Phong Nha, Hanoi and Ha Giang

 Dr. Seuss once said "You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose".  I liked this poetry and decided that fulfillment would require the desired sandals. Upon returning to the beautiful fishing village of Hoi An from the even more impressive and quaint seaside island village of Bai Huong (see previous post) on the 2nd of July, I collected my coveted custom made sandals. These dusty pink beauties were knock off Birkenstocks admittedly, but infinitely cooler. The direction they took me to that night was to the notorious 'Hair of the dog' were I partied away my last night in Hoi An with new friends from Canada and England. The next day I left for the town of Phong Nha, its 'Son Doong' cave had been spoken about in hushed tones: "the biggest cave in the world", "King Kong was filmed there", "only discovered last year". Needless to say it was something that neither I nor my peers could afford to travel inside, costing a whopping 3,000 dollars entry fee.  Nonetheless Phong Nha itself still held the promise of an adventure playground in its own right and I was excited to visit the promised land of caves and craic. After a nine hour bumpy travel I was dumped unceremoniously outside Nam Anh's hotel on the main and only road dissecting the village. The owner Anh stood outside and seemed unsurprised by my arrival: haggard worse for wear backpackers are obviously normal in these parts. He pointed me in the direction of my prebooked 'Central Backpackers Hostel' and offered me a good deal on any buses that I might take out of the town.

The next morning I awoke on time for the free breakfast and set about making 'activity friends', I did not want to be a lonely cave woman. I sat beside two English girls who studied History and an 18 year old Dutch girl--I was impressed by this as you would be hard pressed to find a lone Irish traveler of eighteen years old-- and invited myself to join them on their trip to Phong Nha cave. A short two hours later and four girls found themselves sitting on a wooden speed boat making its noisy way up a brown river and into the belly of Phong Nha's namesake. Entering the cave needed two feet (and shoes) so we disembarked and made our way, open mouthed, into a palace. My cave virginity had been broken and how enchanting it was! Strange waxy jelly fish, jeweled green columns and water world constellations towered above us while a bat choir's chorus echoed in and between the bizarre other-worldly shapes. It seemed like the grand inauguration hall for people of the under world and we should consider ourselves lucky to have received an invite--perhaps we were under dressed?

The pinnacle of my Phong Nha experience began however when I left the noisy fleshpot of Central backpackers hostel and checked into the quieter and all round more peaceful lifestyle offered by 'Village House Homestay', located outside the town and a stones throw from the Song Con river. Here I spent my first day lounging on a hammock lazily reading Bridget Jones diary, overheating and submerging myself like a hippo into the cool muddy waters. I would repeat this ritual several times until the family dinner. This day of lethargy offset my 'Jungle Boss' attempts of the following morning and afternoon when myself and Tim (as it happened we had met two days previously in Hoi An, such is the regularity of backpackers in Vietnam!) trekked through an abandoned valley, spelunked through the appropriately named dark cave and swam in the electric blue waters of 'e' cave which soon turned into dark cave experience number two; swimming out we channeled our bat skills, allowing the echoes of our voices to bounce back from the cave walls and guide us out (alright alright, we turned on our head torches sometimes..) Even now I can remember the fear that gripped me and all my shaking limbs as we were led through horrifically sheer and narrow passes of rock deeper and deeper into the dark cave. To be a good rock climber, I realised then, requires untrammeled confidence in the ability of your arms and legs to do what you want them to do.

Finished trekking, admiring the jungle views!

In the close darkness, with an unshakable feeling that we were being led over tiny candle sticks with a drop of certain death if we did not step correctly, I was entirely without this confidence. I looked in amazement and desperation for the constant assistance of our sure footed Vietnamese guides who wore only rubber sandals and expressions of benign calmness. I realized that swimming, not rock climbing is most definitely my forte. I am an aquaphile through and through.

An amazing picnic lunch spread provided during the 'Abandoned Valley' trek and eaten right outside the 'e cave' along the original Ho Chi Minh trail of the Vietnam War

That same night, the slightly shaken but triumphant Jungle Boss boarded her bus to Hanoi. In the interim between the buses expected arrival time and actual arrival time I was offered a cigarette by a man who spoke no English but seemed amused by my anxiety over the buses non arrival. He sat calmly on a stone bench and looked at me with mischievous kind eyes. At first I declined the cigarette but minutes later accepted, after all "I am a twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things" I thought to myself. Smoking cigarettes with strange Vietnamese men waiting for buses on dark roads is definitely part of the protocol. I inhaled and enjoyed the familiar light headed feeling that is associated with the knowledge that you. right now. are living your best life. and, perhaps, the nicotine.


