On the road from Hûé to Hoi An, Vietnam: when a motorbike gets caught with a bus in its face
I bought a small motorbike, a Honda Win 100, which is very popular in Vietnam. The project is to join Hanoi to Ho Chi Min by the very famous Ho Chi Min Trail road.
A bus against a small motorbike, it’s unfair
I leave Hûé early in the morning to go to Hoi An, small town by the sea.
I drive quietly, stop to take pictures of the coast and the rice fields.
Everything is going well. The bike is running like clockwork, the weather is fine. But then, out of nowhere, in a blind bend, a bus arrives in front of me, on my way side and sends me inthe air in a huge shock.
I have time to see the driver’s exorbitant eyes, my foot and my right hand trying to brake. But it’s too late.
Boom.
No, I’m not dead
I only remember the black hole that exploded in my face. It feel like flying. I’m lying on the road and I can’t move my limbs or my head. I can’t do anything.
I have a furious desire to sleep. I am in the dark. Panic is building up around me. I can’t move but I can hear them.
Vigorous, authoritarian arms grab me, lift me up, carry me off to the side.
“Slowly, slowly, leave me alone“.
I speak French. I don’t see anyone. I can’t move.
My head rolls, my arms don’t respond, like soft rubber bands.
People try to sit me down. I don’t want to. I want to lie down. I want to rest. I don’t want to be shaken, I don’t want to be touched.
I am completely under shock.
“Slowly, slowly“
I still haven’t rebuffed my neural server, the noise, the shouting in Vietnamese and all his hands that never stop pulling and pushing me.
I can feel hands trying to violently take my helmet off, like pulling out a bad grass. The helmet held by the chin strap resists and the attempts become violent, my head is shaken in all directions.
And then a miracle happened in my brain, it suddenly starts working again. Somehow I come to the surface.
Like a windsock, I get up, take a few steps, take off my helmet, throw it on the ground and I shout “what the hell is that! ».
Adrenaline, this wonderful catecholamine comes to my rescue
They are all so surprised that nobody opens their mouths anymore.
They look at me like an alien.
I walk another five metres, come back, walk, go back. I am lost, confused.
My trousers are torn at the thigh, the knee, the crotch and my eyebrow arch is bleeding.
My satchel that I always carry around my neck is still there, inside it is my credit card, my passport, my iPhone, some money. In my small backpack I have my camera, in working order.
I will however wait a few hours to get the computer out of the big backpack which has ended up in the middle of the road as I fear the worst. One problem at a time.
The bus driver is a hit-and-run driver
The bus driver is quite agitated. He is all white and covered in sweat.
He takes me in his arms several times and slaps me on the back several times, he’s certainly happy that I’m alive. He was realy scared for me, in other words for himself. Killing a tourist is not good. You have to pay a lot to compensate the family.
Fortunately, the people on the bus are kind. It is a good bet that if he had been alone, the driver would have run away.
Everybody takes care of me. Who better to stick a bandage on my forehead, to offer me water, wipes, fruit juice?
They are nice but they tire me out. They want to know my name, where I come from, how old I am. They really tire me out. I have to speak English, I have to make a huge effort to understand them.
Everything around me is too noisy, the buses keep honking their horns, the traffic has resumed.
Suddenly I realise that I’m on the bus again
Well, I don’t know how, but I really don’t know, I find myself sitting in the bus that is driving towards Hûé.
I am still in shock. My arms and hands start shaking uncontrollably.
I ask where my backpack is. Nobody understands me. I repeat the question several times. A young woman jabbering a few words of English asks me:
“Are You OK ? ».
I roar. Out of me. It’s the adrenaline that’s still pumping to make me scream like that. “I’m OK! Tell me where is my backpack! »
She finally understands and shows me my bag, thrown between the back seats.
OK.
The contact is back in my head and I ask, after a blank: “Where is my motorbike?“
Same scenario. I get a little nervous and mime the handlebars by doing “vroum-vroum“.
The young woman ends up pointing at me, through the window, at a guy driving my motorbike on the side of the road.
My bike is rolling!
But now I realize that we are riding in the opposite direction to Hoi An.
“Stop the bus! »
The driver doesn’t want to stop, he’s laughing. I have to get angry.
“I don’t want to go to Hûé! I’ve just come from there! I want to go to Hoi An! »
I finally understand that they want to take me to the hospital. And that is out of the question. I’ve checked my joints, arms, legs, head, everything works.
I’m still a little confused, I don’t analyse the situation very well but I don’t feel any profound discomfort.
By dint of shouting “stop the bus now“, we finally stop.
