Strangers with Candy

Throughout the night, I hear rain coming down in sporadic downpours. By dawn, the sky is gray, but the road is dry and people are out and about. After a filling breakfast of fruit, baguettes with cheese, and coffee, I strap the panniers on the bike and leave the enchanting Hoi An. Now the panniers are a couple of kilos heavier, thanks to the shirts and pants I had tailor-made at one of the shops.

The road goes through a couple of small villages before joining Highway 1. The scenery changes from anonymous and drab-looking towns to verdant rice paddies stretching to the horizon with small houses and huts dotting the landscape.

In the afternoon, the sky starts to darken. Then rain, first a few drops here and there, becomes a drizzle, then the sky opens up and comes a downpour. I duck into a roadside drink stand to wait it out. Swinging on a hammock and sucking on coconut juice through a straw, I really think I can get used to this.

The rain soon passes. I reluctantly roll off the hammock and start riding again.

In an hour, another downpour. Completely drenched, I stop at a tea house along with a few other people to wait out the rain. As I lean my bike against a fence post, a young couple on their motorbike rush in. I take out my map and ask them if they can point out where I am at the moment. As we start talking, I find out that Chuong and Thu are in their late twenties, have recently gotten married and moved up from Saigon. They live in a village outside of the next town five kilometers down the road. The conversation is a bit of a struggle as they reach for words, but much better than other talks I've attempted with the locals where I'm the one butchering the pronunciation of Vietnamese words. As the rain turns into a fine drizzle, they ask if I'd like to have coffee.

Sitting in a roadside cafe, we find out more about each other. I tell them the basics about myself and ask them about their family, jobs, etc. The rain gets heavy again. They look at each other, then invite me to spend the night at their home.

I hesitate for a split second. I hardly know these people, is it safe? It's the adult equivalent of taking candy from strangers. This could be the best experience on this trip, or it could turn into a nightmare. Are they planning on luring me into going somewhere with them, then kill me for my money and passport, or at least rob me? As these thoughts flash through my mind, I decide that it's one of the occasions where I should use my gut feeling - and my gut feeling says "Go for it!"

I ask them to repeat it again just to make sure I am hearing right. Yes, it is an invitation into their home. I agree, and thank them. With the rain lightening up again, we set off down the road, pass the town of Chau O, and out into the villages.

Stopping at a shop about five kilometers down a country road, Chuong introduces me to his counsin and her children. Like many people in small towns and villages, they operate a small shop in front of their house, selling snacks, coffee, and gasoline. As my gut instinct tells me again that these are genuinely hospitable people, I take the panniers off my bike when night falls. Then in a flash, the power is cut. Chuong says nonchalantly, "The electricity is out again." Apparently this is a common occurrance in his village.

Wanting to change out of my wet clothes, I ask for the bathroom where I can take a shower. I'm lead to the back of the house. Using gestures, Chuong's cousin tells me that there's no shower, but I can scoop water out of a bucket to wash. He then proceeds to use a bucket tied to a rope to take water out of a well. It'll be a cold wash, thankfully it's a warm evening. I'm now no stranger to washing by scooping water over my head.

After the refreshing "shower," I go back out to the front and chat with Chuong and Thu. Despite my hungry and grumbling stomach, I sit patiently for dinner. After an hour or so, Chuong tells me dinner is ready.

I turn around and see a beautiful spread of dishes sitting by candlelight on the sparklingly shiny tile floor. While I was in the bathroom, I heard a chicken being slaughtered. And here it is, being served up in a couple of plates. People stream in and take their seat on the floor, forming an oval around the food. Chuong's whole extended family is here: uncles, aunts, cousins, and children of various ages are all sitting down, talking to Chuong, and throwing glances and smiles at me.

Dinner starts with a round of cheers with beer. I normally don't drink, but this time I feel obligated to have a couple of glasses of beer. The food is most delicious - the best meal I've had on this trip: flavorful chicken with fresh basil; small spring rolls wrapped with pork and Vietnamese salad in rice paper, then dipped in light fish sauce; rice porridge cooked with chicken broth. I remind myself not to attack the food like I usually do after a long day of riding, but still help myself to helping after helping of the food. The beer is free-flowing among the other men in the circle. After the second glass, one of them takes out a bottle of the potent rice wine. This is where I draw the line. Running the risk of offending the hosts, I steadfastly refuse shots of the nosehair-wilting potion. Fortunately, they understand and I get away with just sipping beer.

After dinner, it's time to head to Chuong's house for some sleep. Chuong and Thu live with Chuong's brother and mother in a modest house next to the rice paddy they farm with a pig pen in front and chickens running among the trees. I sleep in the living room on a wooden bed covered by a frayed straw mat with a pink mosquito net hanging over it.

As I drift off to sleep, the rain starts to come down again, softly tapping on the roof; the trees outside rustle as the wind blows.

Stats:
Distance: 105.6 km
Time: 4h 44m
Average speed: 22.3 kmph
Odometer: 704.0 km