110 VIETNAM (3) - COFFEE, KARST CLIFFS, AND CHAOTIC TRAFFIC

Coffee, Karst Cliffs, and Chaotic Traffic

 110 VIETNAM (3) 
19 September – 30 September 2017
902 Km – 11 Days

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VOICEOVER

PHOTOS

 

Prologue

Vietnam began, as all great adventures do, with a broken bicycle, three million dong in my pocket, and absolutely no idea what I was doing. The heat was fierce, the roads were hilly, and the motorbikes carried more bananas than any reasonable physics model should allow. Still, armed with optimism, caffeine, and a derailleur held together by sheer willpower, we pedalled into the chaos with the confidence of people who had not yet met Vietnamese traffic.

 

 

19 September – Ban Dong, Laos to Cho Cam Lo, Vietnam (90 km)

Breakfast came from a lady across the street who produced food with the speed and confidence of someone who had been feeding confused foreigners for decades. Fuelled by mystery noodles, we pedalled toward the Laos–Vietnam border, where Vietnam welcomed us with a SIM card shop and an ATM that spat out 3,000,000 VND. Nothing makes you feel like a billionaire quite like Vietnamese currency.

Barely out of Lao Bao, Tania’s chain snapped with the dramatic flair of a soap‑opera breakup. Luckily, the road back into town was downhill, allowing us to free‑wheel into civilisation like two exhausted swans gliding into harbour. The bicycle shop we found was more of a “motorbike graveyard” than a “bicycle repair facility”, but the owner was cheerful and unfazed. Then came the real plot twist: Tania’s derailleur was cracked. At this point, the bike was basically held together by optimism and cable ties.

Still, the countryside was gorgeous. Motorbikes zoomed past carrying improbable quantities of bananas — entire mobile fruit empires balanced on two wheels. We passed the Rockpile, a dramatic karst outcrop once used by the U.S. Army, now looking like a moody geological influencer posing for photos.

The heat was blistering, the hills relentless, and our speed comparable to the pace of continental drift. By the time we reached tiny Cho Cam Lo, we were ready to collapse gracefully and call it a day.

 

20 September – Cho Cam Lo to Cửa Tùng (67 km)

By morning, a “bike shop” was located nearby — a corrugated iron shed that mostly serviced motorbikes but was willing to humour us. The owner installed a new derailleur: a bottom‑of‑the‑range seven‑speed unit that looked like it had been manufactured during the Bronze Age. Still, for 120,000 VND (about the price of a soft drink), we weren’t complaining.

Unfortunately, the derailleur behaved like a toddler refusing to cooperate. The gears slipped so badly that cycling felt like performing an interpretive dance. We limped to Dong Ha, where Google Translate finally bridged the language gap and a kind man escorted us to a proper bicycle shop. They only stocked seven-speed derailleurs, too, but at least they tuned them well enough that the bike no longer screamed in protest.

From Dong Ha, we followed a rural path along a river, then along the coast. Women in conical hats collected dried fish with the efficiency of seasoned generals. Shortly before the Vinh Moc Tunnels, the beach village of Cua Tung seduced us with a guesthouse right on the ocean. Laundry, chores, and smug relaxation followed.

 

21 September – Cửa Tùng to Dong Hoi (90 km)

Sunrise arrived with theatrical speed, as if someone had flicked on the world’s biggest light switch. Breakfast was pho, eaten at tiny plastic tables clearly designed for preschoolers. The Vinh Moc Tunnels were astonishing — narrow, low, and extensive. Walking through them required a permanent crouch, making me realise that if I had to live here, I would have lived my entire life with a crick in my neck.

The highway to Dong Hoi was monotonous, but a small side path near the end redeemed the day. Dong Hoi itself was pleasant, though its history was tragic: American bombs had flattened the city, leaving only fragments of a church, a wall, a water tower, and a lone palm tree. Vietnam had every right to overcharge foreigners, and I suspected they sometimes did so with patriotic enthusiasm.

We found a room easily and wandered along the river, snapping photos and hunting for dinner.

 

22 September – Dong Hoi to Son Trach (51 km)

Ke Bang National Park beckoned — home to the world’s largest publicly accessible cave system. Son Trach was overflowing with guesthouses, and once settled at the Paradise Hotel, we headed to the river for a boat ride into Phong Nha Cave. Being rowed into a cathedral-sized cavern by a wooden boat felt like entering the underworld, except with more stalactites and fewer demons.

