Day 1, 31/12/2009: Hiked 7.2km, Mesilau to Laban Rata, 2,000m to 3,272m above sea level, 7 hours 20 minutes.
Day 2, 1/1/2010: Hiked 2.7km, up to Low’s Peak, 4,095m above sea level, 3 hours.
Descended 2.7km, back to Laban Rata, 3 hours.
Descended 6km, down to Timpohon gate, 1,866m above sea level, 4 hours 15 minutes.
I arrived at Mesilau Nature Resort on December 30th for a good night’s rest before beginning my ascent the next day. The booking for myself, one person, made things awkward: steamboat dinner all by myself at my own table with a room full of other guests; buffet breakfast by myself; but at least I had a room all to myself, that’s a good thing. On the morning of the climb, I quickly joined another group to share the cost of hiring a guide and to have some company. We started at about 8:20am.
With Steve, Camellia and Michael
This Mesilau trail doesn’t climb all the time, there were sections of gradual descents which allowed me to think, “Hey, this is not so difficult. It’s actually fun and I could do this again.” But we dreaded the reality of every step that we took downwards meant two steps up, and the differences in the flora or vegetation helped us keep track of our progress.
After about 5.5km, the Mesilau trail joined the main trail from Timpohon to the summit. From then on, it was mostly big laterite steps upward transitioning to rocky surfaces before we arrived at the Laban Rata rest house at about 3:40pm. The camera also started to act funny although I was not entirely convinced it was caused by the climate.
There was plenty of time before the buffet dinner started at 5:00pm so most who had arrived earlier would queue for a ‘hot’ shower. The earlier ones said the water was fine, the guy just before me said the water was only at body temperature. When it was my turn, the boiler was no longer effective so it was too cold for a proper shower. I had to find that out the hard way.
At dinner, I replenished my system mainly with rice, warm winter melon soup (i.e. soluble MSG), and sago dessert. After some repacking to separate what to take to the summit and things to leave behind at the rest house until the descent, I was in bed by 8:00pm to try and catch enough shut eye for 2:00am supper and the final leg of the ascent to the summit.
I tossed and turned with a throbbing headache, especially in the frontal lobe because I had put on too much warm clothes (expanding brain in contracting skull). After shedding a layer or two, the slight pounding in the back of my head was bearable enough to catch intermittent naps like those on the night sleeper trains (some said later that the altitude would make it difficult to sleep). When my phone clock flashed 1:15am, there was little reason stay in bed so I already waiting for breakfast at the lounge by the time the staff got up to prepare breakfast in their pyjamas.
In the drizzle, we set off at 2:45am on the summit trail which was at times treacherous, at times under the full moon light of January 1st 2010, and at times in the darkness of my vintage two-D-sized-battery-powered made-in-China bicycle lamp. Whenever someone was ahead of me, I would rest whenever they rested. When I lost touch and led the next group, I stopped more often to catch my breath. But I still made it to the summit of Low’s Peak at the 5:45am before it started to become bright. After finding shelter from the winds, I had a Snickers bar while the shy sun rose for the first time this year behind a large cloud.
I was back at the Laban Rata rest house for a proper breakfast at 9:00am before the starting the home leg descent to Timpohon at 10:15am. From this point on, it was a slow but sure transition from the emotional high point of conquering Mount Kinabalu to the negative anticipation of my knees buckling at the next step down when the strained thigh and calf muscles can no longer support the combined body and baggage weight.
But with an abundance of God’s grace, spurred a little by the I-never-want-to-do-this-again attitude, me and Steve (together for almost all of the Mesilau ascent and this final descent) finally arrived at Timpohon gate at 2:30pm.
The next four days of muscle recovery was full of painful oooh’s and aaah’s whenever I sat down or got up from a seat, going up or down sloping ramps, and especially climbing and going down staircases (think getting on and off AirAsia plane on the return flight to Penang).
My brother said that I might think I never want to climb Kinabalu again for now but a few months down the road I would change my mind. My cousin’s husband also said the same thing, climbed a second time successfully, before turning back soon after starting the third time thinking “I am not going to make the same mistake a third time.” Well, I haven’t changed my mind about not doing Kinabalu again but at least I’ve set my sight on the more challenging Mount Tahan.
