Over the years, I’ve learned that my travel bias is in favor of remote beauty. I am drawn towards areas or regions that are somewhat difficult to reach, resulting in a sparse tourist presence, perhaps lacking on luxuries, but making up for it in simple pleasures and views that make up the daily life of the local population. While Vietnam’s north does have its fair share of the antithesis of this type of travel locale, with bustling Hanoi and over touristed Ha Long Bay, there are a myriad of treasures waiting to be unearthed throughout the windy, mountainous roads on your way to China.

Before heading remote, we made plans for the obligatory sights, spending a couple days in Hanoi and Ha Long Bay. Hanoi was more enjoyable that I’d remembered, with its myriad of alleys and markets in the old quarter, and delicious dining options spread out either on the street or in tiny hole-in-the-wall type restaurants, or perhaps right on the train tracks. What might seem like chaos is actually a well-oiled machine, with the freshest of foods and variety of services all at your fingertips. I took some time to purposely get lost one afternoon, walking through alleys filled with birdcages (the Vietnamese love their birds), stopping for a quick bowl of pho while avoiding having my toes run over in the street, bargaining for the best Ha Long Bay tour I could find, and relaxing under an overpass on tiny chairs while I waited for my Bia Hoi (fresh brewed beer) and peanuts to be served. I was most definitely out of place everywhere I sat, but, as is the case anywhere in the world, sitting down over a beer brings people together. The streets of Hanoi are a wanderer’s dream, it really is a crapshoot as to what you might come across, be it frogs in a bucket or the best tasting soup you’ve ever had.

Cruise booked, we opted to spend a couple days in Lan Ha bay, the less-visited neighbor to the famous Ha Long Bay. With many reports of trash and murky waters in Ha Long Bay, we were hoping for a bit more serenity, away from the party boats and general abuse of the pristine nature that can be found in the waters off the northern coast of Vietnam. While the weather didn’t exactly cooperate, it felt like the misty fog and rain added to the ominousness of the waters and the thousands of limestone karst islands that make up the scene. So, while there was no sunbathing on the deck to be enjoyed, the environment was more than conducive to a little rest and reflection. We passed floating fishing villages and remote beaches, stopping for an afternoon on Cat Ba island, sampling some local snake whiskey and sticking our feet in the river for a fish-eating frenzy.

The cruise itself was a comedy of errors. With the Coronavirus fears in full effect, demand was down and staff was low, leaving us with one cruise manager (Eagle) who played the role of formal host, kayak guide, happy hour party starter, tableside slam poetry reader (in Vietnamese), and morning Kung-Fu instructor (the Tai Chi instructor was gone, so we got Kung Fu instead). Eagle wasn’t particularly good at any of those roles, and he must have changed outfits at least 5 times, but we were along for the ride and couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he took himself. The next day at dinner, a failed flambe attempt left one cruise guest completely on fire as everyone swarmed to put her out. Thankfully, no serious injuries occurred, but the mishap seemed to fit right in with the rest of the experience. By the time late night squid fishing rolled around, we were certain somebody would be lost at sea, but surprisingly it all went off without a hitch. As was the case the last time around, Ha Long and the surrounding bays are stunning, and should not be missed, just remember to bring your sense of humor.

Bidding farewell to our temporary travel friend, we left the city and headed for the hills in the far north of the country, arriving to Ba Be Lake as the sun was setting behind the mountains and a blue haze began to settle on the lake. A small agricultural village sits at one end of the lake, with almost every family home turned into a homestay in the hopes of attracting the tourist dollar. Our basic homestay came equipped with a dining deck overlooking acres of bright green rice fields running right into the lake. The combination of the geometric shapes and lines of the rice fields, the calm waters of the lake, the backdrop of densely forested mountains, and the complete silence (save for the incessant rooster crowing), did nothing but reinforce my biases for this kind of travel. A family style home-cooked meal and some strong rice wine capped it all off.  We spent the following day in a boat exploring around the lake and, while no site in particular was anything to write home about, we enjoyed a relaxing ride in yet another idyllic setting tucked away in a remote corner of an underappreciated travel destination.

