Monday, September 5, 2011

Vietnam XI, Dalat

After three nights in the bars and clubs of Nha Trang, getting up early was hard for me. My mood worsened when I saw the flat front tire on my bike. All in all a bad start to a bad day.
Once my tire was patched, I set off to the highlands of Vietnam. My destination for the day was Dalat. Dalat is known for its French look and feel. Moreover, the climate in the highlands of Vietnam is much milder than in the rest of the country.
Before I continue writing about Dalat, I must describe in detail what happened on the way. I rode my bike from Nha Trang on secondary roads to Dalat. My gearlever caused me quite some problems, before but on the first section of this road it failed me all the way. The gearlever slipped permanently from the worn gear wheels of the corresponding shaft. I could not change the gears any more and had to consult a mechanic. The mechanic was able to fix the problem. However as so frequently in Vietnam only provisionally. I drove on and was soon in the midst of an ascent, which meanders for kilometers up the mountain. The bike went well despite my misgivings. Until the time as the provisional fix no longer worked. I drove in second gear until the motorcycle went out on a particularly steep spot. Without villages and thus mechanic in direct proximity, I had to fix the problem myself. After a short time I was joined by a Vietnamese couple and demoted from chief mechanic to spear carrier. My ego could cope with that and a little later I went on with a new provisional fix in place. When that no longer worked again I was fed up. I stood on the roadside next to my motorcycle and tried to stop trucks or buses to get a lift to Dalat.
After several failed attempts, I stopped a truck, but this one was too big and so the driver of truck one stopped a smaller truck. We agreed on a price, and shortly afterwards I went in the cab of truck one while my bike in the back truck two followed us. After 25 kilometers we stopped at a garage for trucks. There, the screw was replaced by a welded seam.
The rest of the way to Dalat I drove through rain at temperatures, that for me at this stage of my journey were only slightly above freezing (20 degrees Celsius).
I found a cheap guesthouse in Dalat off the main tourist stream. The cold rainy weather went on outside the hotel room, I ignored it as good as possible and ended the bad day in front of the television.
After the first bad day in Dalat, the second was only marginally better. I drove through the city in the morning until rain made me fled to the save haven of an internet cafe. When the rain was over I wanted to move on, but my Minsk had chosen not to. The first three mechanics on this road didn’t want to touch my Minsk, and then I found someone who tried but failed to repair it. I needed a specialist for Minsk bikes.
To determine whether there is someone in Dalat, I went to the Easy Rider Cafe. The Easy Riders are a group of motorcycle tour guides, who have adequate knowledge of English and of the area in order to create attractive tours. Mr. Binh or easier to remember Mr Bean had been a great help to find the Minsk workshop and rent a truck for transporting the motorcycle there. At the workshop the owner Sinh, a native of the North Vietnamese owners, started to work on the bike immediately. After two hours Sinh came to the conclusion that he had to open the engine. For me this meant another day in Dalat.
Later that day I walked into the city again and found that Dalat has its share of beautiful sites. But my bad mood, due to the continued bad weather and problems of my Minsk, clouded this impression.
The third day was by far the best in Dalat. I could pick up my motorcycle. A new cylinder and electronics should fix the problems. My suspicion about Dalat leads to the fact that I did very little on this day. I did not want to risk another bad day in Dalat.
Early in the morning of the fourth day I said goodbye to the guest house owners and drove towards the coast. A few days on the beach should make the chaos of my stay in Dalat forgotten.







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