We spend the day riding along a concrete path beside a river, and frequently on bridges over estuaries. Jackfruit and coconut palms line each side of the road, and an occasional house meanders by, all open to the breeze and the wealthy ones tiled. Shops come right to the path, some extending a shelter overhead and, in one case, making us ride right through. This isn’t a tourist path. We share it with motor scooters, other bicycles, some electric, dogs and the occasional pedestrian. Scooters are often laden with a fantail of jackfruit, groceries, and in one striking instance, turquoise cloth.
Our guide has brought us along ‘backroads’ to avoid all the traffic and give us an insight into the daily life of the people. Many of them shout hello, and some invite us to their parties. It’s Monday midday, and every kilometre, we hear karaoke blasting from a nearby house. Eventually one group manages to steer Quang off the road and he advises we join this party.
It’s the local government meeting, and they’re all sloshed. For the next half hour, our hands are grasped, we’re fed and drunk. The drink is just plain rice wine, not the happy drink, but it’s potent, and each of the men want to share half a shot with each of the men in our group. The one woman also insists on sharing a shot with the women with us, but she coughs as much as we do. She then decides she wants to sing for us. I notice the karaoke setup for the first time, and wonder how I missed it. A small flatbed ute supports two concert speakers, and a young man twiddles dials on a sound desk. This is some serious kit.
Quang finally disengages us and gets us back on bridge road. After 40km of riding, we chill out in a boat for half an hour. The boat takes us to our hotel, which is on a large island in the delta, where our rooms are built directly over a creek. Mosquito nets are mandatory tonight. We have to work for our supper, grating papaya for the prawn and papaya salad and rolling our spring rolls. I fall asleep to the rhythm of crickets.