 

23 September – Son Trach (50 km)

Paradise Cave awaited. After a short walk, we reached a tiny entrance that looked like it could barely fit a cat. Inside, however, was a subterranean wonderland of staggering proportions. Discovered only in 2005, it was vast, silent, and otherworldly — the kind of place that makes you whisper even when no one asks you to.

 

24 September – Son Trach to Dong Le (80 km)

Caved out and slightly spoiled by geological grandeur, we pedalled along the Song Gianh River past rice fields, karst peaks, villages, and buffalo. Coffee stops were essential. Vietnamese coffee is brewed through a metal phin filter that drips at the pace of a philosophical snail. It comes with a side of ice and a view of rice paddies — a combination that makes you feel like life is fundamentally good.

We dodged cows, pigs, chickens, and entrepreneurial salesmen on motorbikes. Kids bathed in rivers, produce dried in the sun, and buffalo grazed with the serenity of creatures who have never seen email.

Dong Le, with its red‑tiled roofs, made a charming overnight stop.

 

25 September – Dong Le

Tania felt unusually tired, and rain poured down, so a rest day was declared. The villagers found us endlessly fascinating. Women at the market stared openly, poked our arms, and inspected our shopping bags with the curiosity of customs officials. Eating in public became a spectator sport.

 

26 September – Dong Le to Duc Tho (113 km)

We followed one of the old Ho Chi Minh trails — now paved, scenic, and deeply rural. Farmers ploughed with buffalo, women sold produce from wooden shacks, and logs floated downriver like lazy crocodiles before being hauled out by buffalo teams.

Grapefruit plantations appeared, their fruit hanging like oversized Christmas ornaments. Southeast Asian grapefruit is enormous, with a thick rind that could double as protective gear.

Dark clouds threatened, but only rained once, conveniently during a coffee stop. We rolled into Duc Tho caffeinated and content, found a hotel on the river, and immediately went hunting for food. Conversations were conducted via Google Translate, which did its best but occasionally produced poetic nonsense.

 

27 September – Duc Tho to Roadside Hotel (110 km)

Avoiding the highway became a heroic quest. A muddy path eventually spat us onto a brand‑new road that took us slightly off course. Rural villages looked as if they had been forgotten by time, and the coastal route was washed away in places. We passed deserted beaches, wooden fishing boats, and eateries on stilts that looked one strong breeze away from collapse.

Eventually, we surrendered to the highway — hot, dusty, noisy, and full of trucks that believed in reincarnation. A roadside hotel appeared like a mirage, and we gratefully stopped.

 

28 September – Roadside Hotel to Tam Coc (121 km)

Morning mist curled around limestone hills as we sipped coffee like philosophers contemplating the meaning of life. The highway was unavoidable, and the ride was dusty and chaotic. Roadside stands sold pipes, birds, and snake wine — the holy trinity of questionable purchases.

Lunch was noodle soup eaten under the watchful gaze of half the village. The final stretch into Tam Coc was scenic, and our $9 room felt like a bargain worth celebrating.

 

29 September – Tam Coc

Tam Coc was gorgeous. A boat ride upriver revealed the local rowing technique: feet, not hands. Rowers reclined like sunbathing royalty, steering with their toes while using their hands for more important tasks like holding umbrellas or checking their phones.

 

30 September – Tam Coc to Hanoi (130 km)

Tania’s final day of riding delivered some of the most beautiful scenery yet. Farm roads wound through rice fields and limestone cliffs. We passed grilled dog vendors, a woman pushing a pedal‑less bicycle with an absurdly long handlebar, and villages that looked like Chinese watercolours come to life.

Hoa Lu, the ancient capital, offered mossy walls, temples, and narrow alleys. Then came the unavoidable highway into Hanoi — a chaotic, honking, swarming mass of traffic. By the time we reached the Old Quarter, dusk had fallen and our nerves were frayed, but we hadn’t lost each other, which felt like a small miracle.

And so ended Tania’s ride from Bangkok to Hanoi — a 2,244 Km journey of broken derailleurs, heroic coffee, subterranean wonders, and the kind of memories that only form when two people willingly cycle through heat, chaos, and beauty together.

 

Epilogue

By the time we reached Hanoi, we had survived collapsing coast roads, malfunctioning gears, subterranean cave kingdoms, and more bowls of noodle soup than medically advisable. But we’d made it—intact, unlost, and only mildly traumatised by the highway. Vietnam had tested us, charmed us, fed us, and occasionally stared at us while we ate. And honestly? We loved every bewildering minute.

