Crossing the DMZ: Hue

Rolling out of Hanoi's Ga Hang Co train station, I found myself alone in my four-bunk "soft-sleeper" compartment. Guessing I must have settled into the wrong berth, I wandered up and down the coach looking for someone official to talk to. A quick check with a uniformed guy half-heartedly cleaning the car's bathroom confirmed that I was in the right place. Based on previous developing-world-train-adventures (think India) I just assumed I'd be sharing second hand cigarette smoke and fighting for elbow room with drunk travel mates, all the while dodging flying hot noodle soup...at least for the first few hours. Not this time around, apparently. For the next 13 hours, I shared the entire train car with a grand total of three other travelers and one persistent s.o.b. of a mouse. Perfect.

Arriving in Hue around 10:00 am, it was easy enough finding a place to stay for the several days. The hordes of rickshaw, motorbike, and taxi touts descended like starving vultures on anyone exiting the station. Before I knew it - and against my better judgement - I had given into one of them and was zipping down back alleys on the back of his bike looking for a recommended hotel. To his credit, my driver took me straight away to the Phong Nha Hotel without even a suggestion that he be my permanent tour guide for the duration of my visit. Cool.

At first glance, Hue looked like a nice place - infinitely calmer than Hanoi - but the souvenir hawkers and wanna-be guides are definitely a little more aggressive than their northern counterparts. Feeling a little groggy from lack of sleep (thanks, mouse) I sacked out for a few hours and woke up with just enough daylight left for a quick run down to Hue's Citadel, the part of town within the walls of the old imperial city built in 1804. In addition to being the site of one of the biggest, hardest fought battles of the Vietnam (ie. American) War, Hue also has a reputation for its architecture - the Citadel (or what remains) is a Unesco-designated World Heritage Site. At any rate, I wandered around just enough to get my bearings and find a cold beer. Easy enough on both points. Hue is dominated by the Perfume River and the Citadel's Flag Tower is easily seen from almost anywhere. Barring that, the super-plush, five-star Imperial Hotel makes a decent enough landmark. Hue is also most definitely a tourist town - cafes, bars, hotels, curio stands (at least in this neighborhood).

On my very short walk, I also got a sense of Hue's darker history - old, brick walls around the Citadel still pockmarked with bullet holes, kids playing on aging American tanks and artillery pieces (a few sneaking off to smoke cigarettes inside a battered armored personnel carrier), street vendors selling old gas masks, canteens, combat boots, deactivated (I hope) mines, and a couple rusted-out Colt .45 pistols.

Lots of history in Hue - I'll start sorting it all out first thing in the morning.

Vietnam Road Rules

One of the very first things you realize when attempting to negotiate the highways and byways of Vietnam is that, in order to avoid becoming just another piece of road kill, you've got to behave like the locals. That, of course, means chucking every "westernized" notion of proper roadway behavior that you've ever learned and diving headlong, and confidently, into the motorized fray. While traffic rules apparently exist (why else would they have traffic cops loitering on street corners?) they seem to be rarely, if ever, enforced. So where does that leave the hapless visitor? A good start would be dropping your common sense at the curb and adopting the local customs:

(1) Realize that NO ONE will observe the sanctity of the crosswalk, not even the little old ladies pedaling their mobile flower stalls. With traffic racing around you in not two, but possibly three or four directions, it would be suicidal to try and outrun passing vehicles. You must walk as slow as possible - I mean glacially slow - through the crosswalks. Oh no, the cars and motorbikes will not stop for you, in fact, they'll probably speed up. But they will SEE you and, if at all possible, avoid running you down. By moving one half-step at a time, you (hopefully) give them ample time to adjust their course. I admit, it's a little scary to stand in the midst of a sea of speeding steel, screaming engines, and blaring horns - and you will feel a little silly doing your best snail impersonation in the middle of Ho Chi Minh Blvd. - but to sprint is only asking for total destruction.

(2) Don't be ashamed to use other vehicles (cars, scooters, bikes, rickshaws, or strollers) or pedestrians (especially the elderly or women with infant children) as a buffer between yourself and oncoming traffic. Yeah, your sense of manliness may take a beating, but it's nothing compared to the beating you'd take by a runaway motorbike loaded down with 500 lbs. of poultry or 15 vertical feet of wicker fishtraps. Seriously, suck up your ego and hide behind the old people.

