Day 43 Hue

 Driving a cyclo (for you noobs that’s a motorcycle with no guts) in Vietnam is a experience. I rented one for a day having driven nothing motorized with less than four wheels. On the streets of Vietnam there are hundreds of these, no lanes, no speed limits and traffic circles just to fuck with you. Driving in the countryside is a breeze. Thatch roofed farmhouses in narrow terraced fields of rice and corn line the roads along with the occasional ancient ruins. The narrow road turns toward the brown silt laden river. Nobody goes above 50. I stop at the side of the road to check the map. A middle-aged lady stops beside me and asks where I’m going. She says she will show me the way to the Mausoleum I’m looking for. “It’s just a couple more kilometers up the road,” she says assuring me she lives nearby. I follow. We approach the turn-off. The bike ahead suddenly makes a turn going under the bridge we were supposed to take. I continue a little further but than stop. “Why you stop,” she asks. “We’re going the wrong way,” I say. “No just a little bit more, first we stop at my house then go to mausoleum.” “What,” I say, “no I just want to go to the mausoleum.” “No problem, no problem,” she says. “I just come from market. Children all at school, nobody home.” “No, no you said we were going to the mausoleum, that’s where I’m going.” “Please come, just for a little, no children it’s okay.” “Not okay,” I said and turned around the bike, gunned it, leaving nothing but dust.