Bypassing the Vietnamese annexe of the Russian Mafia
We had spent the last couple of days trying to find out how to get to the area where the best of Vietnam's coffee is produced, a city called Buom Ma Thuot. Information on a potential route was limited, and our options even more so. Staff at Phuong Or Villa hostel had tried a couple of times to telephone the one company who used to run a local bus route to Buom Ma Thuot. There was never ever any answer and getting that bus would've meant a 30km detour in the wrong direction before we could even pick up the route. Hannahâ and I found a website for a bus company advertising the route from Hoi An to Buom Ma Thuot, but two different hostel staff took one look at the site and said it couldn't be trusted. Our remaining option was to get a night bus to the Vietnamese annexe of the Russian Mafia, Nha Trang, and then take a local bus from there to Buom Ma Thuot. Our transfer bus from the hostel to Hoi An bus station had just screeched away when Hannah realised she'd lecture phone plugged in - the driver seemed relieved to find that the din could be calmed by making a quick U-turn. The 7pm bus to Nha Trang was already waiting for us when we arrivedâ at the bus station a touch before 6.15pm. Within a few minutes the driver ordered all passengers aboard and promptly set off. Goodness knows what happens to anyone who should arrive just half an hour before the scheduled departure time.Â
Another good experience on a Vietnamese night bus came to an end as we arrived in Nha Trang around 4.30am. However, the bus had not stopped at the bus station, but instead on a random side street somewhere in the city. We alighted and got talking to a couple of taxi drivers about getting a ride to the bus station. The sometimes-lifesaver app MapsMe wasn'tâ doing us any favours in terms of locating the bus stop or station. And so began the negotiations. Driver One started ambitiously, opening with 500,000 Dong (over ÂŁ17) for which we could have gone some distance back to Hoi An. Driver Two was more realistic but still too high at 400,000 but we held out, and the drivers had a mini-confernce in Vietnamese before Driver One offered 350,000, and Driver Two walked away. A little over ÂŁ12 to an unspecified distance at 5am seemed like it was a risk, but a reasonable one. When we arrived at the bus station a little over 15 minutes later, it was clear we had been had. It was getting light and Driver One showed us to the bus to Buom Ma Thuot, which was waiting on the forecourt. The bus driver loaded our bags into the back of the clapped-out vehicle. Even by Vietnamese standards, the bus didn't look as though it would ever start, let alone make a journey of several hours into the hilly countryside. The price was 200,000 Dong per person. There was something causing a lot of amusement between Driver One and the bus driver. Hannah went to investigate at the bus station counter. When Driver One saw where she was headed, he tried to distract her and call her away from the ticket office. I joined Hannah over at the ticket booth where the lady on duty informed us the price to Buom Ma Thuot was actually 100,000 Dong per person. We thanked her and went out to the forecourt to have a word with the bus driver. As yet no money had changed hands but we told him what we had found out and agreed the proper price of 100,000 per person. At this point Driver One scarpered. We boarded the dilapidated carriage and sat a couple of rows behind a young family. As the morning sunlight bounced off the coastline, I didn't think Nha Trang looked all too bad. The road was in a fair condition and our route was a very straight one as we reached the outer edges of the city. Even so, the dad of the young family in front of us couldn't keep his breakfast down. Looks as though the whole family knew it would be happening as the young child scrambled over to his mum's side, while she passed the dad one thing plastic sick bag after another. The bus had long lost any rubbish facilities it may have had and so the dad chucked the bulging bags out of the passenger window. Every now and then he didn't put enough umph into his throw and a bag would catch on some jagged edge on the outside of the bus, causing the bag to split and dribble its contents down to the road. I felt a mixture of sympathy and schadenfreude hilarity as the frequency of the eruptions remained strong. The bus made regular stops on its way out of the city, as people used it as a postal service, loading on sacks of rice, and handing over sealed envelopes to the driver. We picked up a few more passengers too and after a while we seemed to have left the city behind, climbing into forested hills and winding round bumpy roads. This change in road conditions didn't help the vomiting dad and, there must have been something in the water as a couple of the new passengers were suffering from the same affliction. The bus was full of locals of all ages, including another child, sat on his mother lap, who filled his first sick bag of the day. Hannah had managed to nod off and so didn't witness the child's mother try to (unsuccessfully) convince the lady sat between her and the window to accept the swinging bag of sick. Even though I was on the other side of the bus and a couple of rows back, I grew from interested to nervous as the game of hot potato spread from the bench where it had began to other unwilling participants on the rows directly in front and behind the poorly child. Eventually someone gave in and briefly held the bag between their fingers as they launched it out of their window. Whilst not getting distracted by all the stomach spewing on board, the scenery en route to Buom Ma Thuot was lush and green in parts while the urban sections had a lot of niceish looking houses with a consistent theme of setees on the verandas, and buffalo in fields. We arrived in Buom Ma Thuot around midday and unusually there was no throng of taxi drivers, just a large, quiet bus station. We were off the tourist trail. We went to find a taxi and locate the one guesthouse which sounded like it might be open. The ticket office staff had been a great help in Nha Trang so we paid the Buom Ma Thuot branch a visit. In lieu of any English words, a friendly lady gestured apologetically. Equally unhelpful, our two-week crash course in Vietnamese had resulted in the far key phrases "thank you (camon)" and "three (ba)". The language barrier was high. The Vietnamese lady called her colleague who also spoke no word of English. He did however, have Google Translate on his phone. Passing the device between the four of us, we were able to communicate what we needed and were soon in a taxi to the guesthouse.












