Open Writing

One of the benefits of being a freelance traveller on a bike is the freedom to stop off at will almost anywhere. Having thanked N'u for his companionship I was again pedalling southwards with the beautiful coastline on my left shoulder. I came upon a hotel close to the shoreline which did not appear to be receiving many guests, no doubt because most of the foreign tourists were under the control of a courier who had arranged accommodation in a more lively location. This was the only time I can recall having an extensive stretch of beautiful beach to myself.

Now that I had entered the southern half of the country I was beginning to find it unbearably hot riding after mid-day. The following day was no exception. I made frequent stops for drink. At one stage a Vietnamese lady provided me with a basin filled with ice cubes on which I placed my bare feet to reduce the swelling; magic. I became a new man.

Thankfully it clouded over around three o'clock cooling things down appreciably. This enabled me to reach Qui Nhon after 110 Km in the saddle. Booking into a hotel I took advantage of the fan in my room. I was only carrying minimal clothing so regular washing sessions were essential. On such days a fan is preferred to air-conditioning because of its ability to quickly dry clothing.

The coastline south of Qui Nhon is spectacularly beautiful. Stopping to take a photograph of some offshore islands at the top of a short climb I was alerted to a group of cyclists riding towards me in full racing kit escorted by two motorcyclists carrying spare wheels. Such a surreal experience I had not anticipated. They appeared to be out on a training ride. A few days later I again witnessed another aspect of competitive cycling. A Vietnamese girl was shown on national television participating in a track race. It was heartwarming to realise that the bike had taken a small step away from being a mere workhorse into the area of pleasure and competition.

The highpoint of the day was rapidly forgotten as I began to suffer heatstroke. The remaining 50 Km to Nga Trang were the last I was to ride in Vietnam. The next few days were purgatory. Diarrhoea and sickness began to plague me. Every visit to the bathroom weakened me a little more. Dragging myself out of the hotel down to the beach I sat on a park seat. I hoped the sea air would bring a turnaround in my condition.

Struggling towards a nearby restaurant I made a brave effort to put some food inside me but with little success. The waiter, sensing my predicament, gave me some tablets to take. They seemed to do the trick and my stomach began to settle. I returned to my hotel room where I remained until late afternoon until the sun had gone down. I realised I had to make a decision; stay in Nga Trang until I was strong enough to ride or catch a bus up to Dalat, some 1600 metres up in the mountains, using the journey to help my recovery. I chose the latter.

The bus trip was very scenic and I quickly realised that I had made the correct choice. There was no way I was in a fit state to have ridden up, what was essentially, an alpine mountain road climb in the best French tradition. Dalat had been developed as a hill station by the French. It enabled them to escape the heat of the coastal region. Its modern history is somewhat bizarre. During the American War there was an unwritten truce between the two sides that there would be no hostilities in the area. Indeed, both sides held meetings in the city, sometimes at the same time, to plan their respective strategies.

Although I felt much better in the cooler mountain air I was still feeling pretty weak. Luckily I located a Red Cross medical facility in the centre of town. I found the president of the Dalat centre in attendance when I entered. By good luck he was learning English so I was able to describe my symptoms to him. He gave me a prescription written in Vietnamese and when I asked him how much he indicated, with a wave of his hand, that there would be no charge. I nevertheless, left a 100,000 Dong note as a donation, before making my way to the pharmacy. After taking my first dose of the cocktail of medicines I went to bed for a few hours. Staggering off my bed during the evening I made my way up the hill from my hotel to the most expensive restaurant in town. I calculated that I would stand a better chance of getting European fare here. Vegetable soup and spaghetti seemed to do the trick.