Day 1: Cycled 75km, Mui Ne to Gia Bac, altitude 800m.
Day 2: Cycled 68km, Gia Bac to Ninh Gia, altitude 900m, peaked 1200m.
Day 3: Cycled 45km, Ninh Gia to Da Lat, altitude 1500m.
Day 4: Cycled 110km, Da Lat to Phan Rang, altitude 0m, peaked 1600m twice.
Day 1: Wrong
A day where almost everything that could go wrong went wrong.
We started our cycling tour in Mui Ne instead of the planned Ma Lam. This was because trains from Saigon only stopped at Ma Lam on weekends. Eric, my Spanish cycling companion and friend, arranged for a 4-hour bus ride to beach resort town of Mui Ne instead, 40km away from our original start point (we thought it was only 10-15km). The first 20km or so along the coastal road was to get Phan Thiet. From that point on we headed inland cruising mostly on flat terrain flanked by rice fields for the next 30km.
Ma Lam turned out to be our sugar cane juice stop about 2 hours after we started cycling. Sugar cane juice here with a lighter orange colour doesn’t taste like the dark green ones in Malaysia. I think I read some where that they add a tinge of tangerine so it taste like orange juice. Still very nice.
An hour or two later, the much anticipated climb begins. We ate some some energy bars and Vietnamese candy to start off as it was nearly lunch time. A milestone showed that Gia Bac was about 25km away so we planned to have lunch there. Little did we know that Gia Bac was the top of the climb and that there were no towns or shops in between for supplies.
We climbed at a good steady pace at first, maybe for an hour or so. But as the road became narrower and some steep sections of 10% gradient began to emerge, I started to lag behind Eric. When faced with another steep section, I got off my bicycle and began to push it uphill. Cramps from the ‘hiking’ began to set in my legs so we took more rest stops for me to recover. Water soon ran out and we still didn’t know how far to the top of the climb. All we remembered from Google Maps was that there was going to be a peak, then a downhill. We were both hoping that the top of the climb would come soon and that Gia Bac was in a valley so we could glide downhill. Wrong.
As we were passing a stopped lorry, Eric asked the driver and his group of friends for some water and how much further to the top of the climb. As we sipped some cool green tea, they told us “three more kilometres to the top.” With some renewed confidence I declined their offer to drive us to the top or even to Di Linh, our scheduled stop for that night. Wrong again.
About 1.5km into our “three more kilometres to the top”, a man on motorbike on his was down in the opposite direction. He told us we had another SEVEN kilometres to go to the Gia Bac, the top of the climb. My heart sank into my empty stomach. With his decent grasp of Vietnamese, quick-thinking Eric negotiated with the man to take him up to Gia Bac to get food and water while I waited with our bicycles.
45 minutes later, Eric returned with a bunch of bananas, a small water melon, water, orange juice, and a Red Bull. We were joking that Red Bull will now give us “wings”. He also managed to arrange for a place to stay for the night since it was going to get dark soon, dark clouds were beginning to gather and thunder didn’t seem to sound from far.
From Eric’s description of the remaining terrain, boosted by bananas and Red Bull wings, we set off again confident of completing the rest of the climb. Rain soon poured on the first of two remaining climbs which I was lagging behind again. But when I did get close enough to him, I noticed his rear wheel was almost punctured. It seemed this wheel had been suffering a slow puncture all day.
Earlier in the day, he realised that he had forgotten to bring the spare tubes he had bought for the trip. He asked if I had brought my “repair kit”, thinking he was referring to my bicycle “tool kit”, which I replied yes. We decided we would buy a spare tube if we came across a bicycle shop along the way during the day, which we didn’t. Otherwise, he was going to rely on what he thought was my “tube puncture repair kit”, which I didn’t have. Wrong again.