111 VIETNAM (3.1)

Trains, Traffic and Watery World of the Mekong Delta

1 October – 8 October 2017

5 Days - 258 km

 

 

3–4 October – Hanoi to Saigon – By Train – 34 Hours

With Southeast Asia still pulsing enthusiastically through her veins, Tania decided that one more month on the road was absolutely essential. I, meanwhile, had a far less negotiable appointment awaiting me in Bangkok: a date with my sister. Family commitments have a funny way of trumping extended adventure, so with less than two weeks to spare, we landed on what felt like a perfectly reasonable plan at the time.

We would take the train to Saigon, then cycle our way through the Mekong Delta, hug the Cambodian coast, and roll triumphantly into Thailand. Simple. Elegant. Foolproof. The only tiny, stress‑inducing detail was the need to obtain Thai visas in Phnom Penh — a process that required three days, very precise timing, and absolutely no accidental Friday arrivals. What could possibly go wrong?

Before launching headfirst into our cross‑border logistical puzzle, we managed one last Hanoi meetup with friends Bret and Hayley. As usual, they had an uncanny knack for finding excellent food and even better company. The evening passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and denial about how long we’d soon be sitting on a train.

The following day, we hauled ourselves and our panniers to the station. Helpful staff suggested placing all our gear into one oversized bag, which we immediately purchased and then sprinted through the station with, boarding the train just in time and congratulating ourselves like seasoned professionals.

Our four‑bunk cabin was surprisingly civilised, complete with reading lights and power points — luxuries we did not take lightly. As the hours rolled by, it gradually dawned on us that 34 hours is an extremely long time to be on a train. Fortunately, the food cart made regular appearances, and we rose to the challenge of sampling nearly everything it offered. By the time we arrived in Saigon after dark, we were tired, fed, and mildly victorious. Unfortunately, our bikes were locked away in a baggage office, so we checked into a nearby hotel, dreaming of retrieving them the next morning.

 

5 October – Saigon

Bright and early, we reclaimed our bicycles and marvelled at how smoothly the Vietnamese railway handled bulky luggage. With our two‑wheeled companions restored, we set off to explore Saigon — a city that may not overwhelm you with iconic landmarks but more than compensates with sheer energy.

Street food immediately became the day’s priority. Bánh xèo arrived first: crispy, golden, and stuffed with delicious intent. Spring rolls followed, light and fresh enough to convince us we were being healthy. Then came bánh khọt — tiny savoury pancakes that disappeared far too quickly. Somehow, we were already full and still eating.

Saigon’s real spectacle, however, was the traffic. With an estimated 7.3 million motorbikes occupying the roads at any given moment, crossing the street felt like stepping into a live‑action strategy game. Locals still casually refer to the city as “Saigon,” which rolls off the tongue far more easily than its official name, TP Ho Chi Minh City — an opinion we quickly adopted.

As evening fell, we reflected on how a city could feel both chaotic and oddly welcoming. This was only the beginning.

 

6 October – Saigon to Vinh Long – 123 km

Rested, fuelled, and slightly intimidated, we set off into Saigon’s traffic — an experience best described as willingly joining a fast‑moving swarm. Eventually, miraculously, we escaped the city’s grip and rolled into the quieter paths of the Mekong Delta.

In My Tho, we encountered a range of street food options that tested personal boundaries. Undeterred, Tania confidently ordered grilled rat straight off a rotisserie. Against all expectations, it was delicious — proof that adventure occasionally tastes better than anticipated.

The Mekong offered winding paths, lively villages, coconut sweet makers, and three ferry crossings en route to Vinh Long. Nearly every boat featured painted eyes at the bow, which are believed to guide vessels, ward off danger, or possibly judge passing cyclists. Whether symbolic or practical, they added a layer of personality to the river scenery.

 

7 October – Vinh Long to Chau Doc – 135 km

The Mekong River, originating in the Tibetan Plateau and coursing through six countries, spreads into a vast network of waterways around us. Coconut palms, banana trees, mangoes, and rambutan plantations lined our route as we pedalled through a living postcard.

Markets buzzed, rivers teemed with boats, and houses balanced on stilts above the floodplain. Threatening clouds loomed all day, yet somehow held back their rain long enough for us to fuel up on coconut juice and coffee before realising — slightly too late — that we still had 75 km to go.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, we slipped into Chau Doc. Our adventure quickly took another exciting turn when we decided to take the Mekong River ferry to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the next day—a fitting end to a day chock-full of exploration and adventure!

 

Epilogue

The Mekong has a way of convincing you that movement is the natural state of things. Water flows, boats drift, people adapt, and somehow everything keeps working. As cyclists passing briefly through its world, we learned quickly that the river does not bend for plans, visas, or carefully plotted routes on a map. It simply carries on — and so, inevitably, did we.