(3) When riding a bike or motorscooter of your own, just assume that everyone around you is a MUCH better driver than you are. Trust me, they are. For good measure, why not assume that they are actively trying to avoid plowing into you from behind. They may not be - in fact they may not even notice you as they drive and (a) try to light their cigarette (b) chat with their passengers (c) text message (d) attempt to restrain whatever sort of animal(s) they are taking to market, or (e) hustle for tourists - but ignorance is indeed bliss, even if it is intentional ignorance. Just proceed at your own pace and hope for the best.

(4) USE YOUR HORN....LOUDLY and OFTEN. I've never understood the insanely incessant use of horns on the streets of the developing world. It always seemed to me that drivers were just attempting to auditorially torture everyone within earshot for some sick, twisted, and unexplained reason. However, after a stint on those same roads, in my own vehicle, this behavior has begun to make sense. Perfect sense, in fact. Assuming that traffic laws mean nothing- including rules for passing, lane changes, turning, etc - how do you signal your presence and intended behavior to your fellow drivers? You honk like a friggin mad man. Honking lets everyone know you're there and coming on fast. Another benefit of the horns is that, after a while, you learn to tell exactly what sort of vehicle is coming up on you - allowing you to plan your response accordingly: booming, low pitched horn is a city bus, dump truck, or army tank - get the hell out of the way; mid-range pitch, often gussied up with a dial-tone like song snippet is probably an SUV and deserves your respect - move off to the side of road, but don't slow down; high-pitched horn that sounds like a bleating sheep, that's just another scooter - fight off his advances and hold your ground; and finally, that little bike bell you hear tinkling behind you, probably just an old man being a smart ass - swerve in front of him and show him who's boss.

(5) Finally, when all else fails, just play the clueless foreigner card. So far, I've found that most traffic-related difficulties and potential confrontations can be easily dealt with by pulling out my laminated Hanoi city map, staring at it intently for a few moments, staring up at the nearby steet signs (printed in Vietnamese, of course), staring again at the map, flipping the map around, and repeating the act...er, I mean process. Works like a charm.

***Although I certainly don't subscribe this little nugget of sage advice, I feel it should be included to reflect a local's take. This is from Ahn, the man I rented my motorbike from:
Ahn: "And remember, sometime chicken and dog cross the road and get in way. If that happen, just hit them, ok. Don't stop. Keep going."
Me: "Are you serious? Just keep going?"
Ahn: "Oh yeah, there are many, many chickens in the countryside and they will not miss one."
Me: "But what if I hit a dog?"
With a completely straight face and deadpan tone, Ahn replies "The family probably want new puppy anyway."

R&R in Hanoi

Ok, I suppose you can't really claim to be taking R&R when you're already living in an R&R world. Be that as it may, I'm running errands and enjoying my last day or two in the capitol city before heading south on the next leg of my journey: faxing absentee-ballot paperwork back to the States - planning (hoping!) to vote at the American consulate in Saigon; getting some serious Dong....at the bank (whew, that joke never gets old); and arranging a ticket on the "Reunification Express," the train that runs from Hanoi to Saigon and points in-between.

The last afternoon on my trusty motorbike was spent getting completely lost in the maze of old streets that make up downtown Hanoi - and to be quite honest, I'm still not sure how I managed to find my way back home at the end of the day. The one site on my list that I had missed on my first Hanoi go-around was the Vietnam Museum of Ethnology. It's a little out of the way and off the beaten path, but according to reports shouldn't be missed, so off I went. Eventually found my way there and was pleasantly surprised by the museum (I think the fact it is "guided" by Paris' Musee de l'Homme helps alot). Great exhibits about the majority of Vietnam's ethnic groups, including the montagnard (hill tribe) people I had come in contact with during my motorbike trip. The grounds surrounding the museum were covered in replicas of traditional tribal homes and, bizarrely, seemed to be the hottest location in town for wedding photos. Couples, done up in their finest wedding duds (for some, straight out of a late 1970's highschool prom) were wandering the grounds with their gear-laden photographers. Wistful (lustfull?) gazes between couples as they posed in front of a thatched-roofed H'mong home seemed to be the most popular photo op. The second most popular location - for all museum visitors - was a replica funeral hut surrounded on all sides by carved wooden figures....about to get some serious "conjugal action." As you might expect, all the guys wanted their photos taken next to the fertility statues, all the girls feigned shock and embarrassment. Typical. Yeah, I got a photo or two.

