Well that was full on.
We’d decided to hire a bike and head off to the national park, and go for a bit of a trek.
First stop was ‘Hospital cave’, which we’d been told was ‘hardly worth the visit’. But I for one was keen to see it. A hospital built inside a cave, during the war. Doubtless there wouldn’t be much to see; but I’m always filled with admiration for the achievements of the Vietnamese, in seeing off the most powerful nation on earth, and the modesty of the physical legacy only testifies to that achievement.
Sure enough, little more than a handful of rooms, crudely built inside a cave complex. All very tidy now, but blurry pictures on the walls gave at least some impression of what conditions must have been like at the time, along with long lost anonymous haunting faces. How old is that boy? 11? 12?
Barely half an hour later we were back out blinking in the daylight, then back on the bike and further north to the national park, where we had vague plans to walk up to the top of Navy Mountain.
When we got there and checked out the maps, it was clear that Navy Mountain would be a big ask – it looked like about 10k each way, and with a lot of up and down en route. We had no idea! But being basically gung ho and foolish, we set off in that general direction.
For the first mile or two it was all a-ok: a nice clear track, loads of room, gentle gradients, what a lovely day. Then we came to the first real climb, and pretty soon the track began to get rougher and rougher, with broken steps and steep gradients, and sections where the only way you knew that had to be the way was that every other direction was completely impossible. All the time, though, there was much to admire. The vegetation was lush, the air was full of jungly noises, and there were beautiful butterflies absolutely everywhere.
Then it got tougher. The track all but disappeared, and it became a matter of hauling ourselves up and over rocks the size of a Toyota – more mountaineering than trekery. But Virle was totally undaunted and absolutely up for it, and on we went.
Up and down, up and down, one peak after another, until eventually, we got to the point where we were seriously wondering whether even the village was a realistic option, let alone Navy peak, at which point we ran into a rather lugubrious French couple, who very kindly told us the village was at least another hour, and the mountaintop a good ways past that. Given that it was already approaching two, we clearly just didn’t have enough time. So with heavy hearts we gobbled down our snack lunch and turned back the way we’d come.
Just as well we did, in truth. By the time we got back to the entrance we were both starting to feel it. Some of the toughest few hours I’ve done in years – and I include the Italian mountain passes I tackled with Jens back in the autumn.
Just time for a pleasant beer at a roadside cafe on the coast road, then back to town to clear up ready for dinner. Excellent day, and I think we’ll both sleep sound tonight.