Last year in October a few of the Downshift guys partnered up with the P Plater Mods boys to go on an adventure through Vietnam. The plan was simple. Or rather the lack of plans were simple; land in Saigon in the country’s South, go wherever and do whatever we wanted for 2 and a half weeks, then return to Saigon to fly back. No tour bus, no set tourist trails, no bullshit.
First of all I’ll start with a quick introduction – my name is Alex and I have been involved with the car scene for a number of years now. I have a Honda background and currently drive a yellow EG civic that I have been working on for a few years, and love quality modification work, regardless of make or model. I have known Matyas for a while and when he mentioned the idea of a Top Gear-style bike road trip through country Vietnam over a couple of drinks, I was all for it. I found myself with a bit of spare time towards the end of last year so decided to book some flights at the last minute and join in on the adventure. Coming along for the ride were Jordan and Morris from P Plater Mods, Sharpy and Jared who you might recognise from the DS FB page, and Matyas’ brother Mark from Hungary.
Fast forward a couple of weeks and suddenly we were all at Gold Coast Airport with carry-on baggage in hand ready to go. A cattle class flight to Kuala Lumpur beckoned, which was relatively uneventful and was made shorter than it could have been thanks to a few epic Mario Kart Nintendo DS battles and the ever-so-distracting airline hostesses. Our arrival into KL was around 4 o’clock in the morning, but that didn’t stop the wet wall of humidity smacking us in the face as we walked off the plane onto the tarmac.
Our connecting flight didn’t really allow us enough time to go anywhere, so a few stifling hours were spent in and around the airport, hunting down spare powerpoints to charge phones and ipods. With power adapters hot property, Matyas discovered that you could simply jam your Australian power adapter into a powerpoint and it would still work, as long as the plug didn’t have the third grounding prong. A comparatively short flight later and the coast of Vietnam emerged in the plane windows, with rice paddy fields seemingly engulfing the coastline and river as far as the eye could see. As the plane made its descent towards Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Saigon, we captured our first glimpse of the local traffic that awaited us. A single lane seemed to carry an unlimited amount of bikes, combined with taxis, vans, trucks, buses, tractors – you name it it was there and looked chaotic.
First port of call once we passed through customs was to grab some Vietnamese sim cards and exchange our money into local currency. Here we met up with Mark who flew in from Hungary to join our quest. A few of the boys brought over Vietnam Dong that had been exchanged back home, however it turned out that it was a much better idea to bring over Australian dollars and change it at the airport which had a significantly better rate. With one Australian Dollar equalling approximately 20,000 Dong, suddenly we were all multi-millionaires!
We made our way outside and caught a taxi from the airport and headed towards the city in the middle of the morning peak hour. Suddenly we weren’t just observing the roads from the air but were in the thick of it. The driver loved it and was constantly on the horn, smashing it through back streets and a sea of bikes towards the city centre. Even though we had only been in the country for a few hours, the polarisation of the wealthy and the poor was immediately apparent in this organised chaos. Out of nowhere we spot a brand new black Rolls Royce Ghost (that actually almost ran us over), several V12 AMG Mercs, and a Bentley Flying Spur cruising around, unaffected by wave after wave of bikes.
We arrived at our hotel of choice, the incredibly cramped Boss Hotel (chosen more due to the name than anything else), dropped off some crap then headed outside to explore Saigon and more importantly grab something to eat! Those who know what a Vietnamese pork roll, or ‘bahn mi thit’, tastes like will know what I am talking about – especially when combined with an icy cold ‘ca phe sua da’, or Vietnamese iced coffee! We only had one rule regarding food – eat where the locals eat. This usually resulted in hitting up a roadside food stand then sitting on children’s plastic furniture, or venturing down alleyways to find hidden food treasures.
The most common food options were Com (rice), and Pho (noodle soup), which were often combined with a hefty side of chilli for the more adventurous – although highly recommended! Eating in Vietnam is cheap, with a meal often only costing a couple of dollars including a drink, and it only got cheaper the further you went from the city, but more on that later. Canned beer could be purchased from literally anywhere, with street venders happy to sell you a can of 333, Tiger, or Heineken straight out of an esky for usually about 50 cents.