Leaving Ba Be, we moved closer to the Chinese border, grabbing a motorbike and making the journey to Ban Gioc waterfall, on the border of Vietnam and China. It’s a spectacular, multi-level set of falls, with turquoise waters tucked between more limestone mountain formations. The ride itself may have been even more beautiful than the waterfall. Rolling hills, rice fields, and mountains, an environment as rural as it gets, we took detour after detour to find beautiful vistas, friendly faces, and scenes you wouldn’t believe were real unless you were looking at them. I’ve run out of words to describe the scenery and experience at this point, I just know the feelings evoked: freedom, awe, excitement, appreciation, disbelief, and the desire for more. I will go back to this region of the world over and over again and never grow tired of it. Vietnam may not be the easiest place to travel, but the rewards are unmatched.

I can’t wait to go back.

Continuing our adventurous transport in Laos, we found ourselves crossing another remote border in an iffy bus that may or may not have been smuggling dozens of sacks of illegal charcoal into Vietnam. After nervously waiting while our passports were taken away for inspection for just a bit too long for comfort, we were finally relieved to hear the clicking of another stamp press as we made our way into the last country on our Southeast Asian itinerary. While Cambodia and Laos contain pockets of serenity and natural beauty between plenty of dusty, arid, and bleak landscapes, Vietnam seemingly contains nothing but lush jungle covering striking mountain landscapes and endless coastline. Colors change from bland to bright seemingly at the border.

After another 12+ hour day of travel, we arrived to my favorite of Vietnamese cities, Hoi An. Colorful walking streets filled with hanging lanterns, tea houses, coffee shops, restaurants, and, of course, the famous tailor shops, make Hoi An tough to top when it comes to charm. Meandering through the pastel alleys in search of homemade banana ice cream, coffee ice cubes, sweet herbal tonics, miniature snacking snails, local noodle and dumpling dishes, daily Banh Mi sandwiches, and historical shophouses, I was pleased to see Hoi An was just as enjoyable as I’d remembered. With the coast nearby, we spent a day lounging on white sands after exploring a few temples built into existing caves in the surrounding mountains. With some new found company from California, we rented bicycles and made our way across the river to a more rural island, with verdant rice fields and palm trees guiding our way through various villages, boat docks, and canals…leisurely exploration at its finest.

The country of Vietnam is much larger than you might imagine, with so many sights to see that one trip, even five trips for that matter, is not enough to enjoy all it has to offer. On my previous motorcycle adventure through the country, I’d skipped the region of Phong Nha, famous for its enormous cave systems, one of which is the largest known in the world. The train ride from the Hoi An area passed over the Hai Van pass, part of the old Demilitarized zone during the war. As if Vietnam hadn’t shown off enough already with its scenery, the slow train ride was nothing short of majestic, carving around and through the mountain range, revealing hidden beaches along the coast and rivers flowing from the mountains above, all with a backdrop of every shade of green you can imagine. The one-hour drive from the train station to our final destination was just as serene, with ominous limestone karsts in the distance and endless green rice fields lining the road and the rivers. Arriving in our bungalow for the evening, we made our way to a bench down by the river and enjoyed a refreshing beer while the fisherman came to shore and the smoke from small fires slowly billowed from the few houses along the opposite river bank. Idyllic to say the least.

We spent the next day in the hands of our trusty hotel owner turned chauffeur as he took us around to 3 of the most famous cave systems in the area. The first cave was the largest, with nearly a mile-long platform leading us deep into the earth. Massive formations growing from both the ceiling and floor, all lit up with different colors to accentuate the mineral rich contents, had us forgetting the reality that we were way further underground than we’d normally be comfortable with. Some ceilings looked as though they were painted in the Vatican, while small pools hidden from light sources looked so dark that I thought they might lead all the way to the center of the earth. It’s possible to follow the cave for 5 miles or so past the wooden platforms, but we opted to save that adventure for another day. The second cave required a zipline over the river to access, and more than our fair share of mud crawling to get through in some places. We were brought to a mud pool of sorts, with the softest mud you can imagine tickling our toes and making for a nice face scrub after months on the road. Overcoming a fear of small spaces, our crew squeezed through the darkness and made our way out of the cave, where an overwater obstacle course lay at our disposal. Rope swings, zip lines, American Ninja Warrior-type ropes courses, you name it. The views upstream and downstream were spectacular, with giant limestone karsts towering over the turquoise water of the river. Paradise found once again. The final stop of the day required a boat ride straight into another enormous cave, with more intricate formations and colorful walls waiting for us. Thinking about the random farmers that happened upon some of these caves had me daydreaming, as I often do, of discovering something which no eyes had ever been laid on until then. Throughout my life, the settings of these faux discoveries have changed from ruins in South America to some crater on the moon to an island on the high seas. Having not yet discovered any new frontier, I am resigned to accept that it’s all about the journey blah blah blah…

