On Sunday, the second day of our trip, we awoke late-ish and had breakfast and coffee in our room. Around 9 or 10 o'clock, just as the sun was really starting to get hot, we hopped on our bikes and headed out of town toward the mountains again.
We hit a road which ran through small villages along the foot of the mountains before turning and following a series of roads that worked their through valleys back into the hills. We were looking for Hoa Lu, an ancient capital city of Vietnam (and big tourist attraction near Ninh Binh). Once again (unwisely) using the map that had been provided for us from the hotel, we figured we could find our way there, tour the place and be back at the hotel before lunch.
Our ride took us through green valleys between these amazing mountains--past rice fields and small lakes and villages. We marveled (as we sweated profusely) that such things could even exist. It really felt as if we were in a movie at times.
As far as we rode, though, we didn't come across Hoa Lu or anything that looked even remotely close to an ancient capital city. We were lost. Multiple times. By the time we finally started asking directions and made it to Hoa Lu, we had gone probably 5 or more miles out of our way in 95 degree heat. We were exhausted. It didn't help that our first view of Hoa Lu was a big, dusty parking lot with tour buses and rows of vendor's shops. No imposing battlements or ancient temples--just big ol' buses and chintzy merchandise. I'm sure there was more to it but, as I told Joelle at the time, Hoa Lu really needed to work on its curb appeal. By this time it was well after lunch and we'd only brounght snacks with us. We decided that walking around in the sun for another two hours looking at the remains of some old buildings wasn't what we needed. So we sat in the shade with a Vietnamese family, ate and drank a bit, and got back on our bikes.
We took a different road on the ride back to the hotel, which ended up being even more spectacular than the road there. Still, we managed to get lost again and by the time we made it back to the hotel we were truly wiped. We had a very late lunch, packed our bags and prepared to head back to Hanoi. This is where things truly got interesting.
Rather than walking a whole entire kilometer from the hotel to the station, we decided to 'go local' and wave down the first bus we saw pulling through town that was bound for Hanoi. We didn't pause to consider that, if the bus was going to stop for us, it most likely would stop for anyone and everyone else.
As it was, a bus did stop for us and we got two of the last seats available (fortunately) and settled in for the ride. The vehicle we found ourselves in could best be described as an "old jalopy." It was really more of an oversized van than a bus, it had no air conditioning and room for about twenty people to sit. Joelle and I were numbers 17 and 18, approximately. By the time we got near Hanoi, we estimated that we were sharing that little bus with 35 to 40 people, four of whose sweat I was able to feel personally. People were standing, sitting on laps, straddling the gearshift up front, and hanging out the door. Just when I would think "We can't possibly fit anyone else on this thing," someone standing along the side of the road would wave us down, the ticket taker helper guy would hop out, squeeze them on board, and we would oh-so-slowly get up to speed again.
But things were to get more interesting still. At one point we had stopped to pick someone up along the side of the road when another bus (much nicer and shinier looking--I think it was a Mercedes) pulled up and stopped just to the left of us, literally inches away out our window. I don't know if the driver of the trailing bus hadn't been paying attention and had swerved at the last minute and stopped, if he was planning on handing something out his window to our driver or just what, but there he was stopped directly next to us. We stared at the other passengers out our window for a minute. Despite their being on a nicer bus, they looked just as cramped and uncomfortable as us.Our driver, for his part, was looking in his mirror trying to make sure that the newest passenger had found a spot on his already overcrowded bus. Satisfied that he had, our old jalopy started to pull away...and with a loud pop proceeded to shatter the Mercedes bus's right side mirror. Oops.
Quick cultural note: As we all know, minor accidents in the States are usually resolved by the drivers exchanging insurance information (maybe a few snide remarks) and going on their way. Very orderly, methodical...boring. This minor accident was to be anything but boring. In a flash, the driver of the Mercedes bus was out his door and standing beside our driver's door, shouting through the window at him. A large volume of rather heated words were exchanged (none of which we could understand, fortunately) and then the Mercedes driver stationed himself in front of our bus--presumably to keep us from driving away--and started dialing his cellphone with a shaking hand. Soon, both driver's assistants were out on the road as well, adding their pointed perspectives to the rapidly-developing argument.
Apparently the Mercedes driver's phone call didn't achieve the desired result because after a minute both he and his assistant were back at our driver's window, shouting again (our driver--wisely--hadn't left the vehicle). The other driver started to pound on the side of our bus with his fist. At this point Joelle and I (who were seated directly behind our driver) were starting to look for an easy way to exit the bus should we need to. There was no easy way and so we resigned ourselves to sitting and seeing what happened.
Suddenly in the midst of the shouting, a hand--either the Mercedes bus driver or his assistant's--reached through our driver's window and gave him a solid slap across the cheek. Now other people on the bus were starting to look for a way to get out as well, and an elderly gentleman who was sitting next to our driver stood up, looked around for a second, and apparently for lack of anything better to do hurriedly buckled his motorbike helmet on his head.
A split second later another hand--this one a closed fist--made its way through our driver's window and connected squarely with his eye socket. Just when it was looking like our two buses might empty out and a full-on street brawl would ensue, our bus's assistant stepped in and pulled the Mercedes driver aside, calming things for the moment.
In a flash, our bus was rolling down the road again, with our driver nursing a bleeding gash under his right eye (his assistant had hopped back on after separating everyone). We continued on as normal to Hanoi, except that about a mile from the bus station our driver pulled the bus over, said something to his assistant, hopped out and walked off down the street wearing his dark glasses. The assistant climbed in the driver's seat and drove us the rest of the way to the station. Odd, we thought, but maybe the driver needed to get to a doctor or something.
When we pulled into the station, the full extent of our driver's wisdom became clear. No sooner had our bus parked than the Mercedes bus driver (who had also been going to Hanoi) and several of his friends came sprinting over to settle things with our driver. They were surprised and, perhaps, a little disappointed to discover that our driver was most likely already home and watching TV with an ice pack on his eye. Quick as we could, Joelle and I grabbed our things and exited the premises, glad that that part of our trip was complete.
All in all it was a wonderful--if partly uncomfortable and terrifying--trip.
