Sat around having a few beers, swapping stories. That's it. That's the point when you catch yourself grinning like a simpleton Cheshire cat. While you're in it, everything blurs past in a jolt, shaded just a touch too closely to the fear side of excitement. It's gone and done before you have a chance to think about it. But every time we talk about it or I see pictures from the stupid places I have been or the stupid things I have done; I feel this grin. We drove, convincing ourselves that we were safe. convincing ourselves that we were in control. We were not, luck combined with the skill and ability of other drivers is the only reason we are here. We drove through thunder storms, revealing a slightly maniacal side of Lisa never before seen. Laughing and joking while the bike is buffeted hopelessly out of real control. I am not sure if she enjoyed it because she presumed, wrongly, that I was in control or that I was good enough to ensure survival. Our feelings were polar opposites. I couldn't see, I couldn't turn unless the wind chose a direction. Eventually I gave up and started laughing too. We survived. That's the phrase: "We survived". It's the only real truth. Every time we slipped into a semblance of comfort or relaxation, while gliding past perfect postcards of huge rice fields being worked by lone women in conical hats; something reminded us not to stay too comfortable. A hole in the road you see a second too late, a cow who doesn't quite like it's herder that much, even an old lady riding the wrong way down the road because... I have no idea. It was tense and unrelaxing but I firmly believe it kept us alive.
We quickly noticed we were not cut out for the hardcore; shorter journeys of up to four hours were agreed upon and even those hurt my backside impossibly. Lisa bought a nice cushion. We agreed that sixty km/h was as fast as we enjoyed and we would have a coffee every thirty yards or so. A very relaxed jaunt up the 1100 miles of Vietnam.
Once we had the bikes, all we had to do was leave Saigon. This sounds pretty straightforward, however; one path led to a place where the police would take our bikes and all the others still included Saigon's almost hallucinogenicly busy roads. So we just set off. It was amazing, someone cheesy (obviously not me) described it as 'organic'. It looks like chaos, and it is, but there is also a fluidity to it that seems to cocoon you. Everyone has their own space and slowly glides to avoid everyone else. As long as you don't do anything suddenly and maintain speed and turn slowly, everything just happens around you and you don't die. Euphoria. We even high fived.
We struck out south to see the delta and instantly got lost onto some dirt roads. Lisa even tried to drive, which the bruises down her legs can testify too. Unfortunately my fault. I'm apparently not a great motorbike passenger. Our first smaller storm and then onto the Mekong. I have to say this because I think it represents the level of commitment and ingenuity shown by all vietnamese businesses. They are like trees hopelessly clinging to the side of jagged cliffs. But they are there. This guy had his own little boat and literally caught up with us on his push bike... his push bike... and started offering us a ride on his boat. On his push bike... we couldn't afford the commercial prices so we took him up on it. At one point i drove the boat, and another I was at the front pushing us between trees. Loved every minute. We could see the river clearly, through the boat and were comfortably seated on plastic garden furniture. He even dunked his head underneath to clear out the rotors. Relaxation!
The great freedom of having your own transport, is that you are free of the tour buses. The very well laid out paths trodden by most travellers here in Vietnam. We were quite smug when we mentioned where we had stayed and no one had heard of it before. How mature. It worked out really well, people did stare at us, but we paid half of normal rates every night and got to sit and watch the Arsenal game surrounded by forty vietnamese men, a few mice, and seated in plastic chairs kind of in the street. Lisa's dreams come true. No one batted an eye as the rat swung from the top of the TV down the wire and onto the floor. I mean it, they didn't react. Lisa had found the other side of staying off the beaten track. There are a few downsides, food is local food, which sometimes means trotters or whole fish deep fried (a lovely lady in a restaurant informed us they often eat bones in 'real' vietnamese food). No one speaks English at all, which is hard when you can't think of another way to say "it's for constipation." Without miming. On the other hand sometimes the food is divine, the people don't mind acting and you get to cross bridges made out of bamboo and held together by Dr Seuss' nightmares.