We spent the rest of the day exploring the market and trying not to get too fleeced, but it was inevitable on the first day. No matter what kind of deal you think you are getting, you are paying too much – rule of thumb. Don’t make the mistake of comparing the price to what you would pay at home, or you will quickly find yourself running out of Dong!
As night fell, so did some of the team, dead tired from the flight and wandering around in the heat all day. For those who battled on, a trip to the Sky Bar was in order. The bar is perched on top of one of the highest towers in the city, with a stunning view of the masked chaos below. Purely aimed at tourists, the view was accompanied with jaw dropping prices for Vietnam, and not in a good way – a bottle of Ciroc vodka was A$150! A late night ensued, with the occasional memories lost along the way mostly due to our dear friend the vodka bottle.
While we could have spent days exploring Saigon, the next morning it was time to sort out some transport and head for the countryside to begin our quest. Initially the plan was to purchase second hand motorbikes with the intention to sell them at our destination wherever that may have been, but with 7 people it was sensibly decided that hiring might be a better option. This caused a world of pain in itself, with few hire stalls willing to let their bikes go out of the city, and many just laughing at us when we said that we were aiming to head at least 1000 km to the north. As we wanted to travel so far, most venders wanted a huge deposit per bike that was out of the question, or for us to surrender our passports as insurance that the bikes would be returned. With our road trip in jeopardy, a deal was settled with one particular vendor for A$5.50 per day per bike, and a risk was taken to leave two passports in his possession – only after making sure we had photos of his identification and address! So with transport settled and 2 passports in the possession of a complete stranger, what could possibly go wrong?
With 110cc of Yamaha and Honda fury beneath each of us, we set off onto the road and the river of other bikes. Now we were not within the safety of a cab, but fending for ourselves in the vehicular moshpit. While intimidating at first, we quickly came to terms with the fact that on these roads you simply needed to go with the flow, and keep an eye on your friends as not to lose them. General guidelines, I won’t say rules, are to try and stay on the right hand side of the road, and keep a steady speed and line. Aside from that, anything goes! You will commonly find yourself dodging someone driving or riding on the wrong side of the road, but it’s all part and parcel of the moving feast of Vietnamese traffic.
We had been told by the guy that rented us the bikes that if they broke, we would need to fix them. With an average of 50,000km+ on the clock on most of the bikes, with the rest not even having working odometers or speedometers, we were under no illusion that we were going to get away with no breakdowns. Sure enough, within 10 minutes of riding down the road, Matyas’s bike spluttered, stalled and failed to start. While back home this might cause a few dramas, here on the streets of Vietnam it was only a minor bump in the road. Within 50m there was a local with his mobile mechanic stall on the side of the road, who took a quick look at the bike. One cleaned spark plug later and we were on our merry way, for the grand total of a few cents and a thankyou wave.
First port of call was to check out the Cu Chi Tunnel network, approximately 25km north west of Saigon – or an introductory ride away if you will. The tunnels were used by the Viet Cong for guerrilla style warfare during the war and have since been widened and made taller so tourists can have a crawl through and see what conditions were like down there for months on end. It’s certainly not for the claustrophobic, even with the added room! A quick tour through the tunnel network ended with a short display on the types of traps that were used by the Viet Cong to protect their territory, with most of them being simply painful to look at, let alone be caught in – think metal spikes that pierce deeper the more you try to escape and you get the idea…
We had heard along the grape vine that next to the tunnels was a firing range where anyone could fire a variety of war relic weaponry for a few bucks, so naturally we jumped back on the bikes and headed down that road. For a dollar or two a round, AK47s, and M1 Garands were there for the taking. The barrels were strapped to the top of a wall to prevent any would be Rambo impersonators, and one by one we took a few shots down the range. The noise and shockwave of the firearms at full flight was a surprise to the uninitiated, as targets were demolished by pin point accuracy by the boys. Actually that’s how we wish it happened, with the occasional target seemingly going unscathed despite the best efforts of all involved!
With Cu Chi out of the way, the map was busted out and a plan was formulated for the first main leg of the journey. It was time to get out of the city area and experience the countryside, what we had really come to see and explore. With the seaside town of Nha Trang as the goal, we picked the squiggliest lines we could see on the map and it was settled. Little did we know that this would take us over some of the most stunning mountain passes any of us had ever seen.
