Guess Who's Coming To Ganh Da Dia?

I have a confession to make. The title of  this episode is very misleading. The incident in question just got me so wound up I couldn't help myself. You'll see - and hopefully understand. There's some crazy shit happening today.

The day began with a strict lecture from Syl that I MUST visit Ganh Da Dia, Vietnam's version of The Giants' Causeway (those huge, geometric interlocked stones in Ireland. Look it up), which I had already planned on checking out anyway. So I set off to do some "Back Road Biking".

 I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but while avoiding major highways seems like a great idea and romantic notion in theory, it does have its recurring pitfalls:
1. Often you can't really see anything. So while you ARE riding right beside the sea, for example, you can't see fuck all, since something is usually in the way.
2. Especially in Third World countries, the "quaint" villages are as ugly as sin. No medieval stone cottages or patisseries here.
3. Back roads here are sometimes not really roads at all, but rather tiny, unpaved lanes that can lead absolutely nowhere. Google Maps is, in my opinion, notorious for steering you down these things and hanging you out to dry. Don't get me started.
4. As you age (or at least as I age), the thrill of being completly on your own is often outweighed by classic "old man" anxieties.
"Jesus! What's that noise? If I break down here I'm screwed."
"Hmmmm...I wonder where the next gas station is. This goddam tank is the size of a purse!"
You get the idea.
5. It takes FOREVER to get anywhere. I usually average around 40 km/hr on these roads. Driving at 60 is hot shit. For purposes of comparison, that's like a 10 hour drive to get to Toronto. Fun times.

Whatever...eventually I found myself within minutes of The Rockpile.
"Oh boy!" I thought, barely able to contain my excitement. "At last! I bet I'll have this place all to myself!"
As I rounded that last corner, here's the sight that greeted my dirt-encrusted eyes

                           Aw, c'mon man!

Anyone care to take a guess as to who was packed on those buses and vans? Want a hint?

Oh yeah! It's my old friends from funky Chinatown. Unfuckingbelievable! And yet there they were, big (and loud) as life, weilding their cameras, elbows and umbrellas as skillfully as knights in days of yore. Using the hard-earned strategies I had painstakingly accumulated in Cambodia, I managed to escape with some non-Chinese infused photos and a few flesh wounds.

You know what? I was going to tell you about my WHOLE day in this post, including my brief, but exceedingly strange time in Quy Nhon, but I'm pooped and I bet you are too. So let's all call it a day. Plus this way, the title ends up being quite apropos. Smooooth!