After enjoying another evening of smoky serenity on the shore, we decided 3 giant caves were enough and spent the following day back on motorbikes, two this time, to explore the countryside and visit the local hotspots, which did not disappoint. Our morning was spent at “The Duck Stop” where a local family has turned their Aflac white ducks into an obligatory stop for anybody looking to have a hundred ducks follow you around, give you a foot massage with their beaks, and ravenously eat from your hands while you hold them. Nearly the entirety of the 15 minutes with the ducks was spent laughing hysterically at their mannerisms and massaging skills. Further down the rocky dirt road, we found ourselves at another café overlooking the river below, this time fully equipped with a giant tree swing that was definitely safe. For a few dollars, we enjoyed a coffee, laid out on some hammocks, and braved the adventure swing out over the valley below. The ride back across narrow bridges, past a beautiful church, and through winding rice fields brought us to quaint little lunch spot, where a local family whips up everything from scratch (you can pick your chicken while it’s still walking around, if you’d like). The family spoke no English, but had a translated menu to choose from. The genuineness and welcoming environment were yet another reminder as to why I, and many others, are so drawn to this country. Here we were, sitting on low, open air tables next to a field of crops against a mountain backdrop, staring into a bare bones kitchen watching an entire family cook up our meal from items they’d just picked from their farm, smiling and gesturing with us as the sole means of communication between two groups full of gratitude for entirely different, yet intertwined, reasons.

We took a detour for the final leg home, passing along the riverbanks at dusk, waving to the young children outside on their porch, maneuvering our way between cows and water buffalo, catching glimpse after glimpse into homes right as dinner hour had come. By now I was used to seeing families sit down for dinner just inside their open front door, and no longer felt like I was intruding by letting my gaze linger. With each passing wave from families and children, we were invited further and further into a world that we knew was not ours, despite how graciously we were made to belong.

Trekking along muddy trails to my indigenous homestay for the evening, over and down enormous rice terraces glistening in the afternoon rain, I looked back down the steep, deep green valley carved into the surrounding mountains and wondered what took me so long to get here.

Located in the northwest corner of Vietnam, nearing the Chinese border, I did not have especially high expectations for Sapa, and more or less added it to the list as my final stop before heading to Laos. Little did I know that I’d come to enjoy this mountain escape more than any other place in Vietnam.

The main draw of Sapa is the plethora of homestays available, as local women offer to take you through the hills into their village, where they will give you a bed, cook you a meal, and sell you bracelets. Arriving on the night bus at 3:30 in the morning, the crowd of women began to show up around 4, unbeknownst to the sleeping and weary travelers aboard. Once the doors opened at 6, the sales pitches began, accompanied by surprisingly good English as compared to the rest of the country. The women are sweet enough, and it wasn’t too much of a hassle to avoid being dragged along down the mountain to an unknown village.

Prior to venturing out into the villages, a motorbike trip was necessary to ease my withdrawals I’d been having ever since I sold my bike. The areas surrounding Sapa were simply stunning. Silver and Love waterfalls, along with Tram Ton pass just add to the incredible views around nearly every corner of the winding roads that split off in all directions from the center of town. Lush greens of the forest give way to the terraces that dot nearly every hillside, where running out of fuel becomes the only worry that could possibly cross one’s mind. Nearly every café and restaurant sports a view you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere outside a 5-star hotel or mansion in the hills.

While the homestay itself was underwhelming, the journey to get there, along with the obligatory exploring around the hillside and village by day and night, was nothing short of idyllic. The steady rain simply added to the aura of it all. Mist covered the mountains as streams of water splashed from the terraces down to the roaring river below. Nearly everyone slipped down the muddy “trail” at one point or another, as the local women became invaluable guides / steady arms on which to hold on. I’d like to think they were helping out of the goodness of their hearts, but they too had bracelets to sell once we arrived for lunch. The scenes continued to unfold. Farmers reflecting on their work ahead out over the valley. Children enjoying the view from atop water buffaloes. Men and women plowing each and every terrace. Farm animals running rampant. All it took was a slight detour away from the undeterred saleswomen and children to find the true draw of the area, reality in its purest form.

Upon arrival at the homestay, I set out with some serendipitous company on a little exploring through the terraces and away from the main drag. For some unknown reason, the lines and contours of the rice terraces mesmerize me. I cannot help but be captivated by both the engineering and the artistic appeal of it all. Tip-toeing along the ledges, trying to avoid both falling in and falling off, while at the same time dodging angry dogs and immovable buffalo, my sense of adventure was as heightened as ever, and euphoria set in as we passed little children keen on a game of hand slapping (My hands were too quick for them, if you were wondering).

