it's a cold road from bac ha
so...only three hours until my train for hanoi leaves. i've killed about four hours already in this border town of lao cai, just across the river from china. while i wouldn't go so far as to say it's a cultural wasteland, it's really just here because it's a border crossing.
so in absence of something to report from lao cai itself, let me recount my little ride down the mountain from bac ha, a mountain town about 80km from here where diverse, colorful hill tribes come to market on sundays. it's in a stunning setting, in the jagged, green mountains of northern vietnam that resemble those misty peaks in chinese brush paintings. it's rather cold here. i'm dressed in a lightweight fleece, two t-shirts, cotton pants, trail-running shoes, and a silk scarf. this is probably appropriate for a cool evening in the tropics, but i would say the temperature outside this internet cafe (filled with hot little video-game playing adolescents) is about the same as a cold winter's night in SF; ie, BLOODY COLD.
but not as cold as when you're flying down the mountain road from bac ha, misted in fog so that you can hardly see five feet in front of you. hey, fun and exciting with a driver you trust, and a death ride with a guy who's a leetle too short for his bike and kinda angry about not asking enough to drive you to lao cai. because, see, how it works with motorbike drivers is you pick one who seems trustworthy (which, judging from looks alone, is sort of hard) and then ask him how much he wants for your destination. then you put on your shocked expression and go, 'that's too expensive!' and start walking away, and then the negotiation begins. well, today this guy quoted me a price that i thought was pretty cheap so i pretended to consider it for a moment and then didn't bother bargaining him down. when his friends asked him how much i was paying him, they all started snorting and laughing at him in derision for asking so little. at which point he looked at me as if to ask if we could renegotiate. um, no. it never works the other way round; once you reach an agreement, the deal's done.
so his friend found me a helmet and tried to get me to pay extra for that (not how it works) and off we went, him seeming pretty put out about the fee - or about being mocked in the town square by his cohorts. he put some petrol in the bike, and as soon as we got on the road it was pedal to the metal - through thick fog, also much like SF. when we started down the mountain, the fog was like pea soup (except white) and he was forced to slow down. he even stopped when we came upon a bunch of people standing in the road because a girl had fallen down and one of the guys standing with her was my driver's friend. she was OK, but covered in mud.
after a few fast turns down the twisty road, we were too far from town for me to change my mind and find another driver, so in my head i debated 'better to grit teeth or bite off end of tongue? better to break fingers clinging to back rack, or wrists breaking fall?' and concentrated on other such landing strategies. i was convinced this guy was going to fly off the road at some point, or at least skid in the buffalo poop on the road (which was paved, luckily). the helmet kept slipping forward on my head so i had to hold it on, and my ass kept leaving the seat as he raced over potholes. i tried giving him the benefit of the doubt, like maybe he was just showing off, or maybe he knew the road so well that he didn't have to keep his eyes on it.
i suggested gently that maybe he could slow down, and take care, but all i got in return was a grunt and continuation of our breakneck speed. to get off, pay him off, and send him on his way was not an option, as i'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere. so i had to murmur another nonverbal mantra of patience to myself - whilst blinking away the dirt and that bit of hair whipping back into my eye.
anyway, one and a half hours later we arrived in town, where he immediately slowed to a crawl in fear of police along the road. he claimed not to be able to break the big bill i had, probably thinking i'd just give him the change as a tip - 'i don't think so, tex,' i muttered, having enough patience in reserve to order a coffee and get change. paid him, smiled, said thank you, and walked away in one (numb) piece. woo!
so in absence of something to report from lao cai itself, let me recount my little ride down the mountain from bac ha, a mountain town about 80km from here where diverse, colorful hill tribes come to market on sundays. it's in a stunning setting, in the jagged, green mountains of northern vietnam that resemble those misty peaks in chinese brush paintings. it's rather cold here. i'm dressed in a lightweight fleece, two t-shirts, cotton pants, trail-running shoes, and a silk scarf. this is probably appropriate for a cool evening in the tropics, but i would say the temperature outside this internet cafe (filled with hot little video-game playing adolescents) is about the same as a cold winter's night in SF; ie, BLOODY COLD.
but not as cold as when you're flying down the mountain road from bac ha, misted in fog so that you can hardly see five feet in front of you. hey, fun and exciting with a driver you trust, and a death ride with a guy who's a leetle too short for his bike and kinda angry about not asking enough to drive you to lao cai. because, see, how it works with motorbike drivers is you pick one who seems trustworthy (which, judging from looks alone, is sort of hard) and then ask him how much he wants for your destination. then you put on your shocked expression and go, 'that's too expensive!' and start walking away, and then the negotiation begins. well, today this guy quoted me a price that i thought was pretty cheap so i pretended to consider it for a moment and then didn't bother bargaining him down. when his friends asked him how much i was paying him, they all started snorting and laughing at him in derision for asking so little. at which point he looked at me as if to ask if we could renegotiate. um, no. it never works the other way round; once you reach an agreement, the deal's done.
so his friend found me a helmet and tried to get me to pay extra for that (not how it works) and off we went, him seeming pretty put out about the fee - or about being mocked in the town square by his cohorts. he put some petrol in the bike, and as soon as we got on the road it was pedal to the metal - through thick fog, also much like SF. when we started down the mountain, the fog was like pea soup (except white) and he was forced to slow down. he even stopped when we came upon a bunch of people standing in the road because a girl had fallen down and one of the guys standing with her was my driver's friend. she was OK, but covered in mud.
after a few fast turns down the twisty road, we were too far from town for me to change my mind and find another driver, so in my head i debated 'better to grit teeth or bite off end of tongue? better to break fingers clinging to back rack, or wrists breaking fall?' and concentrated on other such landing strategies. i was convinced this guy was going to fly off the road at some point, or at least skid in the buffalo poop on the road (which was paved, luckily). the helmet kept slipping forward on my head so i had to hold it on, and my ass kept leaving the seat as he raced over potholes. i tried giving him the benefit of the doubt, like maybe he was just showing off, or maybe he knew the road so well that he didn't have to keep his eyes on it.
i suggested gently that maybe he could slow down, and take care, but all i got in return was a grunt and continuation of our breakneck speed. to get off, pay him off, and send him on his way was not an option, as i'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere. so i had to murmur another nonverbal mantra of patience to myself - whilst blinking away the dirt and that bit of hair whipping back into my eye.
anyway, one and a half hours later we arrived in town, where he immediately slowed to a crawl in fear of police along the road. he claimed not to be able to break the big bill i had, probably thinking i'd just give him the change as a tip - 'i don't think so, tex,' i muttered, having enough patience in reserve to order a coffee and get change. paid him, smiled, said thank you, and walked away in one (numb) piece. woo!
posted by a wandering eye at 7:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home