When we realised our miscommunication, it was dangerous for him to cycle downhill so we got off our bikes to “hike” downhill with our bikes. This time I suffered a new type of cramp for the day. But at least his rear wheel seemed better when it did not have to support his weight. He inflated his tyre with the hand-pump that I kept in my bag. But this time, it was my turn to unknowingly leave behind a customised elastic strap which came together with my neighbour’s rear rack.
A dropped chain and a final push to the top later, we released a sigh of relief as we gained sight of the village of Gia Bac, after cycling 75km up to 800m altitude. It was nearly six in the evening and the sun was already setting. We soon arrived at the shop where we were going to spend the night in. As I began to unpack, I realised the customised elastic band was missing and resolved to find it in the morning.
The shop was a sundry shop/cafe/restaurant/owner’s home, probably even a zoo if we included the pet monkey. It wasn’t a motel until we arrived that day. The boss’s youngest son gave up his double-bed for us to sleep that night but we had to share the large room with his teenage sister and the pet monkey. Mosquito nets helped kept us out of view that night I think but not the music. More on that later.
After a change to dryer clothes, I was now ready for my first taste of pho (pronunciation), Vietnamese beef noodles. Not as strange as I thought it would be because I left out some of the strange leaves they usually have. My stomach almost got upset but I guess the body signalled that it needed to replenish all the nutrients lost from the day’s ride, so there was no visit to the toilet that night for the wrong business.
After one cup of rice wine and some Chinese TV drama dubbed by a single Vietnamese voice, the boss ushered us to bed by 9 p.m. Her daughter was already in bed (no, we couldn’t see her through the dark green mosquito net, phew) listening to a small looping selection of music which included the annoying Barbie Girl song by Aqua (after Googling the title). I only heard that song twice before I arrived at La La Land, but Eric had to endure it 5-6 times before the music stopped at about midnight.
Day 2: Right
In contrast to Day 1, almost everything that could go right went right.
By six o’clock in the morning, it was already bright. Breakfast was pho again, and I quietly resolved not to eat this for rest of the trip. When Eric asked the boss about his tyre puncture, he led us to the next house further down the road where his son ran motorcycle repair shop. It was obviously too early in the morning for his son but with his eyes half-opened, he found a very fine metal pin piercing through the tyre wall. He patched the rear tyre tube without even dislodging the rear wheel from the frame, something we’ve never seen done before but later figured out that this was conventional for motorcycles.
We then went back about 1km to where I thought I had left the rear rack’s elastic strap after retrieving the pump from my bag but spent the next half an hour fruitlessly shifting through dried grass. I gave up hope and as we headed back to the shop to collect our bags, I started to think how to break the news to my neighbour about the rack’s missing strap. But 100 metres on, there it was lying there on the road! This was the place where I fixed my dropped chain. Sigh… of relief.
Back to the shop for a circus-like performance, Eric wasn’t really himself yet, but after a strong cup of Vietnamese ice coffee we ready to set off. Getting all the way to Da Lat by the end of Day 2 as we originally planned never entered our minds. We seemed willing to put in whatever miles we could that day and sacrifice some part of our rest/sight-seeing on Day 3 in Da Lat to cycle the whole way. I myself had second thoughts and contemplated taking the easy way out and head back to where we came from. Maybe I was discouraged by yesterday, but seeing Eric leading in front on the 400-metre climb first thing in the morning was an encouragement to push on.
It also took a while for my legs to get warmed up but our steady pace soon got us to the 1200-metre pass. It was mostly downhill from there but not enough to get us to Di Linh just yet. The hills then began to roll past coffee plantations through a number of small villages. On one of the small climbs, we were joined by school girls who cycled with us. They were stringing questions in English for us to answer while Eric “entertained” them with his Vietnamese. We noticed that they always seemed to be travelling to and from school all day long, probably because of the morning and afternoon sessions and some lived far away from school.
Di Linh came our way just in time for us to have lunch there. The clouds gathered earlier than we expected (we knew this was rainy season) but we found a rice shop just before the heavy downpour began. The many dishes and unlimited amount of rice looked like the perfect cycle tourist’s diet which we didn’t have the day before. After the full meal, the rain stopped and we got on our bikes but we weren’t going to go further until we find out what was ahead of us at an internet shop. A gradual descent followed by another gradual climb within 40km, along with our estimated average speed and daylight hours available, seemed reasonable and would take us to an airport town where we thought there would be better chances of finding accommodation.
