Escaped traffic hell, landed on the gravel and clay road
N 14°45'46.6'' E 108°43'52.5''
Date:
07.02.2017
Day: 588
Country:
Vietnam
Province:
Quảng Ngãi
Location:
Ba To
Latitude N:
14°45’46.6”
Longitude E:
108°43’52.5”
Daily kilometers:
92 km
Total kilometers:
21,838 km
As the crow flies:
67 km
Average speed:
21.8 km/h
Maximum speed:
45 km/h
Travel time:
4:11 hrs.
Soil condition:
Asphalt / gravel road
Maximum height:
100 m
Total altitude meters:
59.568 m
Altitude meters for the day:
328 m
Sunrise:
06:12 am
Sunset:
5:45 pm
Temperature day max:
26°C
Departure:
08:00 a.m.
Arrival time:
2:00 pm
(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).
After a loud night of karaoke, we get up at 6:00 a.m. as usual, load up our bikes and leave our accommodation. To fortify ourselves for the day, we eat soup at last night’s roadside stall, then throw ourselves into the traffic madness of the 1A. Last night I was still studying Google Maps to see when there would be an opportunity to turn west again to get back to Ho Chi Minh Street. The Ho Chi Minh Road, also known as the highway, has so far been relatively quiet and led us through an enchanting landscape. That’s exactly what we’re longing for again, especially now that we’ve experienced how bad it is on Highway 1A. “There should be a turn-off to the west in about 60 km,” I shout to Tanja to motivate her to get through the chaos soon. As yesterday, we are greeted by constant honking. Large black truck tires smack past us. Reckless bus drivers blast their thhhuuuut into our ears as they speed past unchecked.
It is 12:00 noon. The first 60 km are behind us. “There at the traffic lights to the west,” I say. We turn off and as soon as we have the 1A behind us, peace suddenly returns. The street is narrow and lined with stalls and a few street restaurants. “Hello! Hello! Hello!”, numerous children’s voices call out to us again. As if we had passed through a magic door, we find ourselves just 100 meters away from the main traffic artery in a different, idyllic Vietnam. “Let’s have some soup. Who knows when we’ll get the chance again,” I say, as there are no settlements or villages on the map for the next 30 km. “How’s your cold?” I ask a little worriedly after Tanja sneezes several times. “I’m fine. I’m a bit tired but it’s no problem,” she replies.
With a bowl of soup in our stomachs, we continue. At first, the tarmac is perfect and allows us to make wonderful progress. After about 10 km, the municipality or the state has obviously run out of money. Gravel, sand, clay and one pothole after another. I wonder if it was a good idea to leave the highway. As in the mountains of China or on sections in the mountains of northern Vietnam, our bikes groan over the dusty field. If one of our bikes or one of the trailers breaks down here, we look old. As is so often the case on remote routes, there are no garages here, which means that we are once again completely reliant on ourselves. Ajaci squeals with delight. As there are hardly any vehicles on this track, we let him out of his trailer. I click him onto the flexi leash attached to the carrier. Ajaci pulls the first few meters as if he wants to win a race. “Slowly! Slow down Ajaci!”, I admonish him. After a kilometer, he trots along contentedly next to my bike. Every now and then he glances behind to see where his Tanja is. Lush green rice fields line the track. Slight mountains rise up in front of us. About 20 to 30 km away, the central highlands of southern Vietnam tower up in front of us. “We have to get over there,” I say. “How high do you think the mountains are?” asks Tanja. “It’s hard to say, but I think at least 1,500 meters.” “That’ll make my thighs chubby again!” exclaims Tanja. “Since we’ve been riding e-bikes, mountains have lost their big deterrent for me.” “Yes, that’s true, but they’re still exhausting.” “If we didn’t have any luggage and a dog that sits in his sedan chair like a prince most of the time and constantly asks me to go faster, no mountain would be too high for us.”
