Hanoi, 19th January 2020
I had become accustomed to leaving the house in no more than a T-shirt and a jumper, and so the icy air swirling past my driver’s head and into my face was a surprise to me. The warm lights of Hanoi with its ever-bustling streets seemed colder in this weather, and as I rushed through the streets on the back of a Grab-bike, I considered the weather in Ha Giang with apprehension.
That evening I dined in a vegetarian buffet with some other Coins for Change volunteers. I got to meet Ms Hong Tang, the CEO of this social enterprise, and found the other volunteers to be friendly and interesting with all their unique stories of how they came to be in Vietnam.
After my second Grab-bike of the evening dropped me outside My Dinh bus station, I met Anh. We had come into contact some weeks before through Ha, one of the teaching assistants working with me at Sun School. On discussing our shared passion for travel, it was decided that we would make the trip to Ha Giang together. After a brief interaction with some Dubliners on holiday together, we settled down in the back on the sleeper bus under blankets and relaxed as the bus wove its way out of Hanoi and into the night.
Ha Giang, 03:15, 20th January 2020,
Stumbling off the bus, bleary-eyed and disorientated, I silently thanked my lucky stars that I had a native speaker along with me. The people in the bus station were mostly Vietnamese, and they all seemed to have a better idea of what was happening than I did myself. Before I could catch my bearings and think of a plan, Anh tugged at my elbow and led me to a Ford pickup driven by a man who chauffeured us 500m down the street to Garden Villa hostel.
Here we were welcomed and quietly ushered into a dormitory where we grabbed a few hours’ sleep before rising at eight, hiring a bike and setting off into town. We had been given a map by the man who we hired the bike from, and he had explained the details of the route. Having no international license, and having left my passport at the Garden Villa, I relied solely on the man’s word that there were no police checkpoints along the route.
Filling the tank to the brim, and stopping for a quick bowl of noodles, we were soon on our way out of Ha Giang city and heading onto the first stretch of highway to Quan Ba.
The infamous Ha Giang Loop is frequented by many tourists. You can hire bikes almost anywhere, and while this is the most common option, people unable to ride a bike can easily find a tour guide to pay who will drive them around the entire loop. Loop is perhaps a misnomer, as the network of roads is far from a circle. Nonetheless, the route we had chosen would take us up and down 350km of road, passing Quan Ba, Yen Minh and arriving at Meo Vac on the first day, before proceeding to Dong Van, reaching our northernmost point at Lung Cu flagpole, and heading back south past Yen Minh and Quan Ba to Ha Giang.
The roads are winding, and treacherous, and motorbikes with a manual gearbox are recommended, although semi-automatics are available also. The semi-automatic we hired cost 200k per day, at 150k for the bike and 50k for insurance should anything break or be damaged. This equates to less than £7 per day.
Setting off on the first 45km stretch to Quan Ba, the weather remained grey and as the beautiful scenery unfolded all around us, I began to buzz with excitement. The feeling of setting off on the open road will never get old.
The ascent began in stages, and I barely realised how high we were already until we rounded a hairpin and pulled over to the side of the road to look back at the stretch we had just done. Obscured slightly by the heavy hanging mist lay the valley below us. And winding down the middle like a little silver river curved the strip of tarmac which we had just covered. It was the first of many beautiful sights.
The roads continued upwards into the clouds, and as we were enveloped by their icy embrace it became harder and harder to see ahead. Had I not been concentrating so hard on ensuring we did not slip off the end of one of the countless hairpins, I would have noticed the cold begin to seep in beneath my many layers. As it was, arriving in Quan Ba we found it to be damp, and largely obscured by the mist. As there was little to see, we sped on another 35km to Yen Minh where we stopped for lunch.
Stiff and aching from the cold, I rubbed some feeling back into my legs as we wolfed down some Com Binh Dan and discussed what to do. The miserable mist that hung over the landscape meant that many of the views along this first stretch to Meo Vac were obscured, and so we determined to press on resolutely until we got to our hostel in Meo Vac. Awaiting us in Meo Vac was a river who’s deep green water had earned it its rightful place in every Ha Giang travel brochure.