The trek back to town was wet and slippery as expected, but no less spectacular, as we climbed and climbed to hillside huts for short respites from the rain, crossing some of the paths I’d gathered a sneak peek at the day before. After returning to Sapa, it was clear that one day on the motorbike proved insufficient, as we spent another day outside the town exploring more villages accessed by paths that resembled roads to some degree. More buffalo, more children, more terraces, more shades of green, more surreal views. There’s a particular joy associated with the feeling of knowing you’re exactly where you need to be.

...and then, with the roar of the night bus, it's gone.

Every country has theirs. The sights that are a part of nearly every travel itinerary, from package tourists to shoestring backpackers. For Vietnam, UNESCO listed Ha Long Bay is, in all likelihood, the biggest tourists draw for the country. You know the images: Ships anchored in a bay of huge limestone karsts as far as the eye can see, a maze of rock formations that would take years to explore each one. Kayaks floating through caves and remote fishing villages so very far removed from modern society (besides those pesky tourists).

Options for visiting Ha Long Bay run the gamut, from booze cruise to luxury. I went with a slightly upper class tour, as I’d hear one too many stories of rats on board to cave in to the budget options. Turns out I was a little more than slightly overcharged, but this I’ve come to expect in Vietnam. Having done my share of cruises and boat tours on this trip, I tempered my expectations a bit, but also put myself in just the right frame of mind to be spending a couple days out on the water amidst striking scenery. After a few photos, I found a perch at the front of the boat to soak in everything around me. The limestone formations are familiar now, but the sheer endlessness of it all really stuck with me this time around. Every few minutes, new shapes appeared, constantly changing with my perspective as we sailed through and around. I wondered what it all might look like from the top of a peak, before remembering just how comfortable I was lounging on the deck. As the sun began to set, the silhouettes of ships found anchor for the evening as fisherman were just beginning their night’s work. They crossed paths as dusk, a contrast as stark as any, the tiny boats and their occupants doing their very best to make a life, while those on massive ships struggled to escape theirs.

The thing I enjoy most about sailing, surprisingly, is that you’re stuck. There is no option to get off, to explore, to find something new. You must take the world as it comes to you, and enjoy it for what it is. Gone are the what-ifs and the desire to find some sight or place that might be better than where you currently sit. Anxiety fades to contentment, because what else is there, really? It’s in these moments that I appreciate, I reflect, and I daydream. I dream of being an explorer, of discovering such beauty someday, somewhere. Alas, Ha Long Bay has long been discovered, as evidenced by the hordes of boats and tourists vying for their own piece of paradise.

Thankfully, there’s plenty to go around.

Now bike-less, I made my first overnight bus trip in Vietnam up to the small city of Ninh Binh, just a couple hours south of Hanoi. Crammed in the back of a 3-wide, 2-high, and 10-long series of too-small beds next to an arguing Vietnamese couple was not my ideal sleeping situation, but it worked.

Not much is going on in Ninh Binh, as the town draw is held a few kilometers away at Tam Coc, an oasis hidden from the city smog and blowing horns. A serene river flows through rice fields guarded by ominous limestone towers. Small canoes are manned by local rowers that switch between rowing with their arms to skillfully paddling with their legs as they slowly drift through the silence of the rice and river. Green rice plants had begun their turn to yellow, creating a warm reflection over each panorama. Under caves and into lagoons, the 2-hour float through the river was as peaceful as it was mesmerizing.

It seems as though the further north I’ve travelled in Vietnam, the more striking the scenery has become. Stopping off in a place like Ninh Binh, which I’d never heard of until maybe 2 or 3 days prior, is one of the aspects I love most about open-ended travel. It’s nearly impossible to discover all the sights and sounds of a country from behind a computer screen, so why bother? The invaluable information gathered from fellow travelers in hostels, guesthouses, and at the sights themselves provides the perfect roadmap for truly discovering all that’s on offer. Alas, there’s never enough time to see everything, and as I hopped on my too-full mini-bus headed towards Hanoi and the northern tip of Vietnam, I wondered just what else may have been hidden in the trail I was leaving behind. 

Hoi An will charm your socks off.

