We awoke to a chilly morning by comparison to find that the beetles were still in the planning stages of their invasion and that the showers were cold. Following a breakfast of more noodle soup, which Andy greeted with a smile that said ‘this isn’t coffee.’ We got back of the bikes with arses that remembered the day before and took a sandy track up to the mountain while Chris tried to work out how to turn off his indicators. After a quick stop at another village we were off on the road we had traversed the night before, this time able to appreciate the view and the objects to avoid in the daylight. We took the back towards Da Nang, the nearest city to Hoi An, through a path that made yesterday’s look like a nursery slope. We sped through the mountainous countryside that was much closer in its lushness and Chinh increased his speed as pace-setter along with the downhill degree. No photos of this section of the ride exist and Laura and I clung on for dear life, our heads twisting and turning trying to memorise each astounding view of mountains, lakes and lush greenery as we rounded bend after bend. For me this was definitely the best part of the tour, like a self-driven roller-coaster that was terrifying, exhilarating, astoundingly beautiful and seemingly never-ending.
There were few stops on this part of the journey but everyone was glad to stop to look at an authentic Vietnamese tomb and the offerings selected to accompany them to the next world, if for nothing else than to stagger round and make sure the ground was still there. After stopping to look at the tea fields we burned up the rest of the road to Da Nang where Chris and Andy were treated to some light ruleless city driving. After lunch we stopping to look at the beach underneath a cloud-topped mountain but as the speed of the bikes dropped so did our enthusiasm for stopping and looking.
Between Da Nang and Hoi An stand the reasonably impressive Marble Mountains. As we arrived the film of sweat and dirt was starting to sit uncomfortably on our skin and visions of a cool swimming pool and colder beer were swimming in front of our eyes. Deciding to leave the 136 steps to the viewing point of the mountain to another time we dutifully traipsed into the marble shop Mr Chinh was pointing us into as we treated to the hard sell. I managed to escape the clutches of the persistant woman who repeated ‘Lovely Jubbly’ at us until Andy took one for the team and bought the cheapest trinket he could find.
Our final stop was the Vegetable Village which sounded reasonably interesting. I kept my fingers crossed for houses made from various vegetables, walls from sturdy marrows, thatch roofs of cabbage and door knockers of plump tomatoes. Possibly even little vegetable people to come out and show us their way of live, tottering towards us on cucumber legs, looking at us with grape eyes and proffering their carrot fingers to shake. Alas once we arrived it couldn’t be denied that Vegetable Village, despite Chinh opening his arms wide as if to display a kingdom ,was an allotment. The last section of road was a sad one as we knew the journey was ending but not as sad as for Chinh who knew that in a few minutes an emotional farewell was required. As we parked our bikes and paid to keep Mr Chinh’s children in i-phones for the next year he politely hoped that Christina and Lauren had had a nice time, he shook Chris and Andy’s hands wishing them well and then turned to Tim. After promises they would be reunited once more in Siagon to listen to music together Mr Chinh finally threw himself at Tim in a man hug that emulated the last scene of the Killing Fields before stepping aside to let us pass.
So our motorbike tour of Vietnam was over without even a glimpse of Jeremy Clarkson.
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