First of all, we had to backtrack through the outskirts of Saigon, and head up the QL20 highway towards the mountain village of Da Lat. Battling traffic and roads that seemed like they had been subject to minor meteor strikes, progress was slow and night began to fall as we reached the north eastern edge of Saigon. We wanted to get as far as we could before it got dark and picked up the pace to try and get out of the city. Out of nowhere the local police force stepped out in front of Sharpy who was leading the convoy, and slapped him for speeding – 65 in a 40 zone. To our amazement they showed a digital image that they had taken of him on his bike, which was attached to a speedgun, superimposing the speed on the image. Amid much laughter from us for actually getting caught for speeding in a country that apparently had no road rules, he coughed up $12.50 for the fine we continued ahead. However our laughter was short lived, within 10km the rest of us suffered the same fate. Sure enough, there was the photographic proof that each of us were speeding through the town. Now we knew – in towns the speed limit was 40kph – who knew? Not that we paid much attention.
Our little convoy pulled over at a particularly tasty looking roadside stall, and suddenly we realised that someone was missing – Sharpy. Yep, somehow, the biggest guy for kilometres got separated from our group in the vehicular melee. Of course, his phone had also gone flat, and we were now acutely aware that somehow we had lost our mate in the middle of who knows where. A few scouting parties up and down the busy road returned nothing, and we settled down for dinner hoping that he would contact us soon. Thankfully, Sharpy had managed to find a powerpoint in a store to trickle some life into his phone and after an hour of uncertainty we were all at the one table, now more aware than ever to keep an eye on your mates in the chaotic traffic. A dodgy hotel was found and we called it a night.
We were up bright and early for the next day, an epic 200km quest to make it to the mountains and Da Lat. While 200km might not sound like a long way, trust me, on these roads and on these bikes, it was. The map highlighted the scale of our ambition, with an inland highway culminating in a windy hill climb to our goal. We set off and were met with the usual crazy traffic but were now accompanied by a new foe – buses and trucks ruled the roads here and took no prisoners. A two way arterial was the norm, yet the buses and trucks drove wherever they liked. If you heard that horn, you made sure you were out of the way!
The harsh sun beat down on our little convoy relentlessly, and by lunchtime we were already filthy with dust and road grime. It looked like we had spent the morning underground rather than simply in transit, and the day was only half over! As we made it further and further from Saigon, the traffic began to settle down and we began to see ourselves as seasoned pros on the bikes. Its amazing how quickly you adapt to what had only a few days earlier been a foreign chaotic mess on the streets.
The steady trickle of traffic faded away as we chanced ourselves upon a brand-new looking deserted highway, and the penny dropped as we instantly all had the same idea. We lined up across the four lanes and gunned it, living our lives a quarter mile at a time. For those few minutes or less, we were free! The pecking order was quickly established, with the difference in the condition of the bikes now shockingly apparent. While my bike seemed to hang with the best off the line, it was quickly left napping with an inferior top speed. With nightfall fast approaching, we needed to hightail it to make it to Da Lat while it was still light. It was time to test the bikes literally to their breaking points with a half hour full throttle mechanical beat down.
With my pathetic top speed I was quickly left behind by the others as they powered ahead. Suddenly, after sitting at around 70kph for around 10 minutes, bang! My faithful Yamaha made a horrible grinding sound and stalled, leaving me to slowly roll to a defeated stop on the side of the highway as the others disappeared into the distance, unaware of my demise. Holy shit, what happened? Motor? Surely not. A few cranks and it turned over, with the satisfying put put of its little cylinder letting me know that it was not dead yet. I eased on the throttle to rejoin the chase but the bike just sat there revving on the spot. Yep, driveline was gone! I called ahead by phone and the group came back to rescue me stranded on the side of the road.
The beauty of travelling by bike in Vietnam is that you are never far from a mechanic, and within a kilometre we found one on the side of the road, and gave him my stricken bike to take a look. Quickly the bike was pulled apart and the culprit was found as the drive belt fell to the ground in multiple pieces. Unfortunately, he had no replacements. So we were faced with two options in limited time – go and find a new belt ourselves and try and get back on the road that night or leave the bike at the mechanics overnight and find a belt in Da Lat, about 10km away, the next morning and bring it back.