After the adventurous, but somewhat stressful bike trip from Ho Chi Minh through the Central Highlands to Hoi An, I was in desperate need of a little bit of recovery time. Sitting on a stoop enjoying a morning coffee in front of the pedestrian only street, watching fruit sellers and handicraft-ers setting up shop for the day, in no rush whatsoever, I did my best to soak in the calm before the hard-selling of the day began. You can buy all things kitsch in Hoi An, though it’s best known for the multitude of tailors that line nearly every street in the old town. Beautiful suits and silk dresses are on display in shops, on locals, and in bags of satisfied tourists. Come nightfall, glowing silk lanterns hang over alleys, bridges, and doorways, guiding a path through the maze of colorful facades and back streets. For me, Hoi An is synonymous with colors. The warm hues of yellows and reds on storefronts, the bright blues and greens of the lanterns, and the glowing candle boxes of every color that float down the canal each evening.

Hoi An is a photographer’s dream, a shopaholic’s Atlantis, a foodie’s paradise, and an introvert’s nightmare. You will be the victim of a sales pitch. And you will buy something. Maybe a lot of things. Like a suit. And two blazers. And a few dress shirts. And a couple ties. And lanterns. And bracelets. And scarves. Oh, and chopsticks. I’m speaking hypothetically here of course. No intrepid traveler like myself would spend so much time and effort on clothes and gifts and souvenirs. Never…

The food was on point as well, made even better by rooftop decks and terraces, giving the diner a bird’s eye view of the quaint town below. Following in Anthony Bourdain’s footsteps, I sampled the best Banh Mi sandwich in Vietnam, for about 95 cents by the way, as well as the delicious Cao Lau, a thick rice noodle dish only prepared properly from one of the 5 water wells in the city. Down one alley, I found the gold mine of noodles drying in the morning sun, ready to be chowed down for dinner that evening. I made two trips to an alley way restaurant named Bale Well, where the same set meal has been served every evening for the past 20-something years. Somehow, the owner knew that I was new around these parts and became my personal Spring-Roller, as she threw together rice paper rolls stuffed with greens, shrimp, rice pancakes, sprouts, and some mystery sauces. It was all delicious. I think she may have expected me to make my own after the first two, but there’d be none of that. Six or seven rolls later, I was sufficiently stuffed, and had made a new Facebook friend.

Any weariness from the buzz of tourists in the town can be mediated immediately with a quick ride out to the nearly-empty beaches, through sprawling rice fields tilled by water buffaloes and ogled at by those looking on. The Marble Mountains loom nearby as well, a set of limestone formations with caves built into them, inhabited by shrines and Buddhas, and some much-needed cooler air. With so much time, I found myself getting more and more lost in the town. Avoiding the afternoons and early evenings, I often had the streets to myself, save for a slew of triangle hat wearing farmers and rickshaw cycling hustlers.

As I hopped on my motorcycle on my way out of the city, I was rejuvenated and grateful for the much needed respite.

…and the new suit.

For as long as I’ve been alive, the family garage has held at least 3 permanent parking spaces for motorcycles. A former motocross racer, my Dad only just recently sold off his dirt bike, officially hanging up the gloves on a career that ended long ago, yet still lived on through the photos and trophies that continue to hold prominent places next to lawnmowers, deer antlers, and power tools. At one point, our garage held a true moped, a Honda 70, the dirt bike, a Suzuki street bike, and a shiny new Harley Davidson. I haven’t quite pinned down the exact reason behind my disinterest in ever getting into the motorcycle scene. Perhaps I was subliminally discouraged by my Mother, who’d seen one too many scars from road rash and removed spleens, or maybe I’d somehow grown up too risk-averse to hop on 2 wheels of death. Whatever the reason, I never had the slightest interest in racing or even riding.

So, as I climbed aboard my brand new 110cc Honda-something, purchased from a fellow backpacker on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, having never really learned how to ride anything more than an automatic scooter, I had a little moment with myself wondering what the hell I was doing. While those feelings remained throughout many portions of the 5-day ride from Ho Chi Minh to Hoi An, the cause of such feelings changed drastically. It didn’t take very long to get the hang of the clutch and switching gears (though I did stall plenty of times), however, the chaos unfolding before us was something I could never have imagined preparing for.