At Di Linh, we had just joined the main artery that linked bustling Saigon with Da Lat, probably a main route to transport supplies and agricultural produce. We were reminded of this fact as we negotiated the much heavier traffic and poor road surface conditions. These factors slowed us down significantly on the descent and we were getting weary from the gradual climbs.
As we rode into the small medium-sized town of Ninh Gia, Eric suggested that we start looking for a place to stay as our tired legs and the amount of remaining daylight discouraged us from continuing for another 10-15 km to the airport town. He stopped at a pharmacy to ask where was the next hotel. To our surprise, the man pointed to a green building no more than a few hundred metres away. We weren’t expecting much from a small town hotel but the receptionist spoke decent enough English, there was a garage to keep our bikes, a partially furnished but large room with 2 double beds (good for laying out stuff for re-packing) and there was cable TV in the room!
After cleaning tar and grime off ourselves and some TV, we went out hunting for dinner. We ended up in a simple but large restaurant with a large parking area and a large com and pho sign. It was fairly empty at first but trucks and lorries soon rolled in and the place quickly became busy. Turned out to be more of a drivers’ rest-stop for meals rather than a restaurant but we figured this probably meant cheap good food for us. Some customers had shared dishes with rice while another popular choice was thin steak with rice (looked really good). We couldn’t really understand the meals ordering concept so we went around tables to see what dishes looked appealing and ordered with rice, another satisfying meal like lunch in Di Linh.
Another HBO movie later, we concluded that this was definitely a day where almost everything that could go right went right. Although we only covered 68km (less than our target of 75km a day), we thought we didn’t leave too much to do on the third day.
Day 3: Push
A day for the 40km push to Da Lat.
We started our day shopping for some fruits and bread for breakfast and headed to a typical but quiet cafe where I had my first taste of Vietnamese coffee. The ratio was probably 3 parts coffee from a strainer, 2 parts sweetened creamer and some ice to water it down but it still packed a real punch. (I hear Coffee Island on Gurney Drive has this version).
We were on our way out of Ninh Gia but not without a slight drama. Just as Eric was about to put on his cycling shades, for the first time as his eyes were getting irritated, he noticed a little scorpion the size of peanut on the lens. As we tried to take pictures of the scorpion, local kids started gathering around us so we showed off our exotic creature to them before getting rid of it safely. The kids in return brought out their bald-headed crow to impress us.
There was only a slight climb over the next 30km and I think the roads conditions slowly improved as we got closer to the Da Lat. There was even one section of dedicated cyclist lane (for both motorised and no-motorised) next to a few kilometres of tolled-highway but our joy was short-lived as it only lasted for less than 10 minutes. Persimmon fruit sellers then started to line the road and we were forced to buy a whole kilogram even though we wanted less.
We could hear sounds of waterfalls nearby and decided to stop at the Prenn Falls. The park was a bit touristy but our highlights were the walk behind the waterfall and Eric’s amusing ostrich ride. The trainer only allowed three laps before forcing the ostrich into the corner for him to get off. (I think he’ll publish a YouTube video of it soon.) At least he didn’t have it as bad as the next guy when the trainer lost control of the ostrich which went a bit wild.
We were snacking at the park for the final 10-15km to Da Lat but some rain came early so we decided to have a proper lunch. The showers didn’t last very long but we had already ordered some stir-fried noodles. The noodles looked a bit bland at first but it tasted quite good with some fish sauce. The clouds however moved ahead of us carrying rain which would drench us later.
After lunch we left the park with confidence to face what was ahead of us although I didn’t know much too much about the last miles. I’ll never be able to decide whether not knowing is better than knowing because the last stretch was almost constant climb for over 2 hours. We unknowingly took what was probably the longer, winding, but less steep, less traffic-busy route up to Da Lat, one that Eric didn’t recognise from his first trip up to Da Lat last year. And the downpour for the better part of this climb added to the struggle but somehow made the arrival at the summit entering into Da Lat so much more satisfying.
