Michael is determined to go to Phu Quoc so we drag ourselves out of bed at half six, pack up and go down the ferry port for tickets, though they’re all sold out for the day and we can’t be arsed to bike up to the northern ferry port about 75kms up, so we head back to Ho Chi Minh City. It’s a shit narrow road with life on either sides, so numerous emergency stops courtesy of bikes, trolleys, kids, adults, animals and buses. We stop for lunch after an hour and half for my favourite Vietnamese dish, Bun Thit Nuong, so simple but so tasty, and perfect for the scorching weather as it’s served room temperature. Back on the bikes and we finish highway 80, turn right on highway 91 to Can Tho, get a bit lost in Can Tho before finding our way to the fabled Highway 1a. The road is actually really good and there isn’t too much traffic about, so we zoom along eating the Kilometres away, soon it vanishes from 164kms to under a hundred, and the countdown begins! About 50kms out the traffic is getting a bit heavier and we stop at Tan An for an internet café to find out where to stay in HCMC and how to get there as Ho Chi Minh city is a concrete labyrinth. 15kms down the road I’m on the inside lane next to a big load bearing vehicle (luckily it isn’t loaded) and a bus pulls out from my right hand side, so subconsciously I edge out to avoid it and brush the side of the truck base with my shoulder, no biggie I think, then the wheel follows it and it runs over my ankle/foot which I put down to make sure I didn’t tumble.. Shocked I yank it away and get it out before the other wheels gets it, I hear shouting and manage to carry on driving and zoom off. It fucking cained. Michael catches up with me, we stop, I whimper into my helmet and my foot is killing me, though I can move my toes and my ankle so think nothing is broken. We turn off earlier then we thought it would be and find our way to the hostel we were after, all the while my foot is slowly becoming more and more painful. Check into the hostel, have a shower and ask Michael what happened. Turns out it was probably my fault, with my over eagerness to avoid the bus, once I made the move to avoid the bus what happened was almost unavoidable. I’m so fucking mad at myself. It happened in the last half hour of riding, after doing over 5000kms for fucks sake. I realise it could have been worse though, and took solace in that bloke from east 17 who ran himself over in his own car while fetching a jacket potato that he dropped. We go off for dinner and get a western fix which was wank, it’s what I imagine a lasagne to be like if I were in space. have a tiny walk around but my foot isn’t up to it so back to the hostel with water and frozen peas and laze about the common room/reception with my foot up getting my five a day.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
day 279, Ho Chi Minh City!
Michael is determined to go to Phu Quoc so we drag ourselves out of bed at half six, pack up and go down the ferry port for tickets, though they’re all sold out for the day and we can’t be arsed to bike up to the northern ferry port about 75kms up, so we head back to Ho Chi Minh City. It’s a shit narrow road with life on either sides, so numerous emergency stops courtesy of bikes, trolleys, kids, adults, animals and buses. We stop for lunch after an hour and half for my favourite Vietnamese dish, Bun Thit Nuong, so simple but so tasty, and perfect for the scorching weather as it’s served room temperature. Back on the bikes and we finish highway 80, turn right on highway 91 to Can Tho, get a bit lost in Can Tho before finding our way to the fabled Highway 1a. The road is actually really good and there isn’t too much traffic about, so we zoom along eating the Kilometres away, soon it vanishes from 164kms to under a hundred, and the countdown begins! About 50kms out the traffic is getting a bit heavier and we stop at Tan An for an internet café to find out where to stay in HCMC and how to get there as Ho Chi Minh city is a concrete labyrinth. 15kms down the road I’m on the inside lane next to a big load bearing vehicle (luckily it isn’t loaded) and a bus pulls out from my right hand side, so subconsciously I edge out to avoid it and brush the side of the truck base with my shoulder, no biggie I think, then the wheel follows it and it runs over my ankle/foot which I put down to make sure I didn’t tumble.. Shocked I yank it away and get it out before the other wheels gets it, I hear shouting and manage to carry on driving and zoom off. It fucking cained. Michael catches up with me, we stop, I whimper into my helmet and my foot is killing me, though I can move my toes and my ankle so think nothing is broken. We turn off earlier then we thought it would be and find our way to the hostel we were after, all the while my foot is slowly becoming more and more painful. Check into the hostel, have a shower and ask Michael what happened. Turns out it was probably my fault, with my over eagerness to avoid the bus, once I made the move to avoid the bus what happened was almost unavoidable. I’m so fucking mad at myself. It happened in the last half hour of riding, after doing over 5000kms for fucks sake. I realise it could have been worse though, and took solace in that bloke from east 17 who ran himself over in his own car while fetching a jacket potato that he dropped. We go off for dinner and get a western fix which was wank, it’s what I imagine a lasagne to be like if I were in space. have a tiny walk around but my foot isn’t up to it so back to the hostel with water and frozen peas and laze about the common room/reception with my foot up getting my five a day.
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