From heaven via hell to the sea

The last day in biker heaven in Da Lat takes us directly to a communist toboggan run. We speed down into the valley to a waterfall, then up to the second ride. For the first time in Vietnam, a person drives carefully. In this case, far too carefully. A Vietnamese man blocks the toboggan run at 5 kilometres per hour, a path on which you don’t encounter ghost drivers every minute.

Back at the hotel, we saddle up our bikes and take an alternative route back to the sea. My sense of direction usually puts us on the right roads. But we still have to keep asking. The maps are too bad and the signs are extremely sparse. We drive through cloudy rainforest mountains on mogul tracks through the Vietnamese highlands.

My motorbike is whistling out of its last hole. In this case in the form of the front brake. It constantly brakes with a slight whistle. The rear brake works too well. If you press a little too hard, the rear wheel locks up completely for a short time. On the first 500 metres downhill, this gives me additional tension for free before every bend – in addition to the question of whether a truck is coming towards me in my lane behind the bend.

The end of the highlands is marked by the Nguon Muc Pass. At the top, vendors sprint towards us. A communist marketing student speaks quite good English. I ask her if there is such a thing as a driving licence in Vietnam. She says: Only for motorcyclists.

Only 1000 metres further down, 20 degrees hotter and 50 km further on, I have to ask myself about the meaning of this regulation. In a street village, there is a crowd of people around a truck. Its front looks as if it has had a collision with a medium-sized car. But it hasn’t. A completely mangled scooter lies in front of it. A few metres further on, a crying Vietnamese woman bends over a colourful rice straw mat with blood running out from underneath. A pair of women’s shoes lies far apart on the tarmac. A single child’s shoe lies between them. The blind spot in Vietnam is 360 degrees.

We rush wordlessly the last 100 kilometres back to the sea on Highway 1. At some point behind a truck. It races through built-up areas for several kilometres, sweeping weaker road users out of the way with its 120 dB horn. He doesn’t swerve once. Pig from the left, ox from the right, dog from behind, cattle from the front.

After a total of 600 kilometres on Vietnam’s roads, we arrive safe and sound in Mui Ne by the sea late in the afternoon. I have been recharging my karma for six hours today. Every 15 minutes I avoid a potentially fatal accident that wasn’t my fault. I have no problem with danger. It teaches you to value safety. But riding a motorbike in Vietnam is different. It changes my spelling. In future I will write madness with a V.