We made our way down town to our preferred budget hotel, even found out it had sauna in the main branch, but our favoured type of room were fully booked. We were then told of another owned by a family member, Thien An Hotel, which had vacancy at the same price but no sauna. The room for two, free use of computers with internet, free use of bicycles (if we needed) and ‘buffet’ breakfast for two, all for US$20 was the final step up in the improvement of accommodation standard progressed from a village home-stay and a town’s only hotel.
With enough time to sight-see only one tourist attraction, we rented a motorbike and headed to another hotel-in-the-making but more commonly known as the Crazy House. Not exactly a chip of Antoni Gaudi’s block in La Sagrada Familia, maybe only just as eccentric. Her design, especially those already constructed, seemed very random. The rooms-for-rent were themed by different animal creatures but a red-light-eye tiger or bear in the room with uncomfortable beds would not justify the prices for a long stay. Although the site’s construction began in 1990, the lobby had some work left to do and there are 2 large building sections targeted to be complete by 2011 (or was it 2013?).
We still had time for a massage, thinking it would be good for tired legs (not really), but it turned out the arms felt best after it. My left hand’s ring finger nerves had been tingling occasionally after the first day, it didn’t go away until a week later. I also could not rest my weight on my palm upon any edge which would resemble a bicycle handle for a week. But dinner at HNL Restaurant and some time on the computer checking the route and terrain of next day’s final ride was at least enough to send me to bed in the cool temperatures of Da Lat.
Day 4: Hard
Hard was something we did not expect from a day which had a 1600-metre descent.
There was only one objective for the day: cycle over 80km to Thap Cham to catch 2:46pm train to Saigon. Just keep in mind that both these numbers were from the internet.
The day started early with the much anticipated breakfast. Most of the reviews of Dreams 1, Dreams 2 and Thien An hotels raved about the breakfast provided, justifying its top three spots on the TripAdvisor rankings. They provided bread, butter, peanut butter, marmite, jam, cheese, dragon fruit, banana, mango, watermelon, pineapple, eggs, bacon, yoghurt, orange juice, coffee and tea. This amount of food available reminded me of some great hostels in Europe.
I stuffed myself in anticipation of two climbs, both would peak at 1600m, with a little dip in between. We got straight to work climbing out of Da Lat in excellent morning weather. Passed some large French-built mansions and later smaller bungalows, road conditions slowly deteriorated but it was not as busy as we expected it to be. The first climb was fairly easy, the second was longer although I remembered it as being more pleasant through some coniferous forest. We had probably covered 15-20km by the end of the second climb.
After that came the reward that we had been working for the last 3 days and one morning: DOWNHILL!!!
Our descent from the highest point came in two parts. The first was an estimated 600-metre descent over 6km, when translated to 10% average gradient, sounds more scary than fun. The second was another 800-metre drop in elevation within about 14km (5-6% average gradient). The bumpy ride down made me thankful that Eric borrowed for me a dual-suspension mountain bike with cantilever brakes. I would have had multiple pinch-flats/tyre-punctures or fallen off cliffs if I had ridden my own road bike over those road surfaces.
There was glaring difference in confidence between me and Eric when it came to descending on two wheels. As I used a lot of my brakes to keep my speed under control, he was about 5 minutes ahead of me at one point (inclusive of my bio-break). His weight, semi-slick tyres, and more importantly, his Basque-origin probably helped too. But views from a bicycle slowly going downhill, wind in the face, and pedals and cranks spinning effortlessly, no matter how short-lived those moments were, were things that made all the hard climbing and the overall trip worthwhile. So far.
At the bottom of the descent, after a sugar cane drink and a picture of a lion dance boy, about 55km laid ahead of us. We were no longer in the comforts of cool temperatures and there were no clouds in the sky for shade. We stopped after an hour averaging about 25km/h for some relief from the sun and a quick lunch. With the remaining distance about 30km to cover within 2 hours, a reasonable average speed of 20km/h would have taken us to the train station with time to spare.