The motorbike was due back at the shop first thing this morning. Slightly delayed by a lost set of keys - by the hostel security guard, not me - I pulled in to "OffRoad Vietnam" just a few minutes late. The owner, a guy named Ahn, came out to meet me with a cup of tea and was anxious to hear about my trip. Turns out the same storm that had caused me so many problems in Son La had actually (literally) sunk one his motorcycles on a guided trip he was leading. He was in the process of disassembling and drying out the bike in his shop when I arrived. I guess, in comparison, the damageI did to my bike was pretty mellow and he let me off with a $4 bill for the stolen mirror. Didn't even charge me for the electric starter I had fried by attempting to cross a flooded road. A very nice guy - I'd recommend his outfit to anyone. And with that, my motorbike tour of northern Vietnam officially came to an end. Having the bike for two weeks was amazing and I can't imagine having seen the country any other way. That being said, returning the bike safely to Ahn was a like finally kicking an overweight monkey off my back. Throughout the trip, I had been nagged by concerns of potentional theft or annihilation by water buffalo (and the resulting financial hit). It was a bittersweet parting as I gave one final, misty-eyed, wave to my trusty steed.

Post-Sapa Blues.....

Ahhh....the post-Sapa let down. I had been congratulated by a German kid for (admittedly ignorantly) saving Sapa for the end of my motorbike journey. "Nuting elze vood cumpare after zee vizit to Zapa," he said. He was only partially right, but I was a little disheartened the first time I had to mime my way through another attempted meal order at a dusty little roadside food stand. The days of Parisian-style chocolate-coconut pastries are over for now, so it seems.

Taking advantage of another gorgeous day's weather, I cruised the 26km straight down hill to the river-side town of Lao Cai. Although the Chinese border crossing was only a couple kilometers north of town, I decided to skip the sightseeing, and crossed the Red River before heading straight up into the hills again. This time the target was the mountain town of Bac Ha. A full two thousand feet lower - and accordingly warmer - than Sapa, Bac Ha was surrounded by impressive mountains of its own. Terraced rice fields and streams finished off the scenery, but it really was a toned down version of Sapa. Bac Ha's big draw is a Sunday market which, apparently, pulls in hundreds of local hill tribe women every weekend - and dozens of loaded tour buses from Hanoi and Sapa. Watching the weather carefully and noticing another round of storms in the forecast, I decided to visit Bac Ha on Friday and Saturday, leaving town before both the market and the cruddy weather. Not really much to see or do without the market in action, but I enjoyed a mellow day of walking and reading. Knowing I had a long, very rough stretch of road ahead of me - I got an early start on Saturday morning and dodged a steady stream of incoming tour buses for my efforts.

The next stretch of road, from Bac Ha to an city called Yen Bai, was some of the very worst that I had seen. Chewed up tarmac - where it existed - mixed with rutted and potholed dirt roads for nearly 120 miles. Toss in the heavy traffic utilizing the only "main" road in the province, and not only was I forced to go painstakingly slow, all the while fearing a busted shock-absorber, slipped disk, or ruptured spleen, but I was choking on a non-stop curtain of dust. Pulling over for the occassional break, I'd have to slap the layers of road dirt off my pants and shirt. After stopping for lunch, I glanced in my one remaining rearview mirror and was met with a clown-face of sweat and dust. I can only imagine what the locals thought. While I tried my very best to maintain a Zen-like state of understanding and sympathy for the inherent difficulties faced by the Vietnamese road-maintenance crews, there were a couple of times that I nearly lost it. Nothing that a few profanity-laced rants (directed at the water buffalo, of course) couldn't help. Sort of.

I FINALLY arrived in Yen Bai after nearly 7 hours on the road (120 miles divided by 7 hours....uh huh). Like Lao Cai, Yen Bai sits on the Red River, but most importantly, it marks the transition between the mountains and the flat lands that stretch all the way to Hanoi and beyond. The roads were paved, the terrain mellow, and I started cooking. I got another couple of hours of riding in before the impending darkness started freaking me out a bit. The last place I wanted to find myself after dark was the middle of the Vietnamese countryside - especially after watching an elderly lady earlier in the day bash the living shit out of yet another roadside snake. So, without a clue as to where I was, I started looking for the Vietnamese words "nha khach" (guesthouse) on buildings as I whizzed by. When I found one, it was a quick shower, bottle of beer, and lights out.

