It’s
a thousand steps to the top of the mountain.
Just
for reference – this blog is being written in a Cajun café on a side street in
Ho Chi Minh City’s backpacking neighborhood.
Johnny
Ngo (pronounced like No – as if he were the grandson of Sean Connery’s 1963
James Bond antagonist) shows up at our hotel at 7am. He and I are going to Ba
Den Mountain – riding motorbikes the hundred or so kilometers outside of Saigon
to get there.
I
hop on back of the bike and we swing by Johnny’s neighborhood to pick up a
second one for me and then we are off. Weaving through traffic in Saigon is a
spiritual experience – one has to get into the flow of the arterial rush the
pop pop popping of exhaust providing a bass backbeat to the incessant horn
tooting. The horns are not so much aggressive as they are informational. “I am
here – hold your line – don’t do anything stupid – I’m crossing this
intersection!”
The
trick to maneuvering in a undulating mass of pulsating motorbikes – and I mean
a mass – a beach ball thrown atop this fray would never hit the pavement – the
trick is: never look back. You are only responsible for what is ahead of you,
your eyes on the riders and wheels in front – everyone tacitly agrees to this
code and that’s what makes it work – you see an opening – take it – dart into
that gap – scoot around that little girl with the hello kitty helmet – take the
sidewalk if you have to – just be smooth. He who hesitates is lost.
After
45 minutes or so of high density commuting the throngs begin to whittle off bit
by bit and the buildings begin to have spaces between them and after an hour
these spaces become fields and Johnny Ngo and I are riding side by side across
a rural countryside and we are happily participating in the world.
Water
buffalo are a suspicious lot. I dismount the Honda and walk closer to get a
better photo of the big guys. They are coated in drying mud that they have
rolled in to cool off and protect themselves from insects. The dry and caking
muck has an almost dark blue tint to it and I wonder if Vietnam has any
mythological characters who would parallel Paul Bunyan. The biggest of the
bunch snorts a little as I approach and has that look in his eye that could
either mean he is going to turn and run or he is going to charge. I eye the
rope looped through his nose and its length and calculate exactly how far I
need to be in case he decides the latter.
A
couple pics and we’re on our way again but not before we make a new friend. A
young man collecting recycling in a pedal powered cart is intrigued with the
white guy hanging out with Johnny. He learns I am American and wants to
practice his English on me. He decides that what he lacks in vocabulary and
grammar he will make up for in volume. He shouts at me how physically fit he is
and then proves it by throwing off his shirt and dropping and giving me a dozen
push-ups. I’m as bewildered with him as
the water buffalo were with me. Johnny dubs him Noisy Man and we bid him fare
well and zip away.
Our
first official stop is for iced coffee and water for the road. This consists of
two tall iced coffees with sweetened condensed milk – a pot of jasmine tea to
pour over the ice once the coffee is drunk – and a couple bottles of water to
take on the bikes. Total cost 23,000 dong. That’s $1.06 if you’re keeping
score. Zoom zoom zoom.
Next
we visit the largest Buddhist temple near Saigon – Cao Đài Temple - quite
possible the biggest in Vietnam – maybe in the world - but I know to take these claims with a grain
of salt until confirmed and I have not confirmed it as of yet – but I was duly
impressed. Atop the temple sits a
dragon/horse hybrid sculpture balancing on a representation of the earth. Inside an all Seeing Eye peers from a
spherical depiction of the universe – thus, the temple is bigger on the inside
than it is on the outside since earth rests atop and the universe sits within.
Somehow this seemed poetically justified.
Next
we head to the mountain after a quick stop for a bowl of pork noodle soup to
fortify us – there are 1,000 steps to climb after all. Our lunch companions were three dogs of
ascending size who patiently watched and waited for bits to be tossed their way
– we did not disappoint.
The
mountain is a weekend destination and this being a Tuesday we had the place
almost to ourselves. There is a cable car that goes up but we opted to take the
stairs. It took us about half an hour to get to the Lady Buddha temple perched
atop increasingly steep steps. I commented to Johnny how well I was doing
keeping up with him since I am almost twice his age and as I was doing so, a
guy with a 75-pound bag of rice across his shoulders passed us. Everything is
relative.
Once
we reached the end of the steps we had three options to get back down, the
cable car – a twisting toboggan on wheels slide thing – and the steps. We never
considered the steps and argued the pros and cons of the other two conveyances.
It was decided the cable car would offer a chance for photos and that in the
searing heat the concave metal track that the sleds rode down would approximate
a convex cooker – we would be medium well by time we hit bottom.
The
mountain in our rearview mirrors we motored to Johnny’s great uncle’s house to
pick up some incense to burn at his grandfather’s grave which was in the area.
I chatted with Johnny’s great uncle and his cousin – a barber whose shop was an
open brick gazebo structure right out front of the house. I drank a tall glass
of iced jasmine tea and Johnny was served his in a measuring cup – nothing but
the best for family! We went to his grandfather’s gravesite, burnt the incense
– another relation who came along left a lit cigarette and then we pointed out
scooters back toward Saigon and the three hour ride.
Returning
to the city was like swimming into a lit roman candle. At first the traffic is
sparse like the furthest reaching sparkles of a fountain fireworks but the
closer we got the more intense and concentrated the sparks became. And as
sunset commenced the effect of weaving through a swarm of festively noisy fireworks
intensified. I occasionally texted Sara as we journeyed back as the three hour
jaunt stretched to four plus so she needn’t worry that I had ended up a
flattened pancake on the roadway. But, obviously, we arrived safe and sound –
returning my borrowed motorbike then hopping behind Johnny we returned to the
hotel, grabbed Sara and had a nice relaxing dinner all together.
They
say every journey starts with a single step – this day we had a thousand starts
and I knew enough to look ahead the whole time.