I arrived to Hanoi somewhere between the hours of six to eight in the morning, the bus swung speedily into the side of the road, pulled to a halt and in a flourish bags, suitcases and my Non La were thrown onto the pavement. The Non La, dear reader, is a traditional Vietnamese hat made from palm leaf and at this point in time was very much the worse for wear, sporting a large dent on its side. This hat had been with me since January and I had intended to make it last as a trip mascot. Alas Vietnam clearly had other ideas. Shouldering my bag and clutching my wounded Non La still, I headed for a cafe. The city was still waking up including the cafe I entered. I was their first customer. Ordering the famous coconut coffee of Hanoi (cà phê dừa), I began searching for accommodation. A private room in a hotel. My traveling tradition being that after horrifically long journeys I would justify 'splashing out' on my own room. A twenty minute walk from the cafe was Hanoi Traveler House but staying within the same vein of 'treat yo'self' I ordered a grab bike and marvelled as my two large backpacks and me were all fitted onto the tiny scooter which wobbled its way precariously to my destination.

My accommodation lay on Hang Thieng street which traditionally was the street of tinsmiths. It seemed like a strange hat shaped irony as it was on this street in bygone days that tin cone shaped tips were produced in order to preserve the shape of a certain type of palm hat....
Hanoi's heat was intense and close so the day was spent eating and moving slowly. The first and most important dish to try was Bún chả: pork meat balls served with thin white rice noodles and a sour cold soup. A plate of green herbs accompany the main components as is typical with most Vietnamese dishes.

Hanoi's typical dish of Bún chả

I was not in Hanoi to linger this time around however; Its hectic labyrinth of streets would have to be explored on my return.  The next morning I boarded my bus to Ha Giang. My wish of completing the infamous motrobike loop would come true for I had found a willing driver in the form of a tall Dutch man, met two weeks previously in Danang. Telling my parents that I would be sitting on the back of a guy's motorbike for four days around Vietnam's most mountainous and extreme region was met with a stony reception which prompted furtive and not entirely reassuring imaginings in my own head. I took out my phone and sent a message to Koen, "Remember, it's not going to be a race".

 We were to be partners in crime for the loop, stuck together whether we liked it or not. Luckily however, myself and Koen enjoyed a comfortable sibling like relationship from the get go, even at one stage mistaken for brother and sister. It would be advisable to find other accomplices for the journey, this we knew, as much for safety as for anything else. As it happened, two of the folks met on my bus journey ended up a part of our motley crew of 'Ha Giang's Angels' or, as we called ourselves towards the end, 'Happy Water group'. Happy water is the euphemistic name given to an extremely potent Vietnamese Rice Wine which was drunk enthusiastically at every homestay we stayed at along the loop.
We completed the loop in four days and three nights; staying in tiny villages along the way: Yen Minh, Dong Van and Du Gia. My image of the loop before completing it was very romanticized: staying at tiny homestays, dining with local families, communicating with hand signals, coming into contact with tribal and ethnic groups, becoming tribal ourselves....you get the picture.
 The reality, it should come as no surprise, was quite different. The loop has become very popular amongst the young adventurous backpacker type, other twenty something year olds doing twenty something year old things, and consequently the towns and certainly the homestays have developed to match this. At every homestay we met handfuls of 'us'--fellow foreigners, soaking up each others tales of tumbles, spills and bike misadventures as we dined over the 'family meals' which were eaten, disappointingly, without the family themselves.

Taken on day 1 of the loop in Quản Bạ District--Koen drove over it!

Nonetheless, after making it quite clear to my companions what my 'image' entailed after learning with bitter disappointment on the second night that all had voted to stay in a hostel with comfortable beds, showers and fellow loopers (what horror) they vowed that for the last night we would find somewhere to my high standards of local and basic glory.

