These words exited my mouth as Ruby and I sat dejected on the edge of a sidewalk, 20-30 kilometers from our destination. My clothes were drenched in sweat and I continued to drip more. My skin was burned and I was so dehydrated I could barely see a few feet in front of me. My broken motorbike stood a few feet away, I had no idea where I was, I didn't speak the language, and I had absolutely no idea what to do.
The day had started out pleasantly enough. We rode from one small town to the next on the dusty Vietnamese roads skirted by jungles. We were on our way to Mai Chau, the beginning of the Ho Chi Minh Trail where we were to meet Manh, a friend of Fleurr, who promised us a nice stay at his guesthouse resort.
We made it about twenty kilometers before my bike sputtered and stalled out for the first time. We found refuge in the shade of an old garage where I drained the carburetor and made a few little tweaks to get going. When it broke down a few minutes later, we were at the foot of a small garage in a little roadside town that seemed to consist of just a few houses and restaurants.
It's worth noting here that in this part of Vietnam, every home seems to be a store. Houses have open fronts with glass cases where you can buy water, energy drinks, and a few other things depending on the place. Some people have kitchens where you can eat a meal. Many have garages where they can change your oil or make repairs. But everywhere we stop seems to be a person's home rather than an establishment.
It took about three or four hours for them to fix my bike and about twenty minutes for it to break again, leading me to realize that they had no idea what I was talking about when I tried to pantomime the problem. While they had been making their repairs they would hold up spare parts and point to them, indicating that this was what they were fixing and in my naivete I let them do it, figuring they knew much better than I.
But I learned. When I broke down on that blindingly hot stretch of road I reached a point of helplessness I had never felt before. I didn't know whether I should try to get to where I was going or head back to Hanoi. I didn't know how I was going to get to either place. I didn't know if the next mechanic was going to rip me off or just misunderstand me. I was disoriented and fatigued from the heat and since I didn't know what to do or where to go, I just sat on the curb.
We finally found a mechanic and put them on the phone with our friends in Hanoi who were able to help the bike get fixed for good (at least for now) and we were back on our journey, despite the minor mental breakdown that preceded it.
It was sunset when we entered the mountain pass and about twenty minutes later it was completely dark. It was then that I realized my headlight didn't work. I followed close behind Ruby, keeping my turn signal on so she could see me as we wound through the twisted mountain roads. We went up and down hills, across dirt paths and alongside steep declines, all in total darkness. Sometimes there were guard rails, sometimes there were not. If my bike broke down again, I don't know what I would have done. If one of us was hit by any of the speeding trucks or motorbikes that passed us, I don't know what I would have done. It took about an hour, but it was one of the most terrifying hours of my life and certainly the most dangerous thing I have ever done.
But we made it. The sight of streetlights had never been as beautiful as they were when we rolled into Mai Chau.
We called Manh and he met us on the main road and escorted us through the rice fields to his quiet, secluded resort. He showed us the dorm-style bungalow where we would sleep and served us a feast that we scarfed down as quickly as we could. That night we followed the sound of music to a field outside Manh's resort to see a series of bonfires with Vietnamese children and adults dancing around the flames. There were deejays playing music, people playing games, and dancers performing rituals. They quickly grabbed us and we joined one of the circles, attempting to follow the steps and not appear as the delirious sunburned giants we were.
It was our first full day of the trip and it was a fine start.
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