We had a bit of a bad patch where it felt like driving and eating. In any other walk of life I feel like this would be fine but we were addicted to 'amazing experiences' so just being alive at the end of each day and passing out after a banh mi wasn't enough. I had brought us here, Vietnam was my idea from the beginning, I wanted Lisa to see the things I fell in love with when I was here before. It wasn't working out. I decided the best thing I could do was make it worse by trying my hardest to make her see the good side. It was a real low point. But as it often does, things took a turn. The last time I was here I didn't have time to visit Da Lat as we were behind schedule. This time I decided I had to see it and we set off inland from the coast on what was going to be the longest drive we had done so far. It was incredible. Mountain passes coated in shockingly bright wet season colours. Winding clear roads that allowed us to practise leaning together properly and steep hills that challenged first gear in a 125 cc bike... we learnt that if we didn't lean forward together the front tyre would come off the floor... all of a sudden the driving was no longer a way of moving from one place to another. It was an activity in itself. We even managed to get ourselves on a motorway where bikes were not allowed and had to avoid the police. A kind man flying past in a van gave us a very interesting warning that they would hit us. A beautifully unique activity which merged an electric nearness to harm with natural beauty and insanely strong locally grown coffee. It was all falling into place. It didn't hurt that Da Lat was home to our favourite ever hostel, in which we had free birthday cake and learnt everything there is to know about cooking real Vietnamese food. Step one: be a Vietnamese person.
The road back to the coast was even better. Sweeping corners on a smooth road didn't matter because we stopped every two hundred meters for a photo. Until of course the road dropped two feet with no warning and we got our first (not last) real air. Like I said before; don't get cocky kid. From here on out Vietnam came into it's own. The food was the best we've eaten, the views were insane and we outran a storm into town. This is an unbeatable feeling. This whole period of Vietnam was a blur of random streets, insane food, beautiful people and near misses. A realisation that every Vietnamese person will answer 'yes' to everything. "Is this chicken or pork?" "yes" and an impressive game of how many people you can fit on one motorbike. Five was our highest score. Don't get me wrong, driving is still terrifying, we saw bodies on the road. We got driven off the road and into a cafe and unsurprisingly, most would say inevitably, we fell off. We sat at the side of the road and cried and shook while fear wagged it's finger. This lesson has been learnt before though, if we stay scared, we stay still. There was a decision made in that split second that we would never sit on a bike again, we would get on a bus, fly home and that would be that. Until four women appeared, put ice on swellings, iodine and plasters on cuts and silently smiled the whole time. Then they vanished back into being unreadable faces surrounded by a language I can barely say 'thank you' in. We got up, we bought new wing mirrors from a local market, and drove a road so beautiful that we wanted to turn around and drive it again. The legendary Hai Vaan pass.
To look back on life is to combine fear with beauty. The hope is that you end up grinning. Things are terrifying, but once you realise we are brave enough for that to be less important, you start to see everything the fear was hiding. The places, the shapes of the mountains are there if you can tear your eyes from the road. It's just a lot of fun when you realise there aren't as many things to be scared of as there was when you first looked. We drove 2500 km. on dangerous roads, near vans with murder in their headlights and lorries with heart attacks laced in their horns. Through thunder storms and bullet rain. Lisa bought us ponchos and we kept going. So I had to brave it. Now I'm grinning.
It's not really about what happens or what you do. It's about what you get out of it. What lens you use to look at it. Of course you don't pull over in the rain. You laugh at the pathetic attempts to stay dry and blow the water off your top lip.
The quote at the top is the cheesiest thing I have ever read. But the more I look at it the more I'm forced to agree with it as a statement. Too many words have been spoken, to the point where all thoughts and sentiments seem unoriginal. This is my greatest challenge. Happiness, success, contentment or self discovery, they all come with a mistaken sense of a result. The idea that there is a finality to be found and accomplished. The truth is that we do not have the capability. We do not have complete control over ourselves. We will always be afraid. I read another quote: "The mind commands the body, the body obeys, but if the mind commands the mind it meets resistance." It is what we do and how we react to life that matters. When we are scared do we stand still? Or do we look backwards to where fear was and see what we can be standing there?