The Home Stretch

The following morning, bright and early, we headed back down to the Ede village for a different kind of riding all together. After a noodle breakfast, we awaited the slow, laborious crossing of the lake by a mighty leviathan. The eye-watering smell oozing from every pore of her leathery hide wasn’t about to win her any friends…but those warm, intelligent eyes and that searching, curious proboscis beckoned us forward and insisted we climb aboard from our raised platform. I’ve got a few tips for prospective elephant riders: if you’re in a hurry, don’t do it; if you don’t like strong smells, don’t do it; if you’re scared of heights, don’t do it. But if none of the above apply and, in this case, if you don’t mind spending 2 hours sat on a hard wooden bench, prone to jerking from side to side and occasional submersion…then elephant riding is a fascinating experience, you’ll never forget. I’ve no doubt our mighty steed could have lumbered around at terrifying speed under duress, but three unaccustomed days on the back of a motorbike had left Russ and I with seriously sore seats – and the gentle rolling gait with which she set off was more than enough to remind us that we were sat on an upturned, unsanded, uncovered wooden box. Once in the water, it was amazing to see the graceful power with which she propelled herself, almost effortlessly, along. On the far side of the lake we took a slowly, swaying tour of the local village. While assuredly used to the sight of the elephant (raised mounting platforms every few hundred yards gave this away), the locals were obviously not all that used to big, white men riding astride her. Several times we were followed by youngsters on bikes, cycling perilously close to the oblivious power of hind legs the size of chimney stacks. Fortunately, the only things to suffer from Nelly’s might were the occasional trees she stopped to snack on: at the scent of something juicy and delicious, she would deviate from her course (despite the proddings and protestations of her mahout) and wrap her delicate, sensitive trunk around a leafy branch. Suddenly, the trunk would be replaced by a thick, menacing python – flexing and twisting to inevitably snap arm-thick branches and strip them of all their succulent verdure. The python would relax once more into a precision instrument as the fruit of its labours was stuffed delicately and lovingly into the smiling mouth of its owner.
Eventually, we returned saddle-sore and nasally decongested to continue on the final leg of our journey to Dalat. We passed through a series of beautiful mountain passes, bathing, still, in glorious sunshine. As we headed south, nearing our final destination, I couldn’t decide between relief at the impending end of saddle-soreness or disappointment to be at the end of our little adventure. At points along the way we had met two lads called Paul and Stijn. Paul, from Aberdeen, and Stijn, from Amsterdam, had bought their own bikes in Danang and were undertaking a similar journey to ours, but under their own steam. I would have appreciated the ability to hop off and on as I pleased and there is no doubt as to whose journey was the more adventurous. However, the major reason not to take a bike myself was my limited, previous biking experience (and that on the deserted roads of the Philippine provinces)…and it wasn’t all plain sailing for our daring duo: they had come unstuck for three days, when targeted by police and lacking the services of a local guide to sort it out – their bikes had been impounded while the police had gone to Danang to check they hadn’t been stolen. With no means of leaving, they had been stuck in the same arse-end-of-nowhere mountain town until their bikes were returned. Of course, this in itself sounds like as good a way as any to get to know the local people.
We pulled into Dalat’s cosmopolitan bustle in the late afternoon. The sun had temporarily disappeared behind some clouds and the cool mountain air, blowing in our faces ensured we were wide awake and ready to party the night away. After our excellent adventure, it seemed only right that Russ and I took the boys out for dinner to say thank you. We caught up with Mark and Mel, who’d spent an enjoyable couple of days on the coast at Nha Trang. Overflowing with excitement after our ‘epic’ 900km bike journey, Russ and I spent most of the evening telling them how great a time we’d had. It must have had some effect because, before the evening was out, Mark and Mel had signed the boys up to take them to Cat Tien National Park.
We ate goat and rabbit from another dodgy-looking-but-exquisite-tasting back-street café – more than anything else, the boys had shown Russ and I the excellent culinary underbelly of the Highlands. Copious quantities of beer and rice wine were drunk in celebration and, after Mel and Mark retired to prepare for an early start, the lads took us to a street bar, where we were served cold beer and a steaming plate of tasty cockles and dipping sauce.
We were all up early in the morning to see Russ onto his bus for Ho Chi Minh City. I’d enjoyed the last two weeks in his company – and particularly his company on our road trip. Regardless of his age, Russ was as much man of the world as I’ve met. I was sorry to see him go and look forward to a re-union in Blighty or Brisbane. After his departure, I also said farewell to our trusty guides, Tin and Tong. Their irrepressible senses of humour, unerring culinary taste and detailed knowledge of the terrain and its inhabitants had given us a priceless gift – seeing the undeveloped side of this beautiful country and thus escaping the wearing grind of the Highway 1 tourist trail…something I would recommend to anyone.
I spent an unexciting day in Dalat trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to find a decent internet connection and waiting for my laundry to be returned. I’ve come to realise the importance of rest days – time to regroup, clean, repack and catch up on correspondence. I bumped into Paul and Stijn during the day and we met again for a bite to eat in the evening. They were due to continue on to Ho Chi Minh to renew Paul’s visa, before spending a fortnight to-wheeling through the Mekong delta. I was envious in some respects, but already feeling a need to explore a new country. I booked the morning bus to Ho Chi Minh, planning to spend 2 days there and then take the mighty Mekong up into Cambodia.