Hey
Riding The Ho Chi Minh Trail
"You see real Vietnam," Dung yelled back to me as we sped around a corner on the Ho Chi Minh Highway, the jungle surrounding us in the valley below and the mountain walls above. The jungle: a million different leaves, grasses, textures, and shades of green, so dense that the jumble of foliage becomes a single wild canvas.
We met Dung (pronounced 'Young') in Hoi An. He'd just arrived there with a couple from England, James and Sanne, who'd ridden from Nha Trang to Hoi An, along the Ho Chi Minh Highway (HCMH) -- a four day trip. The HCMH was completed in 2002, a highway built through Vietnam's more remote area, the Central Highlands... a paved homage to the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
The highway does not actually follow the original trail -- however, it is touted as a passage along the historic, secret military transport route, the famous Ho Chi Minh Trail (HCMT). And while the highway might not follow the original roads and footpaths of the HCMT, there are plenty of reminders of the American War (or Vietnam War in America), and passage through a number of villages, towns, and cities located on various offshoots from the HCMT's main artery, locations that the modern highway passes through.
It was kismet to find Dung. We'd been looking to get off Vietnam's well trodden tourist trail, Highway 1, which transports bus loads of tourists on the 'open tour circuit', which allows passengers to hop on and off the bus in various cities located along the Eastern sea-bound length of Vietnam. A motorcycle ride on the Ho Chi Minh Highway, James told us, is the way to do it.
I rode the first day, 120 km, through the flatlands outside of Hoi An and into the undulating Truong Son mountain range. The road, twisting and turning along gentle curves, was never without spectacular scenery -- views of lush valleys below and hills above, a lazy brown river in constant sight. In the distance, the mountains had a purplish hue, the hills surrounding the highway covered with green foliage, the sky baby blue -- it was not quite the jungle, yet... and for the first several hours, it was not the HCMT. We reached the highway (and the 'trail') in the afternoon.
Benjamin rode the following 3 days: 180 km, 260 km, 240 km. Originally we'd planned to split the trip in half: one of us on Dung's bike, the other on the extra bike. But after Benjamin's 'turn' to ride solo on day 2, and upon seeing and experiencing the hazards of weather, mountain terrain, moving obstacles, and (in places) poor roads, we decided that my riding experience was not up to the test of the highway, so I spent 3 days on the back of Dung's bike, which afforded me the gift of taking in the landscape without worry of the road. Benjamin proved to be an EXCELLENT rider, facing many suicidal dogs running into his path, errant cows and geese, giant trucks that force bikes off the road and into the gravel brim, rickety wood planked bridges, torrential downpours of rain, man-eating potholes, wind, mud, rocks, curvy steep mountain roads.
Riding the HCMH is not all about the riding, though. We made a lot of stops along the way. Many times, we would pull off the side of the highway to visit hill tribe villages. Sometimes our encounters with the Montagnards, as they were named by the French (and still call themselves this today) involved a gathering at the edge of the road and on other occasions we would find ourselves sitting at a table inside their homes. It was a bit awkward, at times, to find ourselves amongst the Montagnards. It felt a bit voyeuristic and invasive, but the people were warm and welcoming, if not a bit shy. They speak their own languages, not all know Vietnamese and virtually none could speak English, so Dung told us about their lives, their traditions, their day to day. Our visits were the most 'authentic' hill tribe visits we've made to date: in Thailand, in Sapa... these were not part of a packaged tourist tour, they were spontaneous and real. We also stopped at war memorial monuments, waterfalls, a museum, a coffee plantation, and several orphanages, plus more.
I was most affected by our visits to the orphanages. The children were a mix of shy, sad, friendly, affectionate, ranging for newborns to 20 years of age. We amused the children with images taken with our digital cameras (always a great ice breaker) and spent some time playing and cuddling them. The orphanages are a mix of 10 ethnic groups found in the Central Highlands, where ethnic minorities make up a large percentage of the population.
