It was another 5am start, and as I waited with Thai on the side of the main street in Chu, I studied the surrounding buildings. The town was already awake, and with every passing minute another shutter rolled up revealing some keen-eyed shop or restaurant owner. We were standing near a stall selling Bánh mì, and there was a steady flow of early risers rolling up on motorbikes, grabbing their sandwich in its plastic carrier bag and continuing on into the dark. To my right, a lady was setting up her fruit stall. She brought box after box of fruit out, laying them beautifully on collapsible tables to create an appealing display.
The bus rolled up