As it turned out, the last 45km to Meo Vac was not as misty as we had expected, and the views that lined the way grew more and more impressive with every turn. The shocking structures of the Karst rockfaces and the gentle sweeping valleys below combined to create some of the most breath-taking scenes I have ever witnessed. The roads wound back and forth on themselves like string dropped lazily across the landscape. We left hairpin after hairpin behind us, as I became more and more confident in the use of the gears.
On top of the clouds 
These two local boys climbed a few hundred metres up the hill to greet us. The baby is just 2 years old
Soon we began the long descent into the valley that sheltered the little village of Meo Vac, and after a refreshing cruise down the town’s smooth tarmac roads, we reached Ong Van hostel. Resting for a short while, we warmed ourselves and removed wet items of clothing before heading out again in search of the Song Nho Que river.
Anh had made contact with a local lady who drove ahead of us, leading the way down through the clouds and mist past farmers toiling on steep hillsides until we arrived at the edge of a steep hillside from which we could see the wide green expanse of water stretching out in front of us. The view was magnificent and an eery silence added to the serenity of the surroundings. Descending down a steep winding path, we soon drew closer and closer to the water until we arrived by some small huts and a jetty where numerous boats and kayaks were moored. I imagined these boats packed to the brim with tourists in the peak of the summer. But for now, they lay empty and unused.
The deep green colour of the water astounded me. It was flat as glass, undisturbed by even the slightest ripple. We sat for a short while, admiring the view, until round a bend in the river chugged a small vessel carrying a few passengers. The harsh sound of the engine could be heard from a long way off, echoing off the towering sides of the mountains. The little boat continued on towards us, carving a perfectly aesthetic v shape into the still water.
As soon as it arrived, we hopped on board with Hoa, our guide, and the boatman used a long pole to push us out from the land. Setting off back down the river, we soon had to crane our necks to look back up at the towering cliff-faces on either side. As we rounded the first corner, a truly stunning sight lay before us. A gigantic cleft in the mountainside stretched straight down leaving two sheer rockfaces and a small gap in the middle through which ran the smooth green water. The tips of the walls on either side of us were so high they were shrouded in clouds. Passing through this channel of green, I struggled to comprehend the size of these mountains, and sat their dumbfounded and happy, shaking my head blissfully.
Compulsory photoshoot finished, we headed back to the mooring point, and began the long climb back up to the mountain. Along the way we were joined by two sweet little girls of the local ethnicity wearing their traditional dress. The beautiful colours of their skirts shone in the oncoming dusk, and their friendliness and curiosity amazed me.
On arrival back at Ong Van hostel we met Oanh and her tour guide Ha, who were staying their also. The four of us headed out into the village, chatting while we ate Lau, the Vietnamese hotpot, and drank wine. It was decided that the next day we would drive together in convoy. After a brief stop at a café for some karaoke and drinks, we turned in for the night, determined to get some good rest ahead of the long drive the next day.
Ha Giang Loop, 21st January 2020
Leaving Meo Vac at around nine in the morning, our bellies full of Pho and our hearts warmed by tea, we set off on the road to Dong Van, in search of the iconic Ma Pi Leng pass. My first impressions of the morning upon stepping out of our little chalet had filled me with excitement and optimism, as the weather in Meo Vac seemed largely improved. As it was, when we arrived at the pass, our view was hidden by thin veils of mist which drifted past like vast disinterested ghosts. Pulling over to the side of the road nevertheless, we squinted down the hillside to the water below which seemed to shine with green despite the overcast conditions. To our happiness, every now and again the clouds would part, offering us with the picturesque view that landed Ha Giang its great reputation of beauty.
We sped on along the bumpy roads, winding left and right, up and down and all around throughout the vast landscape which was still beyond my true comprehension. Ha was a skilled driver, and it was a challenge keeping up with him as we sped along faster than we had done the previous day. Negotiating our way past potholes and hairpins, the two bikes sped on to Dong Van along the most beautiful road I have ever seen. The clouds were inescapable in the highest points, but as soon as we dipped below them the utterly breath-taking scenery reached us again.
Bearing right out of Dong Van we headed up the road to Lung Cu, a famous flagpole less than 4km from the Chinese border. At the top I turned my face into the wind and screamed a great cry of ecstasy. All around me was an impenetrable wall of whiteness. The wind rushed through my hair, whipping the giant Vietnamese flag into a frenzy. I could taste China on the air.