In recent years and even now, the minority groups in the Central Highlands face persecution and human rights violations. This has resulted in protests and emigration to Cambodia, with the ultimate goal of finding refuge in the U.S. In fact, these issues have been the cause of a 'lockdown' in the Central Highlands in 2001 and 2004, when foreigners were not allowed to visit the area. In fact, the Central Highlands were closed to foreigners until 1992, for fear that they would discover rumored labor camps hidden in the area. Several times throughout our trip, Dung mentioned that he would not stop in certain places because, "...they do not like tourists. Many people died here." The Central Highlands were a strategic area during for the U.S. during the war, with many bombing raids and a lot of fighting. Many people died, as Dung kept telling us, especially in the cities of Kontum, Pleiku, Buon Me Thuot, and other towns we passed through and stayed the night. For this reason, Dung suggested we tell people we are Canadian. This led me to rip up a few hotel registration forms as having 'Canada' written as our country of origin and handing over U.S. passports would not jibe...
But not everyone was on the Communist side during the war. While at the second orphanage, we met a man named Cham who told us he'd been an Advisor to the Americans during the war. In 1975, he was sent to prison camp for two years for his involvement in the war against the communists. Because he did not meet the U.S. requirement of 3 years in prison, he was not eligible to emigrate to America. He was orphaned himself at the age of 11 when the communists killed his father near Pleiku (one of the cities we passed through). Like many Vietnamese, the good and bad in his life are described as a matter of 'luck'. "I am unlucky," he told us, describing his daughter's recent death which has made his grand children orphans as well. They are 'lucky' to have him as a care taker, as are the orphans he now serves.
The HCMH/Central Highlands trip was full of amazing landscapes and experiences with the people -- so much, I cannot even begin to describe it here. Each day brought us something new: mountains, flat lands, jungle, corn fields, yam farms, rice paddies, coffee plantations, forests, villages, towns, cities, homes, shops, markets, villagers, families, children, people like Cham. We found ourselves always heading into dark clouds the color of lead, chasing blue skies and rainbows (it rained much of days 2 and 3). I cannot ignore the symbolic nature of our constant ride towards the clear skies ahead of us, with dark clouds over and behind us, along our journey of the HCMH.
We arrived in Nha Trang last night, tired from the ride -- happy to be walking instead of riding. Our butts have regained feeling and we are no longer walking like cowboys. We are in need of some peace and quiet, though... and Nha Trang is not the place to find it. It's a busy resort town with high rise buildings, not the small beach town we were hoping to find. Tomorrow we head off to Mui Ne where we'll find a beach bungalow and some R+R.... and I will try to contstrue the zillion sights, sounds, experiences, emotions of this trip into an article worthy of publication.
We met Dung (pronounced 'Young') in Hoi An. He'd just arrived there with a couple from England, James and Sanne, who'd ridden from Nha Trang to Hoi An, along the Ho Chi Minh Highway (HCMH) -- a four day trip. The HCMH was completed in 2002, a highway built through Vietnam's more remote area, the Central Highlands... a paved homage to the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
The highway does not actually follow the original trail -- however, it is touted as a passage along the historic, secret military transport route, the famous Ho Chi Minh Trail (HCMT). And while the highway might not follow the original roads and footpaths of the HCMT, there are plenty of reminders of the American War (or Vietnam War in America), and passage through a number of villages, towns, and cities located on various offshoots from the HCMT's main artery, locations that the modern highway passes through.
It was kismet to find Dung. We'd been looking to get off Vietnam's well trodden tourist trail, Highway 1, which transports bus loads of tourists on the 'open tour circuit', which allows passengers to hop on and off the bus in various cities located along the Eastern sea-bound length of Vietnam. A motorcycle ride on the Ho Chi Minh Highway, James told us, is the way to do it.
I rode the first day, 120 km, through the flatlands outside of Hoi An and into the undulating Truong Son mountain range. The road, twisting and turning along gentle curves, was never without spectacular scenery -- views of lush valleys below and hills above, a lazy brown river in constant sight. In the distance, the mountains had a purplish hue, the hills surrounding the highway covered with green foliage, the sky baby blue -- it was not quite the jungle, yet... and for the first several hours, it was not the HCMT. We reached the highway (and the 'trail') in the afternoon.
Benjamin rode the following 3 days: 180 km, 260 km, 240 km. Originally we'd planned to split the trip in half: one of us on Dung's bike, the other on the extra bike. But after Benjamin's 'turn' to ride solo on day 2, and upon seeing and experiencing the hazards of weather, mountain terrain, moving obstacles, and (in places) poor roads, we decided that my riding experience was not up to the test of the highway, so I spent 3 days on the back of Dung's bike, which afforded me the gift of taking in the landscape without worry of the road. Benjamin proved to be an EXCELLENT rider, facing many suicidal dogs running into his path, errant cows and geese, giant trucks that force bikes off the road and into the gravel brim, rickety wood planked bridges, torrential downpours of rain, man-eating potholes, wind, mud, rocks, curvy steep mountain roads.