Everyone is around me, taking pictures. I am completely overwhelmed
I don’t know what they’re up to. They all talk at the same time. They entrust my bike to someone who can’t do anything because he doesn’t have the spares. They don’t answer my questions, they don’t understand me.
The sweaty driver stealthily gives me 400,000 Dongs. I don’t even negotiate. He is too happy that I don’t talk about the police, the French embassy or insurance.
I’m sure he doesn’t have his drive licence.
The sum will never be enough to fix everything.
Under other skies I would have acted differently. But we are in Vietnam.
The mess is only just beginning because, if I can drive, the fork is bent like a bow.
The starter, headlight and turn signals are blown, the whole electrical system is fucked up, the handlebars and mirrors are crooked. I lost my rear turn signals on the road. But it’s riding my wonderful bike!
I ask for a kickin to start the engine as the starter is out and I get back on the bike to the applause and congratulations of the entire bus.
Objective: to have the bike repaired and to arrive in Hoi An before nightfall
I drive about ten kilometres. No garage wants to repair it.
Of course, I stalled and am totally unable to kick off: it’s on the right, and it’s the right leg that suffered the most.
I ask for help on the road for a life-saving kick but they ask me for 10 dollars, ha ha!
In a terrible rage, I push my motorbike under a leaden heat for eight hundred metres.
I end up in a roadside garage. The mechanic already has work to do and everyone passes in front of me. But at least he agrees to take care of it, that’s something.
It’s Vietnam. There is no room for compassion.
At that point, I don’t care about anything. I barely negotiate. Thank you for fixing everything for 400,000 dongs.
Go to bed!
The mechanic is baffled. He orders me to wait in a hammock. At this point, I don’t know if it’s out of compassion or because he doesn’t want me to supervise the repairs. So let’s wait. I don’t feel depressed or panicked.
There’s something to feel happy about coming out of something like this with a Sausage leg that is soon to turn into a Smurf leg, an open arch and a hematoma the size of a lemon in the crotch.
I wait in the hammock for five hours for them to fix it. The road is scary with noise, heat, dust.
My leg has grown to size XXL. It doesn’t stop swelling
I rummage hopelessly through my providential pharmacy and come across a single homeopathic dose of arnica. So I’m really lucky today. My leg can’t believe it, I feel ants swarming around my shin and the pain is easing.
The sun is going down and I’m starting to worry about how long it will take to repair. I still have 120 km to go and it will be dark soon.
Another scam!
As far as repairs are concerned, although we agreed before, they only change the fork, repair the starter, reattach the headlight with wire and tamper with the electrical wires with tape.
I test the bike for twenty meters, the front brake doesn’t brake, the horn doesn’t honk, the rear is too twisted for me to see what’s going on behind. I insist.
They reluctantly re-tweak it all, in a hurry. I must get out of this slurry in which I am stuck and leave as quickly as possible, without negotiating, threatening or defending myself.
I cross the magnificent pass of the clouds at sunset. An incredible spectacle. But not without difficulty because it is a mountain road that winds and I really can’t take the bends with elegance because of my twisted handlebars.
I have to stop, it’s getting dark and to continue like this is suicidal
It’s pitch black now. I have to stop in Da Nang, forty kilometres before Hoi An.
It’s a very big city made of big avenues, bridges, huge roundabouts, crowded with scooters and cars. The traffic is dense, hellish.
The bike’s idle speed is completely out of whack, the neutral not found, I have to stall the bike at every trafic light, every time I consult the GPS. And then my crotch injury makes me suffer, straddling the bike.
Lost in a city maze that looks like New York City
I get lost in the main streets and one-way streets. After an hour wandering through this urban jungle, I finally find a hostel.
As usual, I have to negotiate the price with the receptionist. He tells me “yes, a cheap room on the 4th floor!” I say “No problem, carry my bag!“.
In the end, I get a room on the second floor and he carries my big backpack.
It must be hard to see me with my torn trousers and my swollen arches.
I take a hot shower and then go out to buy something to eat. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. Alas, everything is closed, so 3 biscuits will do the trick. On the way back, I stop to relax and enjoy a beer on the terrace.
It’s time to go to bed. My leg is deformed and hurts a bit.
In the end, everything is fine.
I smell of soap, my trousers are clean, I have a good bed, my bike is in the car park, my computer is running perfectly.
I don’t even have aches and pains.
Unbelievable.
Wrapped up under the duvet, I feel the pressure coming down.
Tomorrow I visit the Cham museum and will leave for Hoi An where I will have a good repair on my Win100 for twenty dollars.
Everything is going well.
Fucking bus.
To read also to prepare for the unexpected
A car or motorcycle accident or a serious illness: getting treatment abroad is not as easy as in Europe or America!