The storm that I had been worried about hit with a vengeance last night as I slept. At this point - out of the mountains and back on paved roads - it didn't concern me too much, and the last 70 km into Hanoi this morning were a relative snap. I've checked back into my hostel for the next couple of days and, since I've still got an afternoon and half a tank of gas left on my motorbike rental, I'm heading out the door for a little exploring further afield. Not exactly sure where I'm heading next, but I do know it's south and by train.

On Being a Round-Eye in Vietnam

One thing that I've quickly come to realize is that solo travel through Vietnam is only "solo" if you are determined to make it that way. Granted, I've only been in the country for a couple of weeks, and in that time I've only seen one small corner of it, but I can't say enough about the Vietnamese people that I've met so far. Before I left, a couple of friends wondered aloud how the Vietnamese would treat an American traveler - either because of the war we fought here or the dangerously moronic foreign "policies" that have poured out the White House in recent years. Having visited Vietnam a couple of years ago, I got a taste of the hospitality that was offered all visitors to Vietnam, Americans included. My experiences over the past two weeks have only validated those impressions.

In every city, town, or village I've visited, in every hotel or guesthouse that I've spent a night in, in every little restaurant or roadside food stall that I've stopped in at, and in every typhoon-related flooding event I've found myself knee-deep in, I've found the some of the kindest and most helpful people I've ever met, at home or abroad. Whether it was the guy who immediately offered to truck my bike across a flooded road in Son La, the teenager who helped me get my bike started again after I killed the electric starter (the water was apparently deeper than it looked), the young business man from Hanoi named Than, who, while visiting his girlfriend in Son La, saw me eating dinner alone and invited me to their table - they shared their food, MANY shots of rice wine, and multiple toasts to VIETNAM! AMERICA! FRIENDS! Then there was Mr. Voo, an older H'mong man in Sapa who helped me navigate the electronics store in search of an electricity converter. Only at the end of our search did he tell me that he actually lives with his son in Las Vegas for half of the year - the guy actually knows where Kanab is! And Ms. Vu (no relation), the mountain guide who, during a down day, "adopted me" for a couple of hours and patiently answered as many questions that I could come up with.

Maybe it should be attributed to the "mountain-people" phenomena that I've come across before. Whether I've been village hopping in the Himalaya, living in a Colorado coal-mining town, or naively taking on the "Tonkinese Alps" during a typhoon, I've found mountain people to to be some of the most honest, hospitable, helpful, and funloving people that I've ever met. Often times their lives are amazingly difficult and their futures uncertain but they're never short on kindness towards strangers.

In Sapa, even the souvenir stand owners and motorcycle hustlers, hotel touts and tour guides ply their goods and services politely. None of the hardball stuff typically found in the bigger cities. A smiling "no thanks" on my part generally get a smile and an "ok" in return. The local women who wander the streets selling handicrafts are just as likely to sit down and talk with you about their lives, and ask about yours, as they are to push their jewelry and embroidery.

Of course, I'm not naive enough to believe that there are no bad dudes in Vietnam, or that I won't occassionally be taken advantage of (my newly missing motorbike mirror is a testament to that) and I suppose this posting will be supremely ironic if I get mugged, robbed, or worse somewhere down the road, but at this point, so far so good.

Welcome to Sapa! Marijuanaopiumhashish?

By all accounts, Sapa is one beautiful place. Five thousand feet above sea level, tucked into a spectacular high-mountain valley below Mt. Fansipan, rice terraces that "spill down the surrounding mountainsides like a patchwork quilt." Of course, coasting into town from the pass above, I wouldn't have known any of that except for my guidebook. Clouds were hanging heavy over Sapa, completely obscuring any view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. Ever the optimist, however, I quickly checked into the "Mountain View Hotel" whose reputation for...well, moutain views won me over - that and the $7 a night room I scored.

Sapa is "THE" travel destination in the northwest and for good reason. It's an old French hill station that, having been abandonded for decades, is currently in the middle of a tourist boom thanks in large part to its mountain setting, tolerable climate, and most importantly, the colorful hill tribes that make up the population of the area.

