Vietnam~ Days 13-14~Hoa's Place and Marble Mountain

A Hindu shrine at the Marble Mountain

         After 6 hours on The Blue Beast (yeah, it's earned a name) I wearily pull into Hoa's. My bag isn't unstrapped from the bike, nor the thick layer of dust and grime scrubbed from my face, before Hoa himself has got me by one hand and is shoving a beer into the other as he leads me back to a table of travelers eagerly awaiting the end to one of his renowned story-telling sessions.
        The man's sanguine personality looms much larger than his operation: a restaurant-bar  hemmed in by a small dirt road leading to an empty beach and a row of of bland, block buildings that are checkered with both Hoa's rooms and local residences.  The rooms are as bleak and sad as they come, windowless and lit by florescent light, with each night's sleep preceded by a 'mosquito offensive', the ephemeral effects of which are always seen the next morning. Thus, the bar is full at all times, with everyone staying away from their rooms as long as possible.
  

he following day was spent exploring marble mountain and its rich array of both Hindu and Buddhist sanctuaries from the past. In the afternoon I sat having beer with some local fisherman, watching an Englishman attempt a surf session in rolling storm surf. They hooted and hollered, flashing grins of incredulity with every wave. It was a rare sight for everyone involved.
 

During the war the Vietcong used Marble mountain as a VC hospital. A ballsy move considering there were troves of American soldiers stationed in and around the area at the time.

Distances:
630 KM Down
About  another 1400 to go

Vietnam~ Day 12- Wanderlusting on a Forgotten Coast

        Skys of pearl and cobalt are sagging above, brimming with rain, as I slip out of Hue on a small coastal road. Ennui and wanderlust had been brewing in the pit of my stomach since yesterday and this dirty, wet road can be the only remedy. If I stayed the rain wouldn't have stopped anyway. Clouds stretched endless on the horizon. No matter; I'm used to it by now and I swear I feel it getting warmer.
The road, morphing from the size of a back-alley to sometimes much less, cuts through small towns with large graveyards on one side and a dark, brooding bay one the other with a few fisherman still trying their luck. This gave way to more peculiar villages, nestled in the hooks and digs of of the coast, where I too became more peculiar.

The road eventually winds down into the coast, running parallel. I stop on a desolate, windblown beach and look out on the murky, barreling waves. Further up I can see the road run over a large bridge and then ascend to cling the coastal mountains choked with fog( pic above--looking back on that beach on my way up the mountain).

On the other side, past an old American bunker, everything is lit up with sunshine, sublime empty coast, villages and all. I forget about my camera and cruise to the beach.