Because Vietnam, Part II: Ninh Binh and Phong Nha, Vietnam (featuring guest blogger Mike Levine)

Ninh Binh

We were slowly making our way down the narrow path to our guesthouse when an old Vietnamese lady, moving at a similar speed, walks toward us and stops short. She stares at our good friend Levine, looking him up and down and eyeing his scrapes and bandages, his short crutches, and his large cast from knee to foot. She pauses for a beat, then points at him and lets out a loud cackle: “Hahahahaha, Vietnam! Hahahaha!” She then walks on, still laughing. Because Vietnam, Part II.

After our interesting three days on Ha Long Bay, the five of us continued south and landed in Tam Coc, a cute backpacker town in the picturesque Ninh Binh region of Vietnam. We were excited to explore what’s described as “Ha Long Bay on land” and had a full day of temple hopping and mountain hiking planned. Having rented a few motorbikes in other countries throughout Southeast Asia before, we felt comfortable doing so again to reach these nearby rural sights. But as we’ve learned time and again, Vietnam had other plans for us. To tell the story of our time in Tam Coc through the eyes of the person most affected, here’s introducing our good friend and first guest blogger, Mike Levine!:

Guinness World Record Submission: Shortest Motorbike Ride

or

The Vietnamese Healthcare System: A Case Study

By Mike Levine

When I heard Michael and Karen were doing motorcycle training in San Francisco before they left on their trip, I thought, “Good for them. No way I’d do that.” When we were planning our two weeks together in Vietnam, we factored in that I wouldn’t be driving a motorbike. But when we got to the village of Tam Coc on the sixth day of our trip and it became apparent that motorbike was the recommended way to see the sites, I overcame my fear and learned to drive one.

If only that were the end of the story.

When our rented motorbikes were delivered to our homestay (brief aside: “motorbike” is the English word everybody in Vietnam used, and the one I’ll use here, but you should picture something like a moped or Vespa, not a real motorcycle and not an electric scooter), they were delivered with a minimal amount of petrol (gasoline to us Americans)—just enough to get us to the nearest station so we could purchase our own. I was made to understand this is customary, a way to keep rental costs low.

The lack of fuel seemed to cause my motorbike (though notably not others’) to stall and die if not given enough throttle. This happened two or three times while I got my sea legs under me in the alley leading out from our homestay to Tam Coc’s central “square”—a parking lot between the main road and a pretty lake where two different double-decker buses with competing reggae-playing nightclubs built on the second floors were parked each night. I was assured that I just needed to rev it up more and it would be fine. So we set off for the petrol station.

As we got farther into the alley, closer to the square, we navigated around what seemed like an obstacle course of cobblestones and pedestrians and bicycles moving in both directions. In my desire to not let the engine stall again, I kept revving, and before I knew it, I was going much faster than I wanted to be. It was probably only 10mph, but it was more than I was comfortable with, and I hadn’t bothered to really familiarize myself with the controls—the turn signals, the horn, and most importantly, the brakes.

My lizard brain decided the best course of action would be some combination of leaning back and getting off the motorbike as quickly as possible. I executed this hasty plan without the grace necessary to successfully pull it off. My right leg somehow got twisted in the exchange and I felt a familiar pop in my ankle—I had broken it previously (jumping out of a hot air balloon…while it was on the ground, but that’s a different story) and knew immediately I’d broken a bone. I came to a rest with the motorbike on top of my leg. Fueled by adrenaline, I lifted the motorbike off my leg, like a mother picking up a car to save her child. I removed my helmet, spiked it on the ground in frustration, and sat there reviewing my life choices.

A crowd gathered, gawking at the fallen motorbike (which didn’t hit anybody or anything else, thankfully) and fallen American tourist. This increased attention didn’t improve my mood. After unsuccessfully asking everybody to back off and give me some air, I asked Mike and Drew to help me get back to our homestay, and they obliged. (Support from friends was a theme through the rest of the trip; I don’t know what I would have done without them. Love you guys!) That’s how far my first, last, and only motorbike ride had taken me: close enough that I could hobble back, with a broken ankle, to where I’d started.

Once there, I FaceTimed my wife Michelle (back in San Francisco) to calmly let her know I was confident I’d broken my ankle, and got my already visibly swollen leg elevated and dabbed at some of my scrapes with napkins. Our homestay host Hue called her nurse friend Chew, who was on her day off, to meet us at the nearest hospital about 10 minutes away. Hue’s husband drove me, Karen, Leslie, and Mike in a car; Drew and Hue followed bravely on motorbikes.

Hue and Chew helped us navigate the series of examinations and waiting rooms on different floors of the large concrete medical facility. The Vietnamese healthcare system can move very quickly for those willing to pay for it, and Chew’s navigation skills included knowledge of which palms needed to be greased. X-rays ($4) confirmed a fracture and I was eventually fitted with a toe-to-knee plaster cast ($20). The cost of this care—orders of magnitude less than it would have been at home—was surpassed by the cost of the bribes ($40) to expedite the process.