The hard grind for me began here. The fourth consecutive day of loaded cycling, climbs, more than 250km, heat and then finally compounded by head winds as we approached the coast was the last straw that broke my back. I struggled to keep up with Eric as on the first day. My jaw dropped to take in as much air as possible, so much so that even my lower lips were inflamed by the end of the day from sun burn. Even Eric’s responses to kids’ calls of ‘hello’ grew faint with boredom (after three days of enthusiastic HELLO!) and need of breath. When cramps were creeping into my legs, I switched to a lighter gear to keep the legs spinning and stayed on the bike. The kilometre markers to our destination passed so slowly that I dare not check what time it was for fear realising that we might be in danger missing the train. That would have knocked the wind out of me so I kept to just counting down the miles instead of the minutes.
I continued to cycle at Eric’s insistence as he stopped to get both of us a final glucose rush from sugar cane. After he caught up, his increased pace showed that he was well aware of the time but he probably didn’t want to put extra pressure on me. I managed to keep up closely behind him in his draft as he pulled our two-man peloton hard. The last kilometre finally arrived and we were soon on the look out for the rail road track that we had to pass before a left turn into the railway station.
Found it! I took out my phone to check the time: 2:30pm!
Phew! We made it, that was close!
Alas, after checking at the ticket counter and the time table, the train for Saigon had already left at 2:16pm. According the train times updated in August, we were 14 minutes late instead of 16 minutes early (according to the official website’s February schedule). We would have had to wait for another 6 hours for the 6-hour train ride after over 100km on a bicycle seat.
Eric’s quick thinking managed to get help from a young man who was just about to leave the train station to get to the bus station in Phan Rang. He and his girlfriend had probably missed the Saigon train too. It meant another 7 kilometres of cycling but at least it was at our own pace. The girlfriend wearing a bright orange jacket riding on a motorcycle taxi was kind enough to stop periodically for us bicycles to spot and catch up as they led us first to a bus station and later to a main road to hitch a bus ride. When a bus did stop, Eric still had to convince the bus driver to let us board with our bicycles but his grasp of Vietnamese got us through once again. We were finally on our way back to Saigon, enduring the 7-hour bus ride.
Even in Saigon, it was not without a little drama. We arrived past 11pm and Eric wasn’t sure how to get home from the bus station we had just arrived in until he asked for directions. Along the way, an elastic strap from my neighbour’s panniers snapped when it got caught by the wheel spoke and tied up the rear gear cassette. Sorry, Robert. I had forgotten to latch it back after re-assembling the bike at the bus station.
It took me a few long minutes and some tools to untangle the strap from the cassette at the time when we were still not sure of our location. But once free and on our way again, Eric soon spotted familiar surroundings and we were soon on the road that even I had walked along on the day of sight-seeing Saigon before we began our cycling journey. Eric’s girlfriend, Vanessa, who had been waiting at his house, could see fatigue written all over our faces when we arrived. I had already decided not to go to Cu Chi tunnels 60km away to spare my lower body of probably some underground tunnel-crawling and another return bus ride.
A quick shower later and small snack, I repacked all my bike stuff into my backpack with mixed feelings. There was a slight sense of accomplishment but it was overshadowed by my under-estimation of the first day’s climb, the longer route leading up to Da Lat on the third day, and this final day’s missing of the train.
But I am now thankful for God’s providence, protection, mercy and grace in many forms during the trip, including Eric especially, Vanessa, kind Vietnamese people who helped us along the way, the weather, the terrain, the traffic, the shelters, food and water. I would now prefer to say God helped us conquer Da Lat.
15th Sept, Tuesday: Fly from Penang to Saigon, Vietnam
16th Sept, Wednesday: Get prepared in Saigon
17th Sept, Thursday: Train (Phan Thiet) + Bike 75 km to Di Linh
18th Sept, Friday: Bike 75 km to Da Lat
19th Sept, Saturday: Rest Day / Sight-seeing Da Lat
20th Sept, Sunday: 80 km downhill to Phan Rang + Train (Saigon)
21st Sept, Monday: Rest Day / Sight-seeing Saigon
22nd Sept, Tuesday: Fly from Saigon to Penang
Idea mooted 27th October last year, over 10 months in the making.
