Singing on a Motorbike

It all started when we saw the handwritten sign reading “MOTORBIKE RENTALS” on Cham Island off the coast of Vietnam. Gesturing across the language barrier, we communicated that we wanted a tour around the island on motorbikes. There were six of us and only two people with bikes in sight. One of the guys pulled out his simple cell phone and made a few calls one after the next. One by one, people rolled up on their motorbikes and we hopped on. My driver wore clothing covering every speck of skin from the sun and bright red sandal-heels. Riding around, we couldn’t communicate via typical conversation. She held down the front of her wide-brimmed hat, right hand on the bike, and sang. Blue sky, warm sun, and cruising through the hills with friends, what else is there to do but sing?!

At one point we fell behind the group because she stopped to buy gas. At first the shop attendant thought she wanted a bottle of water, and then came back with an extra tall plastic water bottle with a yellowish liquid. Turns out it was the gas. A couple extra revs and we were back with the group. We rode up the mountain with the coast on one side and lush green forest on the other. We shared the road with other bikers and two herds of goats. They took us way up one side of the island until a landslide blocked off the road. We turned around, went down the hill, back through town and up the other side. We saw a lot of the island, the perimeter at least, seems much less accessible inland due to the mountainous terrain. 

The Cham Islands are about a thirty-minute speedboat ride and three-hour canoe paddle (so I hear) from mainland Vietnam, specifically near Hoi An. In the 1960s/70s many people fled to the largest island to escape the war, for it was a safe haven from destruction. During that time, US troops frequented the island to recruit soldiers to join against North Vietnam. We met one man who moved to the island in 1968 to escape the war. Riding around on motorbikes, I wondered what associations he has with spots around the island, perhaps secret hideouts people fled to during those recruitments. In regards to present-day migration, the government now restricts people from moving there due to a sort of max-capacity on population.

The motorbike rentals we encountered are not rare on the island. With the rise of a marine protected area, many people are transitioning their livelihoods from fishing to tourism. A very small portion is flat land with built infrastructure. There is one half-built resort. Riding up the hills, past goats, and through clouds of dragonflies, it made me seriously think about what the island will look like in ten years. If construction of the resort eventually finishes, will the neighboring small town be able to maintain it character as it is? Can tourism provide sustainable livelihoods for people and communities? Traveling at this point in time with the coronavirus, the island was relatively empty of tourists. Fishing restrictions are in place to conserve the delicate marine environment, agriculture fields are suffering due to lack of fresh water, so many fishermen and their families are trading their fishing boats for tourist boats and spreading homestays, comparable to a bed and breakfast, around the island. Much of the academic studies of this program are focused on understanding climate change in a market economy, and the case of the Cham Islands are an example of livelihood change to preserve an ecosystem. Hopefully people are able to collaborate across sectors to maintain healthy and satisfactory livelihoods in this transition to tourism.

And then I felt a jolt, heard the engine rev and noticed my feet vibrating on bike. There we were riding high up overlooking the ocean unable to tell where the water ended and the sky began on the horizon. The drivers collected leaves from one tree during a stop, I believe for tea. Communicating with common spoken language didn’t matter so much because there was nothing to do but smile and sing. And high-fiving each other pushing 40km/hr on motorbikes.