The Heart of the Hills

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.

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

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.

Ninh Binh, Vietnam

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, Vietnam

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.

Motorcycle Diaries

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?