7:30 and Vinh Boa was a thing of the past. Valuable lesson learned, make sure to end up in a place where adequate lodging exists. Another lesson, if signs indicate your destination and the road is good, stay on it. Using my GPS where a bicycle route is not available, chances are the route will lead you away from the small village roads onto the primary roads. What are a few extra mile? GPS was full of you-know-what once again. Using my paper map and compass, I turned off onto a small road and made my way through one village after another, somewhat apprehensive as to where I was actually
headed. Sudden out of nowhere, one of the laden down motorbikes passerbys came up parallel to me and started speaking Vietnamese, motioning with her hand. We both stopped, out of a large cucumber bag, she pulled out several and stuffed them in my bar bag. Motioning that she feed me lunch I followed her for several miles down tiny roads flank by rice fields. She stopped periodically to make sure I was alright. We arrived at a small hamlet and around the corner was her very humble abode, I mean a small stone and stucco, thatched roof house that was what I thought was for livestock. Along the way she had stopped at local market stands to buy varies food items. Everyone seemed to know her. From the looks of the people, who gave me big smiles, this woman was relating to how she had found this lost American and was rescuing him. Not more than a few minutes after my arrival, the neighbors arrived, all fascinated as to who I was. Thank gog for my translation app, at least I could communicate other than using my hands. The woman gave me her name but it was so strange I couldn’t pronounce it, not could I remember it. Looking like she was in her early twenties, I learned she was forty-two with a twenty year old son. In fact, she was a farmer. Her parents were deceased and I got the feeling I was her future husband. Just so she knew, I told her I was sixty-nine. It didn’t faze her. Thinking she could communicate better, she stood about a foot away and intently jabbered at me. After about forty-five minutes, out of no where came lunch. Rice, processed meat, something I didn’t recognize and some spinach-cucumber soup. She raced off on her motorbike and returned with two cans of coca-cola. Encouraging me to eat, she kept filling up my small bowl and showing how to eat it, with chopsticks of course. We sat in dark room with the open door light shining in where we ate. We sat on these very low plastic chairs. On the Wall was a buddist alter with her parents’s and grandparents’ framed pictures. After I could eat no more, we talked as best we could and I told her I had a long way to ride and had to go. She Packed more gear onto her bike which was already a mountain of stuff and led me back to the proper route. She stopped at a very basic vegetable stand where her umbrella stood with fruit laid out just off the ground, so typical of all the farmer stands. She pointed the way just ahead. I coukdn’t thank her enough. Taking her hand I thanked her profusely. Her hands where very rough. Off I pedals, somewhat dazed about what had just happened. How could I return this kindness and generosity. She indicated how her roof leaked, Perhaps, I should come back someday and put on a new roof. It was so surreal and made a strong impression which I will never forget.
For the next three hours I rolled along, at one point passing what I believe is the furniture manufacturing center of Vietnam. A huge garish gold and red stretch of fifty foot building sold handmade wooden furniture. As I continued, there was shop after shop building amazingly ornately carved tables, chairs, statues of horses and Buddhas. There were buildings with huge logs and slabs of wood three feet wide. Mahogany or something close; obviously the forests are being stripped of these giants. Their market was probably China and USA. All day long trucks with shipping containers pass. Vietnam has become a big export country. Construction of bridges, roads and manufacturing buildings are everywhere. Let me not forgot the communist banners professing the virtues of the state and Uncle Ho. The Vietnamese red flag with a large yellow start flies everywhere.
Finally after thirty-five miles I arrived in the heart of Vinh Binh, a good size city crammed with stores with large garish neon signs. After cruising the main and side streets I found a coffee cafe, part of a four star hotel. On the internet, I located a decent hotel around the corner which did the trick. The owner even provided me with a hose to wash off the build up of mud an grim in my bike. With the misty rain and road construction mud, I was covered from the knees down. After locking my bike up in a safe in door spot, the hotel help brought my gear up to my room. What a day, I asleep by 7:30. Sleep glorious sleep.
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