip Log 21: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 3
Day 3 of GRABAAWR from Wausau to Wisconsin Rapids.
Trip Log 22: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 4
Today was a Type II fun day. It rained almost the entire time I was riding. It cleared up for the last 12 miles (25 km) of the ride to just dump down rain when I was less than 10 minutes from the lodging area.
Trip Log 23: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 5
The journey from Mauston to Baraboo was a short one.
Trip Log 24: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 6
The day can be considered a Type II Day. I got lost twice and battle a constant head wind. But, on the bright side, I shared the misery with three new friends.
Trip Log 25: GRABAAWR 2019: Day 7
The journey ends. Today was the last day of the trip. I am my fellow wayfarers rode from Muscoda to Prairie du Chien. A ride of just 44 miles. The route was mostly flat with a few long, gradual climbs, finishing with a long descent into Prairie du Chien. The only downside to the ride really were the gnats. Anytime I stopped for any reasons they swarmed around me. They got in my nose, my mouth and my ears.
This was a fun trip. While I didn’t do as much cycling I did see a lot of great sites including the cute little Lesser Panda pictured above. Combining cycling with a ferry was a unique experience. Oshima Island is a cycling paradise. I recommend it for anyone who wants a pleasant weekend cycling in a unique environment.
Day 1
The ferry to Oshima Island doesn’t leave Takeshiba Ferry Terminal until 10 pm so I did my usual commute to work in Omotesando. This time I made the journey fully loaded with all my gear. I had time to kill so I toodled around Tennouzu Isle before going to Hamamatsucho for some dinner. I still got to the ferry terminal with time to kill. The passenger ferry allows bicycles to be checked as cargo without put your bike in a rinko bukuro (bike bag). I costs 1500 yen but it is worth. Other, Ricky Racer types, bagged their bikes a brought them on the ferry as carry on luggage. I waited too long to make my reservation on the ferry so I was not able to get a seat or space in the tatami area. So I had to spend the trip on the deck. It was a bit chilly but the night view of the shoreline along Tokyo Bay is great. I got a seat at one of the few tables on the deck by sharing it with some Russians who were going further on to Nijima Island. We had an interesting conversation until they went below decks to their reserved seats.
The ferry was filled to capacity so I wasn’t the only person spending the night on the deck. There was plenty of space and many people rolled out their sleeping bags or pitched their tent. I didn’t want to hassle with the tent but I did unroll my sleeping bag and slept for a few hours until the ferry reached Oshima Island around 5 am.
Day 2
The ferry arrived at Okada Harbor. There are two ferry terminals on Oshima, one at Okada and one at Motomachi. The terminal used depends on the weather.
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]]>The video for this tour has been on the Youtube channel for a long time but I thought it deserved a blog article as well. It was one of the first videos I made so the audio has too much echo in places and the video is a bit shaky so please be kind when you view it. I think my video skills have improved since then. I am writing this article a full 10 months after the fact. It was a wonderful trip and well worth looking back on.
Day 1
I left late in the day so the first day I had just enough time to get to the river, a mere 8 km away, and set up my camp before sunset. If I had just gone to the river and camped for the night then returned home it would still have been a good trip. This goes to show that you really don’t have to go far to go on a great bike trip. Maybe, technically, you can’t call an overnighter that is still in your neighborhood a bike “tour” but it can still be great.
Day 2
On the second day I pointed my front wheel upstream with the goal of reaching Hamura, a scant 20 km away. I was pleasantly surprised that the cherry blossoms were still in bloom. I was doubly surprised when I stumbled upon a spring cherry blossom festival. I dismounted and enjoyed some festival food and atmosphere beneath the cherry blossoms. Cherry blossom time is just around the corner. I hope I have time to do it again.
Hamura is special to me because it is the first “destination” I ever had on a bike ride in Japan. It is the source of the historic Tamagawa Josui Canal. The canal has its source in Hamura where it is diverted from the Tama River, flows very near my house and continues east where is currently peters out near Koshukaido. In ancient times, around 1635, it flowed all the way to Shinjuku where it provided water to the growing capitol city of Edo. Watering all of small villages along the way.
Lessons Learned
To quote Tim Mooney, “Ride your ride.” There are no rules for what is and what is not a bike tour. In my opinion, if you just go somewhere, stay overnight and come home you have successfully gone on a bike tour. It doesn’t made if you camp or stay in a hotel, cook your own food or buy a bento from the convenience store. Just get out there and ride.
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