As night fell we ran out of choices, temporarily abandoned the bike and headed towards Da Lat. So far during our journey we had avoided riding during the night, as the headlights on the bikes were the equivalent of little candles lighting the way. With no street lighting, the temperature dropping rapidly as we gained altitude, myself on the back of Matyas’s bike, and no warning if a truck was going to come flying around a blind corner on the wrong side of the road, everyone was on edge. After a painful half an hour, the picturesque lights of Da Lat appeared ahead, and our relieved convoy stopped at the first hotel we could find. It was considerably more luxurious than the last few places we had stayed, and all for only $10 for the night. After dumping our stuff and getting cleaned up, a bizarre trap door was found at the foot of one of the beds, which hid a creepy, pitch black, tiled chamber with about half a metre of water covering the floor. It was quickly dubbed the rape dungeon and covered back up, not wanting to know its purpose!
We woke the next morning and had not been murdered during the night thankfully – success! The next surprise was when we looked out the window and were greeted with a spectacular view of the hillside of which we had conquered in the dark the night before. With the constant humidity in Vietnam everything is strikingly green, providing a stark contrast to the dry brown suburbs we have come to get used to in recent history in Brisbane. The greenery was only broken up by rooves which peppered the hill, and it was clear that this mountainous development was so comprehensively integrated into the environment that you really had to look for it.
The morning’s mission was clear – find a new belt and get moving asap, as we were keen to hit Nha Trang by the end of the day. With only a broken belt and an obscure part number to aid us, it was quite a mission to locate a new one, but after half an hour and our best sign language, I had a ‘genuine’ Yamaha belt in my hot little hands. I jumped on the back of Morris’s bike and we shot back down the hill to the mechanic. We arrived to a sleepy scene, waking up the mechanic so he could put the bike back together. After a quick test ride it was good to go, and I asked in Vietnamese how much would that be? The reply shocked us all, as he was after a grand total of 50 cents. Yep, dismantling the bike, keeping it overnight, being rudely woken up by us in the morning, fixing and testing the bike, he was only after 50 cents. Shocked, I gave him the remaining change in my wallet, which was more than 5 times what he was chasing. In stark contrast to the cities, out here in the less densely populated areas we found that the locals weren’t out to rip you off, but were willing and able to help wherever they could. This made for a much more relaxing and rewarding experience, and this would only get better the further away from the main centres we got.
We headed back to Da Lat, where we found the rest of the mob exploring the local market and had a quick sightseeing ride around town before filling the tanks to the brim and heading towards Nha Trang. The route looked epic, a 100km downhill run and the windiest roads we had seen so far on the map. Sure enough, we were not disappointed.
The pass between Da Lat and Nha Trang would have to go down as one of the most amazing roads I have ever seen, and judging by the reactions of the others of what we had stumbled upon, I was not alone. Suddenly our 110cc bikes may as well have been MotoGP bikes, as we attacked corner after corner of this glorious road, each more satisfying than the one before. This ribbon of motoring perfection was coupled with spectacular views, with lush greenery joining the road on one side, accompanied by plunging cliffs on the other. This is what we had come to see and do. Suddenly nothing else mattered, not the mortgage, not the forum, not the team and all their bullshit. For those two hours or so, it was just you, the bike, and the road. The road seemed to continue forever, sucking you into each corner and rewarding you with another breathtaking scene that you could have sworn could not get better each time.
As we approached Nha Trang, the fairytale road flattened out and began to meander alongside a river towards the coast. We were full to the brim of confidence, and nothing could have been better. However we were brought crashing back to earth when the inevitable happened. Morris went slightly too deep into a corner and hit some gravel off the main line of the road and it was game over. The bike went down taking him with it, straight into the path of some rudimentary Armco adjoining the road. The damage included a few broken panels and some broken pride, but we counted ourselves lucky as the Armco had stopped the bike and Morris himself from falling down a riverbank straight into the water! While it was the first, it was certainly not the last crash we had over the course of our Vietnam adventure.
Due to our seemingly record pace down the mountain pass, we were afforded some time to cruise towards Nha Trang and check out interesting places along the way. As we were following the river, a wooden bridge that looked like it had been put together by small children caught our eyes. Naturally we had to suss out its structural integrity, regardless of the consequences. Little did we know that the path to the bridge was caked with mud, and we slipped down a hill on the bikes, more as passengers than riders. The bikes were suddenly filthy, and skids were inevitable. New challenges were formulated, such as who could ride the furthest through the mud, much to the amusement of everyone else when we failed. Simple pleasures like this were numerous, and if I were to describe every one of these moments we would be here forever. Needless to say, as rental bikes they were never going to be treated gently.