After dropping my bags and finding a spot for the bike, I took a quick walk through the misty streets. One look around and I knew that I would be living large for a few days. This was most certainly NOT the Vietnam I had been experiencing on the other side of the pass. Pubs, cafes, and high-end souvenir shops lined the narrrow, steep roads. Local women and girls, decked out from head to toe in traditional garb, prowled the streets looking to pounce (politely) upon anyone who so much as glanced at their goods - and by "goods" I mean embroidered handbags, hats, jewelry, and other village knicknacks.

I also found out pretty quickly that the women were dealing in more than just the traditional souvenirs. "Marijuanaopiumhashish" became a pretty common greeting so long as no one else was standing within earshot. After turning down an elderly H'mong woman's offer to sell a braclet, she pulled out all the stops and slapped a big, gooey ball of hash into my hand. "Good hashish! Good price!" Quickly realizing that bribing my way out of a rural Vietnamese jail fit into neither my travel schedule, nor budget, I politely declined. She smiled, shrugged, and went back to describing the virtues of a pair of rusty earrings.

Even though being in Sapa feels like I'm somehow cheating (or being cheated of) the "real" traveling experience, I've got to admit that I'm enjoying myself. Good food on every corner, pleasant weather, spectacular scenery (yep, the clouds finally lifted), reliable internet, hot showers - better yet, the need for hot showers - and the kindest local people I've yet met. And, in all honesty, the prevelance of spoken english doesn't hurt either. In fact, the only downsides are the soft middle I'm developing from the deep-fried deserts, the screeching throngs of Chinese package-tourists, a localized rash I've developed on my arm (the $7 room's bed linen looked a little suspicious), and the fact that one of the mirrors on my motorbike was stolen last night. Hmmm....if it wasn't for the few bits of trouble in paradise, I'd probably try and find myself a cute young H'mong or Dzao girl to settle down with, open a roadside cafe, and call Sapa home forever.

Now it's all downhill to Hanoi.

High Road to Sapa

As soon as the first rays of sunlight poked through the wooden slats of my veranda window, I walked out to my balcony to greet a new day in Vietnam - what were YOU doing on Monday morning? Ok, bad joke. Sorry all you 9 to 5er's (the very few I actually know).

But my day did start off great - sun shining and not a cloud in the sky. Good thing because I was heading up, up, up and over the tallest pass in Vietnam to the high mountain village of Sapa. Once again, I was amazed at the quality of the road as I started off and hoped that it was as good for the entire 60 km of my motorbiking day. Before leaving Lai Chau, I grabbed a picnic breakfast and tossed it into my backpack. Immediately beyond the city limits (just beyond the Eiffel-shaped radio tower above town) the road started climbing straight up. In second gear with the engine screaming I was able to maintain forward momentum, but any stopping and restarting presented a challenge. After pulling over at a beautiful overlook for a quick bite, I continued on, riding past vertical rock walls, mountain sides drenched in thick tropical jungle, and dozens of waterfalls - including two that had to have fallen over a thousand feet. The landscapes of central Costa Rica, the Annapurna in Nepal, and the pictures of Hawaii's Na Pali I'd seen immediately came to mind.

The top of the pass was obscured by clouds, as it is during most of the year, and as I got closer I had to pull over and add a few layers of clothing. I had been warned that it would be cold at the top - some of the nearby peaks, including Fansipan (at 3143 meters, Vietnam's highest) actually get snow in the winter. After an hour of switchbacking, I crested the top of the pass to find a handful of government vehicles parked at the top and their formally dressed occupants toasting their arrival with rice wine. We waved at each other as I passed by, but there was no reason for me to stop - couldn't see more than 10 feet through the clouds.

I assume the pass marks the dividing line between two provinces or regions because, as often happens in the States at county or state lines, the road went from perfect tarmac to absolute shit. Sixteen downhill km of washboarded, potholed, gravel strewn, muddy "road." Slow going as the clouds began to thin out a bit and I knew that I was approaching Sapa when I began to pass motorbikes going the other direction, toward the cloud covered pass, with their riders - local men at the wheel with pained looking foreigners clinging to the back of the bike, bouncing and weaving on the rutted road.

