22 April 2011

SpiceRoads Cycling Tour – Day 5
Huong Khe to Phong Nha (80 Km)

Here’s something I never expected to know: how it feels to sleep on a dining room table.  I didn’t sleep in the dining room, actually, nor on a table per se, but rather upon my bed last night.  A bed that, should one choose to dreamily fall back upon, could easily give one a concussion.  The Vietnamese apparently prefer hard beds.  Really hard beds.  This has been a recurring theme on our trip thus far but I must say, last night’s bed really outdid itself in the firmness category.  I’m sure to have a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my left hip, being a side sleeper and all.  What a night.

Sadly, if I thought that last night was bad, what I didn’t know was that tonight held something in store for me far worse than just another brittle bed upon which to toss and turn.  But before I get to that story, let’s recap the cycling of the day, which started out as another wretched day on the busy highway but, in the opposite manner in which my night was to go, got better rather than worse.  We entered the mountains, the scenic, winding, only-a-bus-or-two-behind-you mountains.  Small villages with large groups of children, our voices becoming hoarse with the number of Hello’s to which we were obligated to respond.  We haven’t seen any other Westerners for a few days now, suggesting we are a visual rarity for curious and friendly kids.  An afternoon of cycling to treasure, no doubt.

After a long day of pedaling, we were transferred to Phong Nha National Park and our one-star hotel for the evening.  Thinking she was doing us a favor, Gina switched our room to the one at the end of the row, the one nearest the river with lovely, overhanging trees and the almost-but-not-quite a view.  But this was a mistake, for when darkness fell, along came the pouring rains and howling wind and there we were, stuck out on the end, the last and loneliest of the occupied rooms, our outside entry face first into the elements.  This is an important fact because nearly at the stroke of midnight, when yours truly was soundly asleep, the raging wind blew open our door.  Have you ever seen the face of terror?  I mean really seen it, looked into its eyes, felt its primal fear?  I am not being overdramatic here when I say that I was that face.  Half awake, seeing the door open and Gina flying toward it to slam it back shut, I was convinced that someone was coming into our room.  So like how it feels sleeping on a dining room table, here’s something else I never expected to know: how it feels to not be able to stop screaming, and I mean SCREAMING in all caps, balls out, straight from the gut, screaming.  Not a little peep of fright but a full-on terrified howling.  Of course there wasn’t anyone at the door, and within a few seconds it became clear that it was only the wind, but I screamed like there was no tomorrow in those seconds in between.  Good to know, I guess, that I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

While we’re on the subject of bad experiences, I should rewind to a few days ago when I forgot to tell the story of Gina’s Vietnamese massage.  Now when you pay four dollars and 86 cents for a massage, you probably shouldn’t expect it to be like most other massages.  And in fact, it wasn’t.  Gina’s version of this massage is one of torture: no sheet, no towel, no oil, and by the end, no dignity, after being pummeled and pounded upon as if in a world class boxing match (not to mention the part where the masseuse sat on the table with her, strategically positioned between her legs to better batter and bruise them).  Which part of that treatment was relaxing is still unclear.