24th August

Breakfast time!

The nice ladies at reception brought us a massive loaf of bread and some sticky jam (each!), which was just as well as I was starving. Unfortunately, the bread rolls had been baked hollow, and were remarkably unfilling. The coffee was exceptionally good and though there didn't seem to be any milk on offer, a tin of condensed gloopy creamy stuff seemed to be the way forward. It had the combined effect of making my coffee look white, and taste fantastic.

The task for the day was to acquire a bike. Or, more precisely, two bikes. Off we set on our merry way down the back streets of District 1, aiming to get to Binh Tay market in District 5 for a bit of light hearted bartering and some good humoured patting on the back at having got ourselves such a good deal.

The walk there was enlightening. My first experience of crossing a busy high street in daylight was also almost my last. It's true what they say... The only rule that seems to apply on the roads here is that people will stop for traffic lights. Sometimes. There are lanes, or sides, of the road, which generally seem to contain traffic flowing in one particular direction, but again this doesn't seem to be a hard and fast rule. Crossing a road safely involves growing an extra set of eyes, looking around a lot, both ways, twice, and then again, stepping out gingerly into the street, walking slowly through (yes, through) the traffic, and trying not to get hit. Unsurprisingly, your natural instinct is to run, but once you learn not to it's actually (moderately) safe. Still, I have yet to see a traffic jam!

The sound of the city is very much one of engines in various stages of throttle. Big, growling noises come from the odd bus, a few baritone rumbles from the odd delivery truck and more sullen notes from the taxis, but by far the majority of irritated blasts are from the thousands upon thousands of bikes. The backdrop of Saigon is punctuated by these honks and sirens of all notes and intensities. If you were to cross the road blindfolded (possibly not as ridiculous as it sounds), you could be sure to judge the length and severity of your hospital stay by the number and pitch of honks aimed in your direction...

It turned out we had an oddly-scaled map. Binh Tay market was approximately 6 miles away, on one of the hottest days ever. We had walked, sweated, tanned, and blistered our way to the market, only to be greeted with incomprehensible stares, blank faces, and a lot of fist waving in the air (we later understood this to mean, simply, "no") when we pointed at a picture of a motorbike to various vendors and locals. Frustrated, thirsty, and in an increasingly bad mood, we decided to branch out and head into the shops selling brand new vehicles for some information.

We were greeted (if that's the right phrase) with even more apathy than before. The way shop assistants seem to deal with a situation they don't like or understand is to simply ignore it. Which is both maddeningly and precisely what they did. Getting more and more frustrated and fed up, we started thinking of other options. A train to Da Lat? A bus ride to the Meekong Delta? What about all our luggage? Thoroughly exhausted, and in desperate need of some shelter, we hailed a taxi (air conditioned) and took another $7 hit (ouch) for a ride back to the hotel.

After the day's events my expectations of what we would be riding north had been successively demoted from a Harley, to an off-roader, to a dirt bike, to a scooter, to a wheel, to a hedgehog, to a spoon. However, a quick discussion later we decided that bikes were definitely the way forward, and the purposeful re-affirmation of our holiday's main priority was enough to push us through. We got them later that day! One 110cc Honda each, though the models, and more importantly the colours, are different.

Exhausted, ecstatic, and extremely proud, we tested them for the first time.

Well, Tris did.

"Can you actually ride a bike? asked a local Vietnamese girl who spoke a smattering of English. "Er... Well, not a manual one, no." came my sheepish, but cleverly worded, response. That seemed to be enough for the girl, who quickly phoned The Uncle. He arrived shortly afterwards, and proceeded to pick up my bike and drive round the city with me hanging off the back seat. He took us on a tour, through back streets and across the Saigon River, down streets lined with neon signs and cheap smells, across highways of traffic, swerving through a multitude of bikes and in front of, around, and behind buses of all shapes and sizes. It was exhaustingly incredible. This is the way Saigon is supposed to be seen.

