Butt poking and other stories

We woke this morning, just at dawn, in the town of Chi Thanh and a characteristic bicycling day commenced. Pack clothes left out to dry, stretch out kinks, load up on drinking water from someone's clean jug, and pedal out for breakfast. It's 6am but most of Vietnam is awake: trucks honking through town, women setting up chicken behind breakfast stalls, men smoking and consuming coffee sitting in ever-present Little Red Chairs. Even before leaving town we stop for breakfast; a stall displaying slices of egg and rice noodles. A loudspeaker broadcasts a mix of talking and "rousing" country pride music at the street corner nearby. I find that the smaller towns have this broadcast system: I suppose to spread news or some such to everybody.

I'm standing there, peering at the display of rice noodles, and feel a sharp poke in my butt. Looked up in surprise and there is a gray-haired little woman grinning all cheeky at me. We both laugh; I must say, these bike shorts sport humongous padding and I'd too want to poke any butt inside them.

Bike shorts or no, however, both Lady Elise (aka "Buddy Lissy") and I have noticed the Vietnamese to be unfettered in their grabbing and touching. Last night a Mrs. Soup latched onto my arm to lug me over to her pot, and I've had my short hair picked at while bending over my bicycle. Lady Elise has been led by the wrist to fruit displays, and my watch was plucked and examined today. We are no doubt very curious creatures, and the Vietnamese seem to have a much different sense of personal space than do Americans.

We continue riding on Highway 1. Forgive me for writing the following: mist-shrouded mountains, teal blue ocean waters, untouched sandy beaches, craggy mountain outcrops. Writing these things I feel trite and like all those novels describing "beautiful scenery". But it is true! This is stunningly marvelous to ride through. I get chills sometimes, even through the merciless and vigorous sweating.

And it is hilly. Compared with some of the grades we climbed in Thailand (thoughtlessly steep buggers)--and Cambodia was flat--the hills here are thoughtfully no more than 10%. But lugging five water bottles and a hand of bananas (this is me at Maximum Capacity) up any sort of hill, especially in the heat, is no easy matter. Standing and pumping and reaching and sweating....  Today a loaded truck climbed next to me; it's gears growled it slowly and steadily up the hill. So close to me....I've always wanted......hm!....why not...

So I maneuvered just a little closer, carefully balancing, and reached and grabbed one of the tie ropes. Ta-da! A nice tow up that long hot hill.