In The Hall of the Mountain King

I hate caves.

I hate everything about caves. They're dark, damp and dirty. They smell funny, swarm with evil creatures and I'm always positive they're going to collapse the minute after I enter them.

And that's why I laid out some serious money and set aside two precious days to go caving. I'm not even going to bother to try to explain it, except to say that the caves were part of the same group as Son Doong, the world's largest cave (which, unfortunately I would not be seeing since the price of admission is 7 days and $3000 US). I would be doing the poor man's expedition: 2 caves, 2 days, still plenty of potential for disaster.

On the appointed morning, I ate The Last Breakfast and was whisked to Oxalis HQ, where I met my fellow idiots (3 couples from respectively California, Paris and Berlin). I listened (partially) to the standard bullshit briefing and got kitted out with gumboots, dry bags, etc. Then it was into the van for the drive to the hiking-in spot.

Preparations for the suicide mission are carefully made.

And off we went to the first cave.

The intrepid cavers, the National Park ranger (who, like most government employees, ended up doing fuck all) and one of the guide assistants, who literally carried a bag equivalent to his body weight.

Time to enter Hang Nuoc Nut. Of course you can't see my testicles shrivelling, but, believe me, they most certainly were.

What could be more conducive to an enjoyable lunch than the possibility of imminent death? Mmmmm.

As we descended and the roof of the cave closed over us, I felt remarkably calm, probably because I was concentrating so hard on not slipping and falling to my death that I had no time to be claustrophobic. Not to mention the fact that within the first half hour, we were wading through chilly, chest- high water and completely soaked, a state I was to remain in for 2 full days. And, in case you're wondering: yes, it's both extremely uncomfortable and relentlessly unpleasant.

But even that couldn't dampen my enthusiasm and wonder. I don't really know how to describe the feeling of being there without resorting to hackneyed, overused superlatives. Look for yourself.

See what I mean? How can you possibly describe those scenes in words? And who's that fearless fool standing beside the giant stalagmite?

Anyhow, the trek just kept going from one awe-inspiring venue to the next. You know how in certain situations (eating, music & travelling are the first three that come to my mind, but I'm sure you've got your own) you just keep repeating, "That's my favorite.............! No, THAT'S my favorite!" ad nauseum? It's exactly like that.

I mean, c'mon, give me a break.

All too soon, it was time to leave and head for camp - on just about the toughest climb and descent I've ever done. Steep, slippery and done after 4 hours of scrambling around in boots that seemed to have soles made of bear grease. Jesus on a stick!

The descent and the reward, including a d'Eça/Ducharme toilet. Home sweet home.

Next morning, after a yummy western breakfast - French toast AND pancakes - we climbed back into our soaking wet clothes, a feeling even more uncomfortable than it sounds, if that's possible.

Brief non sequitur: I was again reminded of my chats with Charles concerning exactly these things - extreme terrain and constantly wet clothing. I did it for 2 days and it made me suicidal. Imagine weeks on end. The mind boggles.

Another descent - this time wearing climbing harnesses and having to clip onto a line - unh-huh, THAT steep and precarious and done 4 fucking times - into Hang Va. I'll shut up & let the photos do the talking for me.

The last 2 are of "tower cones" which take an excruciatingly long walk to get to and reminded me of an underground Pamukkale.

Honestly, there were so many other spots that, believe it or not, were even more breathtaking, but because we had to wade through waist-high water to access them, I couldn't use my camera.

And that's that. Another excruciating climb out of the cave, up & down the mountain and done like dinner.

So the obvious question is: Was it worth it? And the oh-so-obvious answer is: Oh yeah! Not that I'm ever going to do it, but Vuong, our guide, was telling me that our caves are " like little babies" compared to Son Doong, where, for example, the ceiling can be 180 metres high and the rooms can be 200 metres wide.

So, while my opinion of caves in general hasn't changed, I find I'm willing to make an exception or two now, particularly if I can visit them.

Unfortunately, and much to my chagrin, this will be the last episode of my riveting saga, at least for this trip. This mornjng on the way to Mai Chau, my moto and I had a brief disagreement on whether we should remain vertical or try out horizontal and I lost. It really was one of those,"How could I be so fucking stupid?" moments. It was drizzling and the road was in that greasy state that I really should have been aware of. I saw a sign for gas and (I swear to God) just touched the brake. But I must have turned the wheel just a tad. There was that brief moment, "Ah shit, no!" and then it was over. No big deal, except that I landed on my left shoulder and head. The good news was the entire village came out to help. Two ladies took me into their house, since I was a bit wobbly, and fed and cleaned me up. Some guy pushed my bike up the hill to the mechanic and his buddy escorted me to the doctor, who patched up my obvious cuts and scrapes and shrugged about the rest. Soon thereafter I was back on my way.
The bad news is that while I can drive, it hurts like hell and trying to carry my knapsack is even worse, so that pretty much rules out any further travel, unless I can somehow scare up a masseuse/porter/driver tomorrow morning in Hanoi.

So come Sunday evening, after what I'm presuming will be the ultimate flights from hell, I'll be nestled in the bosom of my family - a silver lining if there ever was one.
It's super warm there now, right?