Riding the HCMH is not all about the riding, though. We made a lot of stops along the way. Many times, we would pull off the side of the highway to visit hill tribe villages. Sometimes our encounters with the Montagnards, as they were named by the French (and still call themselves this today) involved a gathering at the edge of the road and on other occasions we would find ourselves sitting at a table inside their homes. It was a bit awkward, at times, to find ourselves amongst the Montagnards. It felt a bit voyeuristic and invasive, but the people were warm and welcoming, if not a bit shy. They speak their own languages, not all know Vietnamese and virtually none could speak English, so Dung told us about their lives, their traditions, their day to day. Our visits were the most 'authentic' hill tribe visits we've made to date: in Thailand, in Sapa... these were not part of a packaged tourist tour, they were spontaneous and real. We also stopped at war memorial monuments, waterfalls, a museum, a coffee plantation, and several orphanages, plus more.
I was most affected by our visits to the orphanages. The children were a mix of shy, sad, friendly, affectionate, ranging for newborns to 20 years of age. We amused the children with images taken with our digital cameras (always a great ice breaker) and spent some time playing and cuddling them. The orphanages are a mix of 10 ethnic groups found in the Central Highlands, where ethnic minorities make up a large percentage of the population.
In recent years and even now, the minority groups in the Central Highlands face persecution and human rights violations. This has resulted in protests and emigration to Cambodia, with the ultimate goal of finding refuge in the U.S. In fact, these issues have been the cause of a 'lockdown' in the Central Highlands in 2001 and 2004, when foreigners were not allowed to visit the area. In fact, the Central Highlands were closed to foreigners until 1992, for fear that they would discover rumored labor camps hidden in the area. Several times throughout our trip, Dung mentioned that he would not stop in certain places because, "...they do not like tourists. Many people died here." The Central Highlands were a strategic area during for the U.S. during the war, with many bombing raids and a lot of fighting. Many people died, as Dung kept telling us, especially in the cities of Kontum, Pleiku, Buon Me Thuot, and other towns we passed through and stayed the night. For this reason, Dung suggested we tell people we are Canadian. This led me to rip up a few hotel registration forms as having 'Canada' written as our country of origin and handing over U.S. passports would not jibe...
But not everyone was on the Communist side during the war. While at the second orphanage, we met a man named Cham who told us he'd been an Advisor to the Americans during the war. In 1975, he was sent to prison camp for two years for his involvement in the war against the communists. Because he did not meet the U.S. requirement of 3 years in prison, he was not eligible to emigrate to America. He was orphaned himself at the age of 11 when the communists killed his father near Pleiku (one of the cities we passed through). Like many Vietnamese, the good and bad in his life are described as a matter of 'luck'. "I am unlucky," he told us, describing his daughter's recent death which has made his grand children orphans as well. They are 'lucky' to have him as a care taker, as are the orphans he now serves.
The HCMH/Central Highlands trip was full of amazing landscapes and experiences with the people -- so much, I cannot even begin to describe it here. Each day brought us something new: mountains, flat lands, jungle, corn fields, yam farms, rice paddies, coffee plantations, forests, villages, towns, cities, homes, shops, markets, villagers, families, children, people like Cham. We found ourselves always heading into dark clouds the color of lead, chasing blue skies and rainbows (it rained much of days 2 and 3). I cannot ignore the symbolic nature of our constant ride towards the clear skies ahead of us, with dark clouds over and behind us, along our journey of the HCMH.
We arrived in Nha Trang last night, tired from the ride -- happy to be walking instead of riding. Our butts have regained feeling and we are no longer walking like cowboys. We are in need of some peace and quiet, though... and Nha Trang is not the place to find it. It's a busy resort town with high rise buildings, not the small beach town we were hoping to find. Tomorrow we head off to Mui Ne where we'll find a beach bungalow and some R+R.... and I will try to contstrue the zillion sights, sounds, experiences, emotions of this trip into an article worthy of publication.
posted by Cheryn at 2:06 PM
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