The sheer amount of motorbikes and vehicles on the roads is one thing, but the fact that they all travel in literally every direction from any given point on the road is an entirely different beast. The far right “lane” is generally reserved for motorbikes, regardless of which direction they’re travelling. A lane barely big enough for a smart car, though, doesn’t quite do the job of containing rows 5 or 6 deep of honking, swerving, above capacity bikes. Stop signs are non-existent, and Yield apparently doesn’t translate in Vietnamese, as any sort of t-intersection will involve at least one motorbike barreling into traffic without even so much as a glance into the lane they’re crossing into. Large buses, semi-trucks, and passenger cars pass each other at will, with zero regard for what traffic is coming the other way on the two-lane road. Size trumps all, and I’m fairly certain any of the multitude of trucks that nearly ran us over would have continued on their way after turning us into banana pancakes.

Rush hour traffic an hour or two outside of Ho Chi Minh felt like I was at the starting line of a marathon, if that marathon was run on two death wheels, pros were intermixed with walkers, and there was another race running exactly perpendicular at the same time. Oh, and the race path was filled with quicksand, sinkholes, and thick exhaust fumes. I’m still not sure how I survived that without either killing myself or someone else. The 3-hour ride turned into 6, and as daylight quickly began to burn off, a new concern arose. I failed to mention that the bikes purchased weren’t exactly fresh off the shelf. Rebuilt who knows how many times, the mish-mash of parts may not have exactly been street legal. My headlight did not work, which began to pose a problem as darkness fell. One functioning headlight and 2 functioning headlamps made for a nerve wracking 2 hours to our first destination, as night buses began their routine of passing anything and everything in sight, regardless of what stood in front of them. My little light didn’t stand a chance. While I admit this was not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, we were basically in the middle of mostly nowhere once darkness fell, so getting to our destination was probably the safest thing to do. Probably.

Mui Ne is a little beach town that served as a perfect respite for the night and next morning, relaxing by the pool and attempting to process what we’d just survived. After a couple oil changes, we were off the next afternoon to Dalat, a mountain town known for its great scenery, French influence, and cooler temperatures. I somehow regressed with my skills on the second day, as the gravel, potholes, sand, and crazy drivers got the best of me a couple times, causing me to drop the bike. Thankfully, there were no real injuries to myself or the bike, just a wounded ego. Road work is interesting around these parts, as there never seems to be anyone directing traffic, you’re basically forced to find your own way through the maze of gravel, potholes, and barriers. Find my way I did, just barely, much to the delight of my much more experienced travel mate, without whom I doubt I would have made it out alive.

We rested an extra day in the refreshing mountain air of Dalat, taking advantage of the delicious home-cooked meals at our hostel/homestay, exploring quite possibly the coolest bar I’ve ever been in, equipped with a network of caves for exploring, and doing a little canyonning down the river, as if we hadn’t had enough adventure already. From Dalat, it was a 6 hour ride to Buon Ma Thuot, a small city in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, known for its coffee production. After leaving Dalat, sightings of westerners were few and far between, as cities and beaches gave way to villages and rolling hills, filled with crops and jungles.

The feeling of being stared at can have different effects on people. There are stares of wonder, aggression, disdain, amusement, excitement, curiosity, and confusion. We experienced the gamut of reactions as we passed through the highlands. For every 5 people waving or saying hello, there’d be one flipping us off, or yelling in our faces as they passed by. For every few people willing to help point us in the right direction or give us advice, there’d be a gas station attendant charging you after filling up someone else’s tank, or speed demons purposely grazing ever so close to your bikes on the side of the road to give you a little scare. It was all slightly unnerving, yet enjoyable at the same time. One conversation I had with a young child at a very nice coffee resort/restaurant sums up the experience quite well. It went a little something like this:

“Whi’e”

“What?”

“Whi’e”

“White?”

“Yes”

“I’m white, yes I am”

“How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Andy, what’s your name?”

“Where you from?”

“California”

“F$%& You!”

“No, no, don’t say that. It’s bad”

“F@#$ You!”

Alright then. Off she went, peeking at me behind pillars and parents. Oh Vietnam.

At one village, we stopped for some drinks and some stale peanuts at a roadside hammock stand. Slowly but surely, neighbors came outside to say hi and practice their English a bit. It was the exact experience I’d imagined beginning the journey, no swearing involved this time.

The scenery itself was stunning. The roads got progressively better for the most part, making the curving mountain terrain a joy to ride, soaking in the panoramas and the crisp air. We passed by weddings and funerals, roadside fires and rice field floods, scorching heat and monsoon rain, all on bikes that took more than a little tender loving care to get started, but somehow brought us safely into Hoi An, some 700 miles later.

A trip I won’t soon forget, a trial by fire of sorts for my first true motorcycle experience.

Hey Dad, you up for a road trip?