What to do?
After a hearty breakfast of regional delicacies with unfamiliar consistencies, and coffee-fueled adrenaline, I was eager to start my day. I unfolded the tri-fold tourist pamphlet that listed the top destinations one should visit while in DaNang, Vietnam. Ba Na Hills was the top recommendation and therefore made my list and it was only 45 kilometers away.
Since I rented a motorbike earlier this trip and was comfortable navigating the hazards of Vietnam traffic, I decided it was the best way to get to my destination. I made a request for a motorbike rental with a well-dressed attendant at the concierge desk. He picked up the phone and whispered softly in the receiver. After hanging up the phone, he asked me to wait in one of the overstuffed soft brown leather chairs in the corner.
Dreaming of the day
I nested in the chair and began to daydream about my adventure. I was startled by a man jingling a small cluster of keys in my face. My rental agent. I stood up and followed him. He was like the pied piper using the sound of his keys to lure me away from the comfort of my chair. He had a few missing teeth and a long discolored pinky fingernail. The nail looked like he may have used it to stir tiny cups of espresso or scoop cocaine out of plastic baggies. He handed me a dog-eared business card which looked like it was used to clean his nails or even worse, his teeth.
Cash for keys
The transaction was simple: cash for keys. No license, no contract, no worries. I took the card, helmet and keys and nodded in a gesture of thanks.
The helmet was large, black and smelly. I shouldn’t have put my nose near it, but out of some habit and strange curiosity, I did. The lining was still damp from earlier use and it smelled like worn clothes left in a gym bag for weeks. I quickly shook off these images and pulled on the helmet.
I straddled the bike, fumbled with the ignition and exhaled with relief when I finally got it started. My route had me traveling through the city before winding along the countryside for the remainder of my journey. I rode a few blocks, crossed the famous Dragon Bridge that spans the River Han, and drove into the city of DaNang. My eyes were wide and my grip tight on the handlebars as I nervously navigated the crowded streets.
Arresting development
I was trying my best not to run over anyone or anything when a soldier marched out in the middle of the street directly in front of me. He wore an olive-green uniform with bright red epaulets, an official looking cap with a military gold emblem and black shiny shoes. He raised his arm with palm exposed in an overly authoritative manner. I quickly interpreted this as a sign to slow down. Which I did. His eyes seemed to burn a hole in me. He pointed his sharp finger at me.
“Who me? “I instinctively looked around and then back at him. I pointed at myself and raised my eyebrows as if he could see them behind my wide sunglasses. He kept his arm extended and motioned for me to pull over. A panic covered me like a large plastic bag. It was now hard to breathe, hard to see and even harder to think. My heart started to race and my pores opened like a dam releasing cold sweat over every part of my body. I somehow slowed the bike and coasted to the side of the road. My tire hit the curb with a thud causing my body to recoil and my head to gyrate as if it was on a bobblehead toy.
I was directed to take a seat on a bus bench where I quickly surveyed the surroundings and my predicament. I have seen too many episodes of “Captured Abroad” to know that I was in deep doo-doo for sure.
The warmth of failure
The boss-man was dressed head to toe in olive while his underlings wore khaki. Olive came over and pointed to a row of fair-skinned travelers seated on the next bench. In very clear English, he told me of their pending troubles. His patrol is assigned to pull over foreigners and arrest them if they don’t have proper documentation and permits. Olive demanded to see my international driver’s license, bike registration and passport. His large shadow provided respite from the sun’s heat but his demeanor caused me to sweat even more. I confidently told him I didn’t have any documentation; although I could feel the plastic passport lanyard sticking to my sweating belly. I handed him the worn-out business card as proof of insurance.
Olive frowned, clicked his heels, snorted and told me to wait while he talked with his supervisor who was dressed in a dark blue uniform. Immediately my body put me on notice that the combination of strong Vietnamese coffee and the fear of imprisonment was the ideal combination for my intestines to release any remnants and residue remaining in my digestive tract. I tried in vain to seal my orifice but I immediately felt the warmth of my failure.
Stressed about arrest
Olive marched to my side and informed me of my fate. I would be summoned to appear in court in seven days with the motorbike and the owner. I was more nervous about what was happening in my pants than what he was saying.
“What?” I asked incredulously. I began to weave a tale that I was leaving the country the next day and would not be available to accommodate his request. Flustered, he once again clipped his shiny black heels and stomped off to talk to someone else.
Olive came back. My fate and life were in his next few words. I held my breath and my sphincter as he spoke. He told me, actually demanded, that I go back to my hotel, return the motorbike and make a promise not to ride this bike anymore or anywhere.
I nodded my head in agreement, clenched my cheeks and walked over to my bike. Olive was already out in the middle of the street looking for his next victim before I turned the key in the ignition.
Dressing the part
I turned the motorbike towards my hotel, as promised. At the first traffic light I looked back to make sure I was out of sight and turned right instead of continuing towards my hotel. I pulled over, shook out the nerves in my arms and heaved an audible sigh of relief. In an attempt to blend in with the other motorbike riders, I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt. With my sunglasses on and a hood to hide my light hair I just might be harder to spot. I decided to take my chances and continue my journey. Gripping the handlebar, I twisted the throttle, released the brake and headed for my next adventure at Ba Na Hills.