An ultrasound ($3) and CT scan ($70) of my right hip confirmed that the bulging bruise there was just a hematoma and that I had not damaged any vital organs. The CT scan required both an injection of radioactive dye (administered after close inspection of the needle by Mike while I had no glasses on and was halfway inserted into a giant tube) and a signature authorizing it (signed on my behalf by Hue, a woman I’d known for 12 hours, because she was Vietnamese).

In the plaster room (Google Translate: “bunch powder”), the technician asked me if I liked Trump. At the risk of politicizing this travel blog, I’ll reveal that I said I do not, and when asked why, that I said because he’s a liar and a racist. I asked if the technician liked Trump; he said yes, because Trump is strong. I asked if he liked Obama; he said he doesn’t follow American politics closely. I declined a tetanus serum (as I’ve previously been vaccinated) and was forced to sign a statement that read: “I am Michael Levine. I don’t want serum anti tetanus. I will be responsible for everything that occurs. And I don’t want to stay in the hospital anymore. And I go home right now.” With extra-strength panadol (Tylenol) and brand new waist-tall Vietnamese crutches in hand, I returned to the homestay. The next day, we took an overnight bus to Phong Nha. I actually slept pretty well, all things considered.

My 48 hours in Tam Coc encapsulated the extremes I saw throughout Vietnam. I participated in a corrupt communist system, paying bribes to be seen quickly by doctors and to a local taxi cartel who made a guy with a freshly broken leg (and Leslie!) get out of an unauthorized car so they could extort him for $2. And I encountered some of the most generous, principled people I’ve ever met, like Hue and her husband (Tam Coc Cozy Homestay—5 stars), who went incredibly far out of their way to make sure I was taken care of and comfortable, and wouldn’t even charge us for the (world’s shortest) motorbike rental.

End submission; back to Karen and Michael here.

We were on the motorbike right behind Levine when he fell. A flood of thoughts and emotions immediately coursed through us as we watched the whole incident occur, almost in slow motion: Omigosh, is he OK?! Phew, he didn’t hit anything. We’re so lucky. We’re so unlucky. This was stupid. This was our fault. Wait, remember that one time when Levine and Michael crashed into each other on bicycles in Golden Gate Park? Maybe we should have known better. What will Michelle say? What will our parents say? Let’s get him cleaned up. Let’s get him water. Let’s get him to the hospital.

This was obviously not how we wanted our friend’s experience of Vietnam to be, but as we all sat at the dim hospital with him that day, we realized that in some weird twisted way, this was just another manner in which life reveals true colors. After his initial frustration (see: helmet spike above), Levine was surprisingly calm and good-spirited through what could’ve been a stressful and unhappy situation. Getting X-rayed, plastered, injected, and medically analyzed in a foreign country in which you can barely communicate to the doctors is not easy, but rather than being negative, Levine was patient and grateful that the situation was not worse, which in turn made all of us feel the same way. Michelle, his wife back home, could have been angry at all of us for letting Levine ride a motorbike without any prior lessons or experience, but instead she was appreciative that he was with friends who could take care of him.

And it was an insight into the Vietnamese people. As we saw in Sapa, the Vietnamese women are both extremely strong and caring, and this proved true yet again. Hue was the world’s most generous homestay host. She came with us to the hospital all day. She convinced her friend to come help us on her off day. She fronted money without hesitation (Levine paid her back later, but it was no small amount for her). She made sure Levine got itemized receipts (they weren’t too keen on paperwork at the hospital) so that he could file for insurance reimbursement later. She even procured blank reimbursement forms with real signatures because she thought insurance could reimburse the “extra” payments made (because Vietnam). She had every right to be bitter about wasting her day caring for another group of incompetent tourists when she should have been home caring for her baby and her business, but instead, she was all smiles as she led us around, translating for us and signing away Levine’s life.

Within hours, we were already telling jokes as we sat on small plastic chairs in the waiting halls. Hue got in on the action too, trolling Levine, in a loving way, about how much better she was at riding a motorbike than he was. Everything about the experience felt funny and unbelievable: the bunch powder room featured a freshly-used ash tray next to medical supplies, because Vietnam; the bribes were hardly under the table and no one seemed to mind as we got to the front of the line, because Vietnam; there were no crutches in sight that fit Levine’s 6’4” frame, because, as the lady who sold them to us literally said with a shrug, “Vietnam!” As if that explained everything.

After Levine was all wrapped up and treated, we all picked ourselves back up, shaken but not defeated, and continued on our fun throughout the country. We were still able to explore some of the Tam Coc sights the next day, heading to Bich Dong Temple, intimately tucked into mountain crevices, and hiking up Mua Cave via the 500 steep Lying Dragon steps (it felt like more than 500 steps, but we lost count). Of course, we made some adjustments—we went on bicycles instead of motorbikes, while Levine followed by car and didn’t go up the steps—but overall, everyone still got to enjoy the astounding river valleys and mountain views of Tam Coc.

