The motorcycle diaries day two

From Lac Lake to Buon Ma Thuot via waterfall, two wedding photograph sessions, a cock fight (didn't stop and as illegal as the rice wine distillery yesterday but no policemen around here so who cares), the only speed trap area in the region (40 kmh on bad roads 60 on good), an ethnic village, a bush with red seeds which are used in curry that i didn't get the name of and some war stories.

Firstly you have to be specific about which war - there have been a few here. If you talk Viet Minh it's the war with the French for independence. If you talk Viet Cong it's the war with America. Then there was the war to free Cambodia from Pol Pot and I think there was another one ah no, I remember, the other one was the left over of the American war after America had left.

So the stories..... All from Wing who we knew had a past just like Ghan our Khmer Rouge Cambodian building colleague......it's all in their age and their eyes...

First by a burnt out bombed roman catholic cathedral by the side of a bridge on the outskirts of town. After the Americans had left Vietnam the Viet cong wanted the town, Wing and his troop watched the bridge and made it impassable. The VC found another way, took the town and surrounded Wing and the southern army stationed at the airbase. They were kept there until they decided to try and escape to get to Da Lat. 200 made it out. In two weeks 7 made it to Da Lat. We sensed there was much more to this story but there are some questions that should never be asked so we took what information Wing was happy to share in the shade of a little tree as he sketched a plan of the area in the dust with a stick.
And then on to the aforemetioned romantic wedding photographs which were being taken on an old burnt concrete bridge that had been bombed. We must have looked like we thought it was an odd place for wedding photos but as Wing said - it's lucky because many people had to die for the bridge to look like that so we value it more.
The bridge has a name now - it's named for the river it passes over. It used to just have a number as there were so many bridges it was easier for the southern army to know which was which by numbers. Mountains they only knew by their heights. Apart from Hamburger Hill - named by the Americans when they were still there.....so called because the area was bombed so much - people died and were buried in shallow graves then bombed out of their graves and reburied so many times they looked like hamburger meat.

On that cheery note we headed to the hotel for the night and dinner which given last nights was quite scary but hurrah fried chicken and rice. The relief. Although I think our nerves were showing (either that or we're learning) as when Wing asked if we wanted a chicken leg we both said 'yes please but not the feet'.....