For the first time since Saigon, a city loomed in front of us in the form of Nha Trang. The bustle of traffic that we had been avoiding returned in waves as we penetrated the city centre. We found the main esplanade along the water and settled at a hotel, deciding that we would spend a few days here relaxing and taking a break from the past few tiring days. Unfortunately, Jared and Sharpy would be leaving us in a few days due to having booked earlier flights home for work commitments, so we were going to make the most of their time.
After the epic ride, we decided to go out for a quiet night and reflect on the incredible road we had discovered. Needless to say, one drink soon turned into many buckets of alcohol and the night went downhill from there. Soon we found ourselves at the cities most elite establishment, the Sailing Club located at a prime beachfront setting. The cheap buckets continued to flow, and not knowing what was in them proved to be a potent recipe. Fueled with alcoholic confidence, we found a group of willing young apprentices playing games on the beach and decided to start a massive session of red rover. Just like the Downshift meets, we started with only a small group. Within a few rounds we suddenly had over 50 people playing with us, causing havoc on the beach. I’d love to go into more depth on the shenanigans that occurred that night, however trying to piece together the flashes of falling into the ocean, finding parked jetskis, an abandoned zorb ball and somehow making it home eludes me. Lets just say that during that night what happened in Vietnam stays in Vietnam.
The next day the group was in a world of pain, none more than me who woke up on the hotel lobby couch, and the only remedy was to smash down some pork rolls with extra chilli and iced coffee which proved more effective than any panadol. Morris needed to fix his broken bike, so a mechanic was found to replace the broken panels and get the bike looking as good as new. We soon confirmed our suspicions that in the city you were more likely to get ripped off, and Morris was facing a hefty bill to get the bike back. After some negotiation the price came down to something more reasonable and we were back on our way. We headed south down along the beachfront and came across a residential estate, which was nearing its final stages of completion. It was clear that this area was going to be a gated community in the near future, however at this stage it was free to roam and explore. Fronting a picturesque bay setting, the tranquility was shattered by our arrival. Skids were once again on the cards as we found makeshift ramps to launch our bikes and work out who could get the most air.
As our hangovers receded, we headed to the beach to check out the water. Even though it was mid autumn, the water was warm and refreshing, and we spent most of the afternoon lounging around. As night fell we checked out the night markets and parked our bikes in an empty square. The markets came to life during the night, free from the abuse of the sun. It was almost a sensory overload as each stall fought to capture your attention, with as many shifting lights and gimmicks as possible. Somehow, inexplicably, Sharpy had managed to misplace his thongs during the adventures of the previous night and needed to purchase a new pair. Again, the cities and their reputation for ripping off travellers rang true, and he bought a pair of thongs with Puma, Nike AND Adidas branding for about the same price you would pay locally for thongs at Woolworths. Returning to our bikes we were shocked to see they were engulfed by a sea of locals that had gathered to watch a performance that was taking place infront of where we had parked. With no way of getting to our bikes, we sat and watched this strange dance that seemed to captivate so many local Vietnamese. After waiting what seemed like an age to rescue our bikes, we returned to the hotel and called it a night, but not before sinking some Vodka nightcaps.
The next day would be our last full day in Nha Trang, and we decided to make the most of it by basically doing nothing after having ridden around 800km in the past week. We found a rather shady tree on the beach and set up for the day, 40 cent beers in hand. Not only were we supremely content, food came to us, as local sellers pedalled their wares. They soon realised that we were settling in for the day and were competing with each other for our business. Lobster, crab, beer, Raybans, you name it, it came to us. After bartering for a while, a deal was struck for a few lobster that were cut open and cooked on hot coals right infront of us, providing the taste sensation that we had come to expect from the delicious food this country had to offer. We ate what would have been the equivalent of a few hundred dollars worth of seafood at home, for chump change.