Phong Nha

We can’t say the same for the next part of the trip—an overnight spelunking and camping expedition near Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. As skilled as Levine was at navigating on crutches (no small feat in the wild traffic of Vietnam!), he was not able to join for hiking, swimming, and camping with a newly broken foot and a cast that was supposed to stay dry. The rest of us would have skipped this activity and opted for something else that all of us could do, had it not been the one thing in Vietnam that we had fully paid for in advance, with no cancellation lenience since it is high in demand and limited in availability. Levine urged us to still go so that we wouldn’t all have to forfeit the money and the experience, while he could have two days to rest in bed, foot propped up, in the quiet town of Phong Nha. So, we went. We’re grateful that he urged us to go, because it ended up being an incredibly memorable and unique experience.

Leaving Levine in the hands of local homestay caretakers, we, Drew, and Leslie joined Oxalis Adventures to explore the deep belly of Vietnam’s vast cave systems. We had chosen the Tu Lan Caves because it was intriguing to us that this massive system—over twenty large dry and wet caves connected by underground rivers—were only first explored in 1992, and not officially surveyed until 2010! In fact, one of them, Kim Cave, was only recently discovered in 2012 by a tourist who had gone off wandering from an organized trek!

The 12-kilometer hike to the caves and our campsite started off easily through scenic agricultural fields roaming with cute water buffalo, but as soon as we waded through our first river, it quickly intensified into a fun, if challenging, uphill obstacle through muddy paths, sharp craggy rocks, and thick jungle growth. We had to use gloves to protect our hands and support ourselves as we shimmied through rocky chutes and climbed up and down using ropes on some steep sections. After the solid hike, a refreshing swim in the nearby lake, a raft ride through the dark expanse of Ken Cave, a few leech bites, and a filling dinner of JFC (jungle fried chicken) complete with local moonshine and intense card games at our beautiful campsite in Tu Lan Valley, we were ready to pass out in our tent!

The second day was the meat of the expedition— swimming and climbing through Tu Lan, Kim, and Hung Ton caves. The stalactites, stalagmites, and other formations inside each cave are otherworldly, deposited over the course of three to five million years, and taking on the shapes of massive jellyfish, brains, and trees. Their calcite crystals—formed from eons of dripping rainwater reacting with carbon dioxide in the air—sparkled brilliantly in the light of our headlamps; it was almost sad to imagine that their radiance is wasted in the utter darkness of the caves most of the time.

But the most exhilarating part by far was swimming through a kilometer of subterranean rivers deep inside the caves. These rivers are not just shallow wading pools; they are flowing with currents and waterfalls—all inside a pitch black cavern where you cannot see or feel the bottom, or even what’s ten feet ahead of you. Following our expert guides and lit by the thin light stream of our headlamps, we plunged into the cold water with all our gear on as if we were jumping into the River Styx (still wearing long pants, long sleeve shirts, gloves, socks, hiking boots, hard hats, and watertight backpacks). It was a bit creepy—but very cool—to swim through this unfamiliar world that exists without sunlight and human contact.

With our Indiana Jones itch scratched after two days of spelunking, we made our way back to Phong Nha, where Levine had successfully finished a book, gotten a $3 haircut, and eaten several good meals around town. The townsfolk knew and recognized him by then, since a tall white guy hobbling around on too-short crutches is hard to miss in a quaint place like Phong Nha. One particular local, Nga, was very generous: we had originally booked her guesthouse for all of us, but when we learned that stairs were necessary to get to the rooms, we switched to a nearby place that had ground floor units so that Levine could get in and out more easily. Even though we were no longer staying at her guesthouse, Nga continued to watch out for Levine and kept texting us to see if we were OK. She still helped us plan and purchase our overnight bus tickets to Hue, our next destination. She even offered us a free room to stay in for a few hours before we left on the overnight bus (which we didn't ultimately need). All of this was for strangers whose names she did not know and who never paid her anything.

Even with all the breathtaking Ninh Binh views and the thrill of swimming through awe-inspiring caves, it was the kindness shown to us those vulnerable few days that we’ll remember most. Because Vietnam.

Karen & Michael (and Levine)

Tam Coc and Phong Nha, Vietnam, December 17-20, 2019

Epilogue: Levine and his broken foot have since healed quite nicely. In his own words:

I don’t want to spoil the rest of Karen’s and Mike’s time in Vietnam for readers—the short version is that my trip was not at all ruined. I still saw beautiful and interesting places and still ate great food and still got to spend time with friends. No pity necessary. Eight weeks after the crash, my minimally displaced fibula fracture is healing well and did not require surgery. I upgraded to a walking boot and appropriately tall crutches when I got back to the U.S., then gradually weaned from those. I’m able to walk long distances, including San Francisco hills, without incident. My various surface wounds are effectively healed, and the hematoma on my hip is just some lingering discoloration and scar tissue. I’m pain-free, working on balance and muscle strength in physical therapy, and hope to be playing basketball in a few weeks. No permanent damage. That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.

Indeed. Band Bunch Powder forever!