Leaving the unfortunate traffic-locked and rather dreary town of Long An behind was not for the timid. The township’s main roads were split down the middle for kilomteres by four foot central barriers which is for once a valid reason for them driving on the wrong side of the busy highway. Normally it’s just laziness instead of waiting for a suitable gap. I warned the admirable receptionist, that I’d left my room door open all night as it was unlikely the windowless room would quickly recover a fresh bouquet after me and my cycling shoes had spent the night there.
The shopkeepers I’d encountered were all surly, grumpy and lacking in the good humour you’d normally expect in shovelfulls. You dont have to sell me your effing beer you miserable tosser did not work too well in Goggle Translate! When you’re thirsty cold lager is a life saver.
Before leaving town I bagged two Banh My (Bang Me!) from a shapely seller who’d run out of bread rolls. I later gave them away as they were so gristly being made of pigs ears and noses. She was very shapely though. I also managed to drop off the mostly hand carved/painted wooden souvenirs I’d bought in Hoi An at the efficient postage office. I’d managed, with Giang’s phone help, to buy a newspaper and sellotape the night before from two miserable gits in a corner shop, so different and frankly a bit off-putting for the upcoming estuary trip. Is the Mekong going to be entirely inhabited by sullen miserable gits?
Crossing the river out of town was a steep bridge spanning three vast waterways split by industrious islands. The climb was as nerve wracking as any section of highway yet as my relative speed was so low compared to the air-horn truck brigade, angered no doubt by being physically prevented from driving on both sides of the bridge and the inumerable motor bikes that are driven by lunatics.
Once across the river a right turn to the west yielded a quiet, reasonably recent tarmac, some cafes (too early) and a shop selling plastic objects. My heart leapt and I turned round to explore the shop. In my haste to leave Hoi An following several quarts of strong heart-warming ales with Ali, I’d left my red drinking cup (it held half-eaten Banh My) behind with the foot-relieving gift of a foreigner’s left-behind sandals, kindly donated in Hotel Hoa Hiep in a place to return to – Binh Chau. They’d lasted less than 25km before generating sores so twas back on with the Aldi working mens’ socks & Millets walking boots. These have good enough grips to pull up on the pedals without clip-ins that my right knee cannot tolerate.
The deep red cup was also useful at street side Nuoc Mia, sugar cane drink machines. Replacing several single use plastic cups. Here in the south there were many NM dispensers along the roadside, far more than in the North, well used too based on the volume of squeezed cane (farm animal’s love them). I realised that I’d not noticed any tobacco Bong pipes in the southern cafes either nor heard their distinctive whistle.
The road was very enjoyable, and an easy 24 kph. The area was one large nursery for seedlings and fruits. Bananas, jack fruits literally by the ton, lychees etc etc. Empty waharehouses were waiting to be filled with the medieval weapon-fruits Durian.
The people were becoming more friendly as we left the traffic swamped city. Indeed cheery waves returned and Xin Chao was heard once again.
There were some ferries on the way, it’s always exciting having your venerable plastic Ortlieb panniers pressed tightly against a moped’s exhaust pipe. Take no prisoners, yield not an inch is the motto for ferry crossings.
In Vinh Long the last few km was an enormous 10 lane road and square/pavements/trees passing newly constructed grandiose white concrete buildings (government?) and heading to the Trunkroad CT01 with double double-lane bridges I would avoid at all costs. The approach to tonights hotel revealed it to be in a light industral area on a kind of South Circular ring road. Booking.Com : location good – but for what?.
Thankfully, just outside the hotel I spotted an old man haha like me at a shop with a well stocked fridge. He pulled me up a chair and I tossed back three cold tinnies and took many more with me. This saved the normal hunt a cold beer expedition that seems so weird in such a hot country.
In the room opposite mine (no pun) dwelt a retired oil-field geologist from Nottingham, hence the cold beer in the nearby shop. He kindly took me out on his uninsured, no licence ancient motorbike to have a meal at a pleasant waterside cafe to meet his wife and child, detracted only by the gnat’s piss lager at room temp (36C) with an ice-cube, instant beer cure. We eventually found an open cocktail bar; no olives so I forwent the Martini and had a recommended margharitta. Cocktails are lost on me as I have no sense of taste but got the lime and the salt.
Back to the hotel on a now shaken but not stirred motorbike for a couple of cold beers, where we encountered the wedding party. Hospitable and amazingly friendly professional business owners all. The groom looked 14. Warm beer all round then. 1-2-3-cheers. Repeat. Repeat & the beer is then not even mildly refrigerated. A fine reason to run away from any party.