With Sharpy and Jared’s deadline to go home fast approaching, we went for one final group ride. Jordan made the miraculous discovery that due to being carby powered, the bikes were capable of giant keybangs. This often sent those who were unaware a gunshot was about go to off next to their head swerving all over the road. Tunnels were particularly amusing. Sharpy and Jared had booked an overnight trainride for themselves and their bikes back to Saigon for their painful flight home. We all went to the station to send them off and say our goodbyes, wishing they could have stayed longer to continue on with our adventure. Back at the hotel we received a picture from Sharpy of the cramped conditions on the train and it made us feel not so bad.
[Sharpy] I need to backtrack slightly to the previous day when Jared and I dropped our bikes off at the train station. When we purchased our tickets, we made sure it included the price of transporting our bikes. We double checked this 3 times. Lo and behold when we dropped our bikes off, it was extra to transport them. Despite our objections, there was no getting past it. Back to present departure time we said goodbye to the others at Nha Trang train station and Jared and I headed over to the railway to find our booked carriage and cabin. A local lady caught us immediately. She said she’d help us find our carriage and led us up the railway. We got to a small stall where she sold chips and drinks and told us we should definitely buy stuff as there was no food carriage. I knew immediately this was a lie, but we’d already had dinner and instead of fighting the crowds on the narrow train and eating in less than standard conditions we bought some overpriced Pringles and drinks for the ride. Once she’d led us to our cabin, we thanked her and stood there awkwardly as she held out her hand and asked for money. Sick of being ripped off by now, we told her we’d already paid too much for her food and drink and shut the door.
In the 4 bed cabin we were the only two. Happy we didn’t have to share with strangers we went to sleep. Bliss. Unfortunately two hours into the trip we stopped at a train station and our sleep was invaded. Two locals entered our cabin, complete with a box of ‘something’ that smelled just like river water. Rejoice. A broken sleep due to smelly and chatting companions, we finally reached Saigon at 4am. We departed the train and headed to pick up our scooters.
Enter rip off city once more. As we approached the luggage collection area, the guard told us that it would be 120,000 dong to get our bikes back. I’d certainly had enough by now, and before Jared could say anything, I promptly told this gentleman where he could stick it, we’d paid for transportation and he will give us our bikes back. This did not work. He told us to come back at 7am (THREE HOURS LATER) to collect our bikes. This wasn’t enough. So after arguing with various officials about it, advising we would miss our plane if they didn’t let us collect our bikes, we paid A$1 (20,000 dong) for our bikes. They then refused to give us back the fuel they had drained from our tanks. As compensation they let us leave all our rubbish on their doorstep at the luggage pickup once they’d left, including some of Morris’s broken bike bits. Well… ‘let us’ is using that term loosely. From there it was basically just time killing, dropping off our scooters (as fixed as possible) and cabbing it back to the airport. After a long flight home, I was glad to be in my own house and bed again, somewhat jealous I wasn’t with the boys for the remainder of the trip. But then back in Australia, of all places I got hit with food poisoning. Awesome. Anyway, back to Alex in the studio…
[Alex] The group was now down to 5 for the remainder of the journey – Matyas, Mark, Morris, Jordan and Myself. We made the pledge to each other that we were now going to get more lost than ever, and go deeper into the remote areas of this amazing country. Our next stop was settled – we were going to try and make it to Hoi An before making our way back to Saigon. There were two possible routes – along the perilous and busy coastal highway, or getting lost on the inland route which took us close to the Cambodian and Laos borders. It was a no brainer and we decided on the inland route, but not before getting a good nights rest.
During our few days at Nha Trang we had seen this island across the foreshore, emblazed with a Hollywood-esque sign proudly projecting ‘Vinpearl’. The island contained the 5 star resort of Vinpearl, accompanied by a small water park and theme park. The island was accessed via a cable car, suspended above the ocean by pylons that were lit up at night to resemble the Eiffel tower. We decided to hit up the waterpark before leaving that day, and took the gopro along for the ride, for around $30 each including transit to and from the island.
Picture this – back home waterparks are regulated by all sorts of rules and restrictions – i.e. only one person on the slide at any one time. Not here. We basically had free reign of the park, and spent half a day packing as much ride time in as possible. No lines, no worries, max havoc.
Refreshed and reinvigorated from our relaxing stop over in Nha Trang, it was time to embark on the next leg of our journey. Hoi An beckoned, but not before a 5 day adventure through the country side, uncovering more hidden secrets that this stunning country had to offer. Keep your eyes peeled for the second and final part of our journey coming up soon!