Journey's End

        I drifted down from those mountains with their soggy roads and crisp air into the aimless heat of the coast. Jackets and various layers were stripped off along the way and stuffed under bungee cords already tenuously holding a severely distended backpack and a sad little guitar I picked up in Dalat. Eventually I found myself on a straightaway with a parched landscape on each side, happily sporting a t-shirt and rain-dirt-mud-weathered jeans. Around a bend, Mui Ne's sand dunes rose and that sweet salty smell wafted in.
       This region isn't painfully hot like some locales across SE Asia: call it fluidic, you float and you wade in its hazy indifference; some drown, most figure their afternoons in the shade, cold beer in hand. There's always later, probably an unspoken mantra in Mui Ne, and later is always there.

        I came here partly because of Andrew, a guy I might while we were both cowering from the cold in our terrible hotel's unheated ballroom-turned-restaurant during my stay in Ninh Binh. He cursed himself for getting that far North away from the beaches, the late nights, the DJing frenzy, and the dingy hut that he had been calling home for some time. The place sounded idyllic, we planned to meet up; though most travelers view these sorts of plans as mere platitudes at best, or even downright lies, I was yearning to see a familiar face, speak some English, and get my damn party on.

       I had planned for a few days, then I found a beautiful reason to stay. A week later I would be off to Ho Chi Minh City, trying to sell the bike with hand-scrawled signs posted on street lights in the tourist district. Fumbling around, just trying to leave, the way the end of trips usually go.

       I was tired, beat-up downright from the endless nights of partying with new friends. My memories even exhausted me as I tried to gather them: the dumping rain in the first half of the trip, my naivete and lack of any sort of knowledge regarding what I had planned, the streets of Hanoi that spilled forth history, the damn, unexpected cold and the knockoffs from tiny markets I tried to shelter myself in, the helpful and the would-be crooks, the long stretches of road shrouded in silence, the truck drivers at a lonely cafe feeding me wooden bong tobacco hits, the ones that ran me off the road, the locals laughing at my silly confusion in unknown towns, the wrong turns and bad directions with good intentions, the Montangard villages, the fear of the bike breaking down during so many stretches of empty highway, the eery scars of war and the mute man who showed them to me, the big smiles and bigger laughter,  the love and the joy. Vietnam. Yes, yes.

Pogo's, Andrew and Caleb in full force.

Beachside, buying mangoes and thankful to be out of the bush.

 The beauty of Mui ne's dunes at sunset.

    
       .            

Dalat Musings Days 19 and 20

 The plethora of hills and valleys that separate Lak Lake from Dalat. 

                 Coming from the semi-remote Lak Lake, I've apparently hit the back road into town. Weaving and pothole-ridden, this lurching beast of a highway rises to mountain crowns with golden views of the green furnace below, parched and ripe at the same time. As the elevation rises into Dalat, temperatures cool and the road is lined with pines, their crisp smell helping me along. Not much further to go now, maybe only 300 K or so until Ho Chi Minh City.

                  I spend my days here wandering the city and its outskirts, even finding a lake for some respite from the bustle that even consumes this relatively quiet place. Nothing of any significance happens and I'm happy for that; the bike and its status are a constant worry. It was dirt cheap already and that was 1500 K ago. Been rubbin' her tank for good luck and crossing my fingers ever time I hear an odd sound from this beast that I have no ability to fix.

Dalat's "Crazy House"is the work of architect Dang Viet Nga. It is designed in the likeness of a Banyan tree with staircases and walkways weaving their way along its length. Inside a labyrinth of  stalactite infused hallways whose walls have a peculiar effect on perception, as though melting on themselves, are free to explore. Rooms found along dark corridors and around bends are equally eclectic as the structure itself featuring odd statues with bright red eyes, statues of mythological animals, that stand eerily in corners.