After 92 kilometers we reach the village of Ba To. We happily discover a small motel. A woman, obviously the owner of the house, shuffles towards us disinterestedly. When she spots Ajaci, she waves him off with a serious expression on her face. We ride on and end up at another accommodation, where we park our bikes in the shade of a tree. I spot a woman, but she literally flees from me. I hurry after her and ask if we can move into a room for the night? She shakes her head and leaves again. Exhausted, we sit down on a small stone bench in front of the run-down house and consider our next steps. According to the map, there is no accommodation for the next 100 km, so we either have to camp or convince the motel owner to take us in despite her aversion to Ajaci. We would actually like to pitch our tent, but camping is officially forbidden in Vietnam. Well, that doesn’t necessarily deter us from pitching our tent somewhere anyway. But we have often heard that the locals tell the local police about the camper. She then approaches and asks us to pack up the tent again immediately. That wouldn’t be too tragic either, but breaking camp at the end of a long day’s cycling would involve a tremendous effort of at least two hours’ work. As we don’t feel the slightest desire to unload our bikes, erect the tent only to have to take it down again and then load the bikes again at the end, we sit there for a long time and don’t know what to do next. “I’ll ask the moped riders over there,” says Tanja, getting up and walking over to the men. I watch the gesticulating men with sleepy eyes. After 10 minutes Tanja comes back and says that the two of them want to take us to a homestay. “Super.” “Yes, really great,” says Tanja happily. We roll our bikes out of the driveway of the obviously closed hostel. As soon as we reach the road, we can only see the backs of the two moped riders, who leave us standing in the hot afternoon sun without saying a word. “They just took off,” says Tanja in amazement. “We have two options. Either we cycle on and try our luck in another village to get something for the night or we go to the disgruntled motel owner and ask politely if she won’t take us after all,” I suggest. “Driving on somehow doesn’t feel good. What if there’s no more village and we can’t recharge our batteries?” “We still have 3 1/2 full batteries each. If the road conditions stay like this, we’ll manage another 100 km,” I reply. “What if it suddenly goes steeply uphill? You said we have to cross this mountain range,” Tanja replies, pointing to the mountain range in the west. “Okay, then let’s go to the disgruntled one,” I reply with conviction.
Back outside the motel, Tanja uses all her charm to convince the woman. She shows her Ajaci’s reference book, in which many hotel owners and managers have already made very positive comments about our dog. “Phòng của chúng tôi được hoàn toàn đặt”, (Our rooms are fully booked), we now hear.
Tanja doesn’t give up and dials the phone number of the hotel owner in Hoi An. The extremely friendly man called Phug promised to help us at any time if we ever had a problem. Tanja now uses this joker by explaining the situation to him and then hands the intransigent woman her smartphone. Phug tells her that we stayed with Ajaci for a week in his very well-run hotel and that our dog has the status of a family member. For the first time, a slight smile flies across the intransigent woman’s face. She hands the phone back to Tanja and says: “Okay.” “Great, thank you very much. How much does a night cost?” Tanja wants to know. The woman does not want to give an answer. Tanja calls Phug again, who in turn speaks to the motel owner. After a long five minutes, we learn that she wants 170,000 dong (€7.05) for the room. “Right, quickly inside, otherwise she’ll change her mind,” I say and push my bike and trailer into the house. In no time at all we unload the bikes and carry our belongings into a run-down, small, damp room with no windows. “Phuuu, what a palace,” I exclaim. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re inside.” “That’s right. It’s strange. The most broken accommodation often causes the most problems,” I wonder.
Our luggage is stored, the bikes are safely stowed away and Ajaci has settled down on his blanket to doze. We leave the dump. Outside, we look for something to quell our hunger for cycling. There are a few food stores on wheels by a river. Vietnamese people sit on small, red plastic chairs. They enjoy grilled duck or pork, drink beer and celebrate. We take a seat next to them, order vegetable rice and a warm beer each. The sun is just about to set. Dark, menacing-looking storm clouds move over the nearby mountain ridges. “It’s going to rain,” I say, looking up at the sky. “Yes, good to have found shelter for the night.” “I wonder how things will go tomorrow,” I think. “You mean because of the coming mountains?” “Yes, but above all whether the roads will stay this bad. If we break down, it’s not worth leaving the highway.” “Who knows? I think it’s good to have escaped traffic hell. The roads are bad here, but it’s definitely safer and nicer.” “Yes, I agree with you. The bikes will hold out,” I say, taking a big swig of the warm beer down my throat…
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