We sailed past a shop selling shoes, the flashing sign outside proudly displaying the fact that there were red shoes on offer. Strange how the word Red appeared for a lot longer than the word Shoes. A pair of bikes appeared menacingly on either side of me in a classic pincer movement, but avoided crashing by speeding away at the last moment. I saw the two girls on the back of the bikes laughing flirtatiously with the boys in front, and noticed that these sort of night time rides constitute dating. It must be popular...

In fact, probably the closest I can come to describing the feeling of being driven around Saigon on the back of a bike is to compare it to one of the motorbike missions on Grand Theft Auto! I felt like I had to get somewhere before the timer ran out, to meet with my new 'contact', or to blow something up. This last point seemed a bit far fetched until we passed ammunition shops on the way, and they weren't even down the back alleys... For a relatively small bike there is a tremendous amount of acceleration, even with two people on board. Honda provided some handy railings around the back seat to deal with the problem of "man overboard" situations, which I took full advantage of. They were quite sweaty by the time my ride was over.

After our tour, the uncle decided to test my driving skills. The test site chosen was, quite handily, the main road. Just outside the hotel. I say main. More like the Champs Elysee was closed and they diverted all traffic from both directions down my test site / main road aproximately two bus widths wide. Just trying to cross it is panic-inducing enough. I thought I'd try my luck on the pavement first, and tentatively eased the throttle forwards. Success! Riding a bike is easy (at 2 km/h). I got at least 3 or 4 meters down the pavement, narrowly avoiding an old woman pushing a cart and a bunch of school children, and looked up to find a smartly dressed policeman staring at me. Awkwardly. Disconcertingly, he wasn't sweating.

I turned around in a beautifully executed 11-point turn, sweating profusely (how does he not sweat in this heat?) and headed back towards the hotel to worried and amused looks in equal proportions. "You need some practice" was the general opinion. I agreed.

We waited for a lull in the traffic, which surprisingly didn't take too long, and, with my heart in my mouth, my hands slick with sweat and my head full of instructions it was trying to send to various limbs, I did it. Look left, right, left, right, left again, and right one more time for good measure, then throttle... on! Way, way too much. I heard screams, I panicked and tried to brake, but succeeded only in throttling some more - straight towards a parked taxi. More screaming, a loud "Bob!" from somewhere behind me, and with the first of the oncoming cavalcade of bikes in my sights, I had nothing for it but to continue. A swift swerve to the right, a gear change (nice...) and some handlebar stabilisation later, I found myself pointed in the right direction on the right side of the road, and absolutely alive.

I got to the end of the road and stopped for the traffic light, which helpfully counted down from 26 so you can decide (at 4) when to start revving your engine. When it hit 4 and people around me started to rev, I snapped back into action, heard loud, hot noises all around me, and realised I wasn't breathing. A few seconds later I was back in the throng, in control, breathing once again, and beaming ear to ear. This is the way to see Saigon.

Half an hour or so later I felt relatively comfortable on the bike, and managed a couple of runs around the local park. All was going well until... I stalled, in possibly the worst place it's possible to stall. An intersection, 3 lanes wide, with north, south, east and west exits, and I was in the middle. Completely in the middle. I tried the starter motor, but that failed. I panicked again. I tried the kick starter, but only succeeded in burning my leg against the exhaust (design flaw, anyone?), and then the traffic started flowing across me. That's right, across me. I think I closed my eyes, all I remember is a lot of shouting, some wry giggles from girls on the back of bikes, and one remarkably astute comment from an oncoming citizen as he wailed "Oh shiiiiiiit..." that dopplered to something more recognisably western as he passed within inches of my foot.

I eventually got it started again and rode back to base. Despite the upset, it was, quite simply, incredibly good fun. Riding down busy, crowded streets as people chatter over you, joining in their conversations as they hail "hello" when they scoot past, experiencing the thrill of the wind on your face as you (you!) are in control, weaving in and out of the traffic, avoiding stereotypically Vietnamese women in their stereotypical straw hats as they draw their stereotypical carts blindly across lanes of traffic, and stopping, occasionally, for the odd pedestrian.

Riding a bike. Is amazing.