Heading Home to Hoi An

The descent from Dalat convinced me that there may have been some validity to my suggestion that I was coping with thin air on my travels yesterday.  I hopped on one of the shoddiest sleeper buses I had seen to date, and braced myself for the journey.  Our driver, evidently harboring some bitterness over being passed over for the Nascar circuit, jammed the gas pedal to the floor and, with nary a hint of smoking brakes, we flew through the S-curves and on-coming traffic for nearly four hours.  I noted the gorgeous views from time to time when I dared open my eyes.  Evidence of rock slides greeted us everywhere with flattened guardrails and enormous boulders strewn on the side of the road.  I didn’t know whether to pray for the driver to slow down and stay on the road or for him to speed up and get us out of the danger zone.

When we finally reached the bottom of this astounding mountain pass, we pulled into a town, stopped at an intersection, and the bus promptly stalled.  It had been a taxing four hours for that beast (but not for its brakes).  As the temperatures in the tin can heated up quickly, all of us got out to stand on the side of the road while the driver fiddled and phoned and fiddled and phoned.  After about 15 minutes, the bus sprang to life.  The driver honked three times – which apparently means “get your buts on the bus before she stalls again you idiots, “ and we were off.  In the driver’s mind, this apparently was our bathroom break for the journey.  To borrow my little Aussie friend Mikayla’s expression, “I was absolutely  bustin’.”

We pulled into Nha Trang, a throbbing coastal tourist hot spot, right on time, and I noted with great joy that I was sweating profusely.  No more cuddling with a hair dryer for me!  After a tasty dinner at Omar’s Indian Restaurant, I briefly checked out the masses on the beach boardwalk before returning to the hotel where the bus had left me with explicit instructions: “Be back here 6:30 for bus to Hoi An.” 

My first indication of trouble should have been when I walked into the hotel lobby where they were storing my backpack, and the sweet woman asked me for my room number.  I pointed to my bags and said, “No.  I am on the bus to Hoi An.”  The second red flag should have been when she replied with a surprised look, “Oh?  The bus to Hoi An comes here?”  I reassured her that I was following directions, and I was confident they would pick me up.

As 6:30 turned to 7:00, I started to get a little panicky.  I had the woman call the bus company and confirm the pick up for me. “Oh no.  You must take a taxi to us,” was the reply on the other end of the phone.  Grrr.  First a taxi ride…then a ride in an overstuffed mini van…finally our arrival in a dark alley at the “sleeper bus.”  A new level of seediness has been achieved.  Nasty seats, grimy pillows, quilts (?) , smoking bus drivers and some super-sized  smelly back packing boys are bound to make this a very long night.  As I type, I note that one of the bus drivers is slinging a hammock from the bunks directly next to me – as in at face level.  I think I would prefer to snuggle with the hair dryer.  Hoo Boy.  This predicament could be largely due to the fact that we seem to be collecting extra people along the way at various roadside stops.  They seem to be “unofficial” passengers, and I’m guessing the bus company is probably not getting their ticket money.  I think I ‘m getting a little too old for the backpacker route – although the young backpacking guy next to me seem rather cranky too (which could have to do with the fact that he’s about 6”4” tall, and his feet are extended out over a trash can that the spare bus driver seems to think is his seat).  This promises to be a long night…

…and a long night it was.  It started with a flat tire at midnight.  We pulled off for forty-five minutes to get that repaired.  Once we got back on the road, we sped along at 40 km/hr for about ten minutes before making the obligatory “dinner stop” at 1:00 a.m.  We spent 30 minutes at a rather questionable roadside noodle shop before getting on our way again.  This time we traveled about 15 minutes before the driver stopped for beer – two cans.  He pounded them, crushed the cans on the dashboard and tossed them out the window.  He proceeded to steer with his left hand while using his right to shine a flashlight into the trash can next to him.  Apparently there was an unpleasant stench of some sort bothering him.  He eventually started pulling bags of trash out of the basket and tossing them out the window.  Very nice.  Then he settled in to smoke his way to our next repair stop at 2:00 a.m. 

I awoke to find that we were stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.  One of the drivers was using some wrenches and wires at the back of the bus.  I have no idea what the problem was this time. I only wanted to get home.  At 9 a.m. (just three hours late) we finally pulled into Hoi An. Home at last.  Home at last.