Mai Chau

Mai Chau was indeed a very special place indeed, and I am so glad I listened to my intuition to stay there for the whole next day instead of rushing off to the next destination on my motorbike journey.

After some hot showers, and a fantastic dinner for three made for the two Belgian guys and me on the first night by Hua, the Black Thai villager who was hosting us in the homestay, Peter, Loic and I stayed up talking, journaling, sharing music from our Ipods, hanging our wet clothes and stuff to dry, and eventually going to sleep with the sounds of the frogs and insects as our bedtime lullaby.

We woke in the morning to a good breakfast, and hung about. The guys were planning on leaving that morning as they were trying to catch up to some Americans from Chicago who were also motorbiking their way south on the Ho Chi Minh trail, but, it was not meant to be. The rain started again, and while waiting it out we decided to visit a local mechanic to fix the various issues each of our bikes were having. We drove up the hill and stopped almost immediately, as the roads and villages of Vietnam are covered with motorbike mechanics (mostly out of people's homes, with a sign advertising 'Rua Xe'). We communicated through gesturing what needed doing on each of our bikes, and as the rain continued, we hung out with the Vietnamese mechanics (who were masters of their trade and had us fixed up in no time, at an unbelievably cheap rate) under cover from the rain, as they passed their Bamboo Water Pipe to the guys, as I watched.

Despite the rain, I felt a sense of urgency pulsating through my being that said I couldn't just sit around- I had to explore! So I motorbiked it back to our homestay, and rented a bicycle. I got my big rain poncho on, and went off into the rain, well-protected and happy. I rode around for the next 6 hours until it got dark! I stopped at the same Pho restaurant twice during that time to fuel my activities, well-fed by a warm elder Vietnamese lady, who I watched terrible Vietnamese soap operas with while I consumed my lunch and then late-afternoon snack. It was quite sweet.

After a half an hour or so, the rain let up and the sun came out. I went wherever my feet pedaled me to, following only beautiful sites as my guide, constantly stopping to take photographs, turning into alleys and side streets and passing by adults and children bathing in small waterfall areas, passing by water buffaloes rolling in the mud, and people cycling and motorbiking by. The scenery is beautiful lush green-covered mountains, rice paddy fields, and sunshine. I actually started crying at one point for the beauty of it all.

At one point, I stopped to take a photograph of a dog that was sleeping on a stairway up to its house, and as I did, a young woman named Thien pulled up on a motorbike next to me, and began asking me where I was from in English. After only one minute, she invited me into her house (the same of the sleeping dog) and I shared tea with her and her father. We chatted for about half an hour, as Thien and I spoke in English, and she translated between me and her father, who kept asking me if I wanted to marry a Vietnamese man. I had such a pleasant stay there, and left feeling quite happy.

I continued exploring and riding around, and the more I kept thinking about Thien and her father, the more I got a strong desire to give them something. Thien's father had offered me to smoke from his Bamboo Water Pipe, but to preserve my lungs I declined. He had pointed with disdain to his empty pack of cigarettes, expressing that his favorite cigarettes were gone. I found the nearest shop, and bought 3 packs of these cigarettes (for a total adding up to the American equivalent of about $2.50) and a roll of candy for Thien. I rode my bike back to their house, expecting to merely drop the goods off secretly with a note, but I was spotted instantly, and invited in again with gratitude, and a request that I photograph the father working his hammock-weaving loom.

I came inside, and was followed and greeted by about ten more family members and neighbors, who observed the excitement of a foreigner in the house, and the father working the intricate loom with his feet. I took photos of him, as well as three generations of women in the family sitting together. We had a wonderful time drinking tea and laughing with whatever means of communication we possessed, and my heart was touched by this special connection.

Back to the bicycle after an hour, I explored the roads until the air began cooling and the sky was growing dark. I returned to my homestay dirty, sweaty, and happy.

There were a handful of new people just arrived to our place, and that night was quite fun as I shared a hearty meal with a German woman. She spoke a bit of English, but she said Spanish was easier for her, so we had a passionate discussion in Spanish about travel, international politics, and life. She was great, and it was quite an excellent hour and a half meal!

I spent the rest of the evening talking with Karim, an Israeli man who gave me a 3 hour photography lesson in how to use the manual settings on my camera, as well as talking about life and travel. He also sent me off the next morning by accompanying me to a mechanic to fix the odometer on my bike (something I had not thought to fix the previous day) and drove me the first 10km of my ride towards Son La, my next destination, where he then said goodbye and boarded his bus back to Hanoi. I was sad to leave this beautiful village-town, but had many kilometers and days to go on this mysterious Northwest journey!