Myself and Koen were a good match for the loop, each of us enjoyed a leisurely lie in every morning and due to Koen's penchant for speedy driving it never mattered much anyway, by lunch time we inevitably caught up with the rest of our gang.
 On the third day we rose again. At 10 am. This time we did not manage to play catch up. 'The Sky Walk' loomed large on everyone's map for this day; a centimeter down the crinkled map page from Dong Van town, our previous nights accommodation, and a short motor away taking in dramatic valleys and rice paddies. The Sky Walk was an 'added extra' to the loop and something which could be taken on foot or wheel--the sane went by foot. To my right loomed a high cliff wall and to my left was a terrifying drop with a muddy river snaking its way silently around a valley floor miles below. In between these two options lay a one meter wide stone track which Koen chose to drive. After clinging onto the back for approximately one minute and suffering several heart attacks I protested and demanded to walk. Koen motored on whilst I step by small step took in the terrifyingly harsh and beautiful landscape. A charcoal facade of steep wiggly mountains like high frequency soundwaves spread before me like a rumpled carpet.

Two local Vietnamese boys on their motorbikes rounded the corner ahead of me and sped past, the second took a hand off in order to give me a cheery wave, clots of mud and stone flying as he did so. I waved back and continued to walk on. Seconds later, hearing a heart stopping sound of scuffling, I knew instinctively what had happened. Happy Water a euphemism for strong alcohol and Sky Walk a euphemism for Sky Fall? I stood still, feeling numb then turned around and walked on auto pilot to a point marked by loosened stone. I noticed with relief two men running towards the same point. They were American and instantly took control. One ran toward the village, the other slowly attempted to make his way down to a figure which could be seen limp and bent double on a ledge meters below, a motorbike lay inverted below him.
 A local boy who a few minutes earlier had been making comical barking noises and following me and Koen up a rocky viewpoint, stood at the edge and looked with interest at his foreign companions as if to say 'what next?'. His face gave away no signs of distress, perhaps just mild interest by the white peoples panic. I noted with discomfort that precarity of life (mirroring their precarious cliffy landscape) was as normal here as capitalism in the west.

I rejoined Koen who had arrived back to level, sure footed ground a long time previously and was not aware of the accident. Retelling the tale we both agreed that in this situation, our presence was useless and futile---the man, I did not even know his name, had help and there was nothing, sadly, that we could do. I rode in silence for the rest of the route replaying the scene in my head---his terrifying speed, helmetless head but most stark, his wave and vitality as I had seen him moments before the accident.

It was dusk by the time Damey, our red steed, rolled into BB homestay which lay several rice paddies outside the small town of Du Gia. It had taken three previous attempts to finally find this accommodation which our friends had already arrived at hours ago. I noted with relief that they had been true to their word: BB stood on wooden stilts, the showers were elevated huts with slatted bamboo flooring and highest on our agenda was its proximity to a hidden waterfall where our hidden friends were presumably splashing in. Greeting the owners and dumping our bags in a common bedroom, furnished only with thin mattresses and mosquito nets, we chased the sun to a Waterfall which was even more elusive than the accommodation had been. Thinking that we were nearly there when we reached a recognizable group of motorbikes we began to shout to our friends across a prairie landscape surrounded as always by wavy roller coaster mountains. We heard only our echoes. Eventually we found the correct track, bumpy and muddy, after no help from local children who pointed in two opposite directions with elvish grins. We found our group walking back.  It was at sun down that we finally alighted upon the plunge pool and fall. I indulged myself in the cool waters, washing away the scenes, the sweat and the tears of the day. Koen threw me a beer which I gulped as I floated.

That last night of the Ha Giang loop spent in BB homestay we dined and danced like Romans, drank like... well..Irish and slept like sloths. The endless bowls of food included buttery morning glory, pork wrapped in betel leaf, fried spring rolls, tofu, salty peanuts and the list goes on...the nights festivities included learning a traditional dutch dance and teaching the Irish dance.

Safe, sound and victorious we returned to Ha Giang the next day. Pulling outside a hostel to return our armour of knee pads and helmets I recognized two of the rejoicers. That evening I learnt that the accident of the previous day had not been fatal. Life is a precious thing, especially when its brought, right in front of your eyes to a cruel cliff hanger, excuse the pun. I was overjoyed to have the happy ending to this one confirmed and to continue on my tale, this time by trustee bus, to the town of Cao Bằng. In the snug Ha Giang backpacker hostel on the edge of the river Lo, the happy water crew whiled away their last hours together playing competitive card games of ass hole and toasting with our signature drink. These toasts were so frequent and the want to prolong the night so real that the next morning, bus long slept through, I was woken by a kind member of staff. Had it all been a dream? 

The wonderful Ha Giang gang aka The Happy Water group!