Madness would probably summarize this
day rather neatly, all the way from the five-lane motorways in Ho Chi
Minh to the tiny mud roads between Tân Phù, or Phú Son as everyone
called it, and Madaguoil, also “commonly” known as Da Huoai.
We've been able to pronounce absolutely nothing today besides,
possibly, the word(s?) for Thank you. It's close to the Swedish word
for old, so Dad, feeling a bit old, took this close to heart. It only
accumulated laughter, but that probably means point for trying.
We'd planned to set off at sunrise but
there was some short delays. We took our time with the breakfast,
carefully strapped our bags to the bikes and then rearranged the
reception when one of the bikes decided not to participate in the
exercise. I payed what the raging bike had broken and then we set
off. Like two new born horses we staggered out in the mayhem, dodging
crazed buses and blending in the schools of bikers. By chance did we
stumble upon a road leading out of the city and soon we flew down a
highway, hopefully heading somewhere close to east. By then had our
talent on motorbiking grown immensely.
“The plumbing doesn't work!” Dad
yells from the bathroom. We never made it to Bao Loc which had been
the goal, but settled for a village somewhere in the mountain. Dad
dragged on to our caravan a flat tire just as the sun was setting and
even if a mechanic was found within 20 meters was it still time to
get some shelter for the night. This village provides some noodle
soup and a surprising amount of 50s traveling cases, so tomorrow I'll
have an entirely new look on the baggage-arrangement. Tomorrow I'll be
a legit road warrior!
//Nisse
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