Don’t Be Lazy, Get Crazy

How is it the end of our second week in Vietnam already?

After Saigon we ventured north to the coastal town of Mui Ne for a few days of beach time, sand dune exploration and a bit of a “travel break”. There are a lot of Russians in Mui Ne and yet no one seemed to be able to explain why. It’s just an accepted fact around those parts, I guess.

Our next destination was Dalat, a former French resort town. After weeks, months really, of being hot and sweaty, it was a welcome break to be in a cooler mountain climate. I really enjoyed Dalat with its European/cafe vibe and crazy architecture (seriously, you need to Google Dalat Crazy House and Maze Bar…they are like Alice in Wonderland meets Dr. Seuss) but our big activity during our stay in Dalat was going canyoning.

Don’t feel bad if you aren’t familiar with canyoning or abseiling. As they were strapping me into the harness, I was still trying to figure out what exactly we had signed up for. Technically, canyoning is travelling through a canyon by using a variety of techniques such as: hiking, abseiling, scrambling, swimming and climbing. More specifically, it’s really just one big trust exercise with your guide. Slide head first and backwards down this waterfall? Okay, if you say so! Every so often our guides would rally our group by having us chant their company motto “Don’t be lazy, get crazy”. And with that encouragement, we got crazy. Over the course of the day we hiked the jungle, floated down a river, crossed rapids, went cliff jumping (7m and 11m), slid down two waterfall “slides” and abseiled off of three cliffs (18m, 14m and 13m).

As intense as canyoning sounds, the bigger adventure was actually getting to and from Dalat. From Mui Ne, our hotel booked a bus for us and we were instructed to wait for a van that would be taking us to the bus station. I mentioned in an earlier post that I have veto’d the van as a mode of transportation because they are terrible for motion sickness. I can put up with them for small amounts of time, when I have to. The pickup from our hotel and drop off at the bus station has been fairly standard practice throughout our trip so I didn’t really think much of it this time.

Right on time, a van packed with people pulled up and we climbed in, under the supervision of an impatient and unfriendly driver. Before long, we were watching the town of Mui Ne and the coast disappear behind us. Maybe the bus station was in a nearby town? Half an hour and two towns later, we shared a confused look along with the dawning realization (panicked on my end, resigned on Maggie’s) that there would be no promised bus and we would be taking this stuffy death trap all the way to our final destination. Maggie pulled out her phone to check a map of Vietnam and sure enough, we were en route to Dalat. The trip was supposed to take us four hours but our driver was so eager to get rid of us that we got there in just under three.

A few days later, it was time to leave Dalat. Guess who arrived in a mini van to pick us up from the hostel and take us to the bus station? Yep, it was the Vietnamese Mad Max that had driven us from Mui Ne to Dalat to begin with. And he was just as thrilled with his job driving tourists around as he had been the last time we saw him. In fact, upon coming to a screeching halt in front of the bus station (at least we got to transfer to a real bus this time), instead of a polite “Thank you for visiting Dalat” all we got as he threw open the doors was a gruff “Move it, move it!” to get out of the van.

I am going to take a moment to describe a Vietnamese night bus; really set the scene for you. They look like a double decker bus from the outside but inside, instead of seats, there are three rows up bunk beds. And I am using the term “bunk bed” loosely here. They are more like reclined seats, with a similar width. You really want to get one of the bunks along the window because you have A) a window to look out and B) a solid surface to brace yourself against. The middle bunks are a free for all, especially on windy roads. You aren’t allowed to wear shoes inside the bus so the driver hands you a plastic bag at the door and you creep, barefoot, up the bus steps that are ALWAYS covered with a very prickly, plastic mat and make your way to your chosen bed. The beds aren’t overly comfortable if you are taller than 5ft 5in but they do provide you with a pillow and a blanket, which is a thoughtful touch. Then again, I am reasonably sure that they don’t switch out the blankets in between passengers so, part of you wants to curl up under it but another part of you wants to keep it from touching any of your exposed skin.

So anyways, there we were, with window seats, on a 16-hour sleeper bus, headed from Dalat to Hoi An. Five hours into the journey, our bus broke down on the side of the road. A very dark, windy, narrow side of the road. I am not sure what happened but it smelled like the bus had possibly overheated. We, the confused tourists and unperturbed locals, waited for a good half hour before another bus pulled up and “saved” us.

Upon climbing into bus #2, it became automatically clear that we might have been better off taking our chances with the broken down, side of the road bus. This new bus was already packed full of boxes, luggage, people, fruit, poultry and had probably reached its peak performance a good 20 years earlier. Maggie and I secured two of the last bunks. I was in one of the middle top bunks. The seat was stuck in a half reclined position and it didn’t have a ladder so I had to clamber up there like an awkward gymnast, using my lack of upper body strength. Maggie was in the bunk below me, although her bunk soon became a fort (or claustrophobic death hole, as she put it) as they packed more and more luggage and people into the bus. To get the bus going, a few guys were pulled off the bus to help push (apparently it required a running start?) and finally we were moving again! How many times do you think we stopped for breaks for the rest of the trip? Maybe every 2-3 hours? That would be reasonable, right? Nope. We didn’t stop once in 12 hours. It didn’t end up being an issue though. I lost my need to pee, along with my will to live, the moment I stepped foot on that bus.

So far, in our travels, Maggie and I have taken a night train, a night boat and now a night bus. We have crossed off the sleeping transportation trifecta, if you will. Surviving that bus ride might be my greatest travel accomplishment on this trip so far. It was probably an even bigger accomplishment for Maggie who did it without the help of drowsy Gravol and with a box of chickens next to her head. Vietnam, you so crazy.

One more thing, has anyone ever heard of the band Modern Talking? I have no idea why this country is super into an 80s German pop duo but we have been hearing them everywhere. Watch some of their music videos when you have time. I promise it will be worth it.

Next stop: Hoi An, Vietnam.

Love, Brooke (and Maggie)