This time 2 years ago: June 7th, 2007 Thursday 9:45am
Cycle Europe Day 23: Train to Bologna.
I don’t want to be too critical but this morning confirms that Rome is the worst place of my trip so far. Meagre breakfast as usual. Went to transport my bike upstairs from the basement. Found out that my Kryptonite cable lock had cut marks, which was most likely from the previous day when I chained it to a bedpost that seemed unused. Next morning there was a notice saying that they needed the bed and I should have keep my bicycle outside. I chained it to a chair this time but still left it inside. I didn’t see the scratch marks yesterday. If I had, I would have made even more noise and try to get a refund. But I only saw it today and I had a train to catch to I left it.
Went to the reception to where the girl was more concerned talking to another guy about probably a broken computer than serving a customer. Politely I asked to check out before I asked her if she knew who wrote that notice. I explained that another receptionist said I could put my bicycle downstairs so I chained it to the bed when there should have been a cycle store. She said I shouldn’t have but I replied that still it was wrong on their part or the film crew that was filming there to attempt to cut my cable lock. I left with a final remark saying at the end of the day, the lock ‘only’ cost €50 but it was still wrong on their part when you put your customers last on your priority.
I always regret when I don’t handle situations good enough. I know it wasn’t the girl’s fault and I should have apologised to her for treating it like it was her fault. Maybe it was because she treated me badly that I sort of took revenge. Now I’m in the wrong again. Crap. I didn’t buy the lock but it did come with the bike so…
Should I send a proper complaint and an apology to the girl? Wait for the manager till 8:30am when I had a 9:14am train to catch? 30 minutes enough for me to get to train station? I should try to make this right in an e-mail.
Rome is expensive to stay in and to see sights. The Italian people at the hostel receptions at Rome and Firenze do not place customers first and they treat us like ’sausages’ (like D&A Opticians). Best place in Italy so far is Finale Ligure and it’s only because it’s close to France. Toilets in Rome’s Youth Hostel have no seats so you have to squat to shit. Shitty. Another statistic: Worst Value For Money Hostel: Roma!
(12 hours later.)
Had to change trains not only at Firenze SMN but also at Prato to get to Bologna. Once you’re on the streets, there are sign boards to guide you to the hostel itself so it’s already giving a good impression. There’s even a McD’s and Decathlon nearby so I got another spare tube. Nice purpose-built hostel. Plenty of plugs unlike Rome’s 70-year-old building that didn’t have the wirings. Large shower area and temperature control water. They say there’s continental breakfast here. We’ll see what it means.
Asked the friendly/helpful receptionist where I could get good ’spaghetti al ragu’ and lasagna. She kindly pointed 2 places on the map for me to find. One was only going to open at 8pm, an hour later, so I went to Trattoria Bertini and had Tagliatele alla Bolognese and Lasagna al Fruno (baked lasagna). The Bolognese noodles was wonderful. Full of flavour and cheese and mince meat. The lasagna was a bit strange but hey, that’s how the Bolognese people do it. The pasta was greenish but the rest was meat and cheese. Nice. €2 service + €6.50 x 2 + €1 tip = €16.
Pass by some Bologna sights as well the first university and another leaning tower. Definitely worth a comeback trip. Viva Bologna!!!
Day 23 Accounts
Spare Tube €3.00
Dinner €16.00
Hostel €15.50
Total €34.50
Knowing that this was God’s will does not seem to stop the mind from coming up with so many reasons to help rationalise decisions like this. I was already prepared to accept the fact that I might not get this scholarship because of the 4-month wait between the letter of acceptance and this notification since they were suppose to award scholarships on a monthly basis.
But I still came up with this last one: For me, this was going to be more of a ‘honeymoon’ period (and another European adventure at that), a continuation of my university life, rather than a pursuit for a master’s degree even though the field of study was one that I was interested in.
At least now, my mind has already started to focus ‘full steam’ on planning cycling trips.