Before long I was coasting into the village of Sapa - "Queen of the Mountains"

Lai Chau City

Lai Chau was a pretty typical Vietnamese city: one long strech of multi-storied buildings along the main road, a market, a bus stand, and smaller dirt roads branching out to low slung neighborhoods surrounded by, and surrounding, fields of rice and corn. Nothing special, but one look beyond the city limits and I was certain I could stay here for days, maybe weeks. According to the tattered Lonely Planet I'm hauling around, Lai Chau "is set in a verdant valley of conical peaks that resemble diminutive volcanoes. The countryside around the city is sublime." A slight understatement, to say the least. The green peaks in the near distance reminded me of a toned down, spread out Guilin, China. It turned out to be one of the friendliest, most easy going towns I've been to as well. I easily found a place to stay on the main drag - a large French colonial-style building with columns and balconies ($9 per night, tv included) and spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting the market, catching up on news via the internet (bad idea - I had almost forgotten the political and financial bullshit going on at home), and trolling for good food at the local food stalls.

While Lai Chau really did deserve a longer stay, the weather forecast I tracked down persuaded me to continue on to Sapa the next day. Apparently, I only have a couple morning's worth of decent weather left before more storminess arrives (typhoons a brewing out in the Gulf of Tonkin) and I'll need it to get over Tram Ton pass - at 1900 meters, the highest mountain pass in Vietnam. After yet another bowl of rice and vegetables for dinner - served by a cranky, gap toothed mamasan - I called it an early evening. Knocked out a few more pages of my 10 lb. "History of Vietnam" and crashed. Onward to Sapa and the good life......for a couple of days, at least.

Dien Bien Phu to Lai Chau

During my one and only night in Dien Bien Phu, I was jolted from sleep at 3:00am by a sound I had come to dread - rain pounding the tin overhang outside my window. The weather forecast had called for mostly clear skies, but I suppose there's no arguing with Mother Nature in this, or any other, part of the world. Nothing I could do other than hope the rain fizzled out before long and pray that the roads ahead of me were decent....or half decent....or at least not washed away, buried under landslides, or submerged beneath newly formed lakes. I rolled over and attempted another few hours of fitful sleep.

Hoping for an early start, I woke with the sun, packed my bags and headed downstairs to settle the bill. Granted, it was earlyish - lets say 6:30 - and I found my hosts sound asleep in their rooms and the front doors bolted shut. Given that the windows in my room were barred, I wondered what I would have done in the event of fire in the middle of night. At any rate, I turned around and trudged back upstairs to settle in for an hour or so of reading until the rest of Dien Bien Phu woke up.

Soon I was on the road and heading east out of the DBP valley. The city, such that it is, dropped away quickly and before I knew it, I was skirting past rice fields and small sub-villages as I climbed back into the mountains. Once again, this has become my favorite part of the day: protected by the disguise of my scooter and helmet, watching the locals go about their everyday business. A couple morning markets were in full swing and I pulled off the road to grab a quick breakfast of bread, roasted meat (probably water buffalo), and a Coke, before continuing. I was scared to death that the well-paved road I was on would peter out into the potholed muddy messes that I had been dealing with over the previous couple of days, but this one held strong. Around every bend, the tarmac road seemed to stretch on and on as it climbed into the mountains and I let out a little whoop for joy as I maintained a steady 50km per hour. The scenery was beyond spectacular - a simplistically boring description, I know - and I found myself making excuses for stretch breaks at overlooks and water falls crashing nearing the roadway. Greener than green, the mountains kept growing rougher, more jagged, and higher by the mile. According to the map, the road was supposed to "follow" a river for quite a ways, but before long I was a couple thousand feet above it and climbing.

Assuming the worst, both weather and road wise, I had planned on a short day, only going as far a mid-sized town called Muang Lai. However the good road held up and I had long stretches of it completely to myself, if you don't count the pigs, water buffalo, and their child shepherds. The weather turned out to be perfect - sunny and warm - and before I knew it I was down to shorts and a t-shirt. I ran into Muang Lai before noon and decided, after a roadside lunch of instant ramen-type rice noodles, hardboiled eggs, and peanuts, to keep going. The further I went today, the closer I was to Sapa, my eventual goal.

Great road, good weather, and amazing scenery continued all the way to Lai Chau, my stopping point for the day. Other than a dozen patches of landslide debris to slow for and a strange piece of road I coined "Snake Alley" (a stretch several kilometers long where I passed 4 or 5 snakes on the road - all multi-colored and pretty good size. Not knowing my poisonous Vietnamese snakes from the non-poisonous, I kept riding....quickly), the ride was perfect. I was saddle sore after 7 hours on the bike and, once again, managed to burn the backs of my hands, but beyond that I was feeling great. Only 60km and 4000 vertical feet to Sapa. I'd tackle that another day.