We headed back to the main road and stopped for some lunch at a little pitstop on the roadside surrounded by fields of little pretty yellow flowers. Fed and refreshed, we turned our heads homeward and began the rest of the route back to Yen Minh, Quan Ba and Ha Giang city. We had driven around 150km on the first day, and after lunch there was still that same distance to cover before we reached Ha Giang city.
And so it was without restraint that Ha led the four of us careening through the mountains. The scenery flicked past in the most beautiful blur of colour. Bright greens from the grass blended with deeper greens and patches of jungle sprouting out of the dark black karst rocks. Little patches of bright yellow flowers spotted the hillsides and the deep earthy brown of the farming paddocks complimented the spring green of the crops in the most natural way. The fresh air whisked past my ears and filled my lungs with a chill of the wilderness. And as my eyes flicked back and forth, from pothole to mountain peak, I found myself unable to stifle a smile. This was, in many ways, a dream come true.
We continued to stop in various places, sometimes for photos, sometimes for petrol, sometimes to stretch our legs. Along the route back to Yen Minh we stopped in a little village where we were greeted by small children carrying armfuls of flowers. These kids were immensely friendly and curious, and such a pretty sight in their traditional dress. I expect these families are very used to the presence of tourists in their villages, but still the lifestyle of the western traveler and the Ha Giang locals seem utterly incompatible.
Many of the locals in Ha Giang farm the steep slopes of the mountains in the most ludicrous fashion. The spend the long hard days climbing up and down mountainsides shrouded in clouds, growing crops in the least welcoming terrain imaginable. But, just like any society, they get by. The hills are their home and their livelihood. It is easy to imagine the Ha Giang loop being deserted, so wild and foreboding is the landscape. But the truth is that on every single road you will never ride further than a few hundred metres from where someone has planted a small patch of crops or tied up a horse to graze. It took a little while to notice this, but as we continued on towards Yen Minh, I realised that the hillsides were not as bare and barren as I had once thought. I began to pick out the bright patches of colour that notified me of a lady digging in the dirt, clad in her traditional dress that stands out bright against the muddy brown of the hillside. These people seemed so content working in such not only difficult but dangerous conditions, often farming mere metres from sheer cliffs.
Such contentedness comes from a long history in Ha Giang of these same farming practices. Stopping at a Hmong King’s palace Dinh Vua Meo, I saw how the Hmong people have been living the same way in Ha Giang for hundreds of years. It is a beautiful and peaceful culture of farming in one of the most beautiful areas of Vietnam. The mansion itself was fascinating and surprisingly well-preserved. But before long we were back on the road again and racing down some of the most iconic and picturesque sections of road on the Ha Giang loop.
Dinh Vua Meo 
Anh, Ha, Oanh and some local girls 
By the time we had passed Quan Ba and dusk was beginning to settle like snow on the tips of the mountains, I had run out of superlatives. Language has no real limits, but is a tool for expression, and I fear it is a tool with which my skill is perhaps not finely tuned enough to accurately communicate the truth of Ha Giang. All I can say is go there. See it for yourself.
The rain began to pour as we made our way back down the last 40km back to Ha Giang. I became soaked to the skin, and the rain and the darkness made driving infuriating and difficult. Raindrops pounded my eyelids as I squinted hard at the flickering brake-light of Ha’s bike in front of me. Somehow, we made it out of the clouds and back onto the smooth tarmac road in the valley, leaving Ha Giang and our awaiting sleeper bus less than 10km away. We stopped for Lau, before continuing into the night and finally weaving our way into the city of Ha Giang. Dropping our bikes, we hopped straight onto our bus and, tired and aching from the day’s 200km ride, I fell into a deep sleep.
The trip was so short and the landscape so surreal that it was easy to imagine the whole experience had been a dream. The age-old karst mountains, the bright green waterways that can be found in the depths of the valleys, and quiet villages which rest silently in the peaceful valleys all come together to create a unique experience that is best witnessed from the seat of a bike.
Having fallen a little in love with the landscape, I will end this with the proposal that, if it is at all in your power, you visit this remote part of the world. And if you do, don’t hesitate to contact me for advice, I will help in any way that I can.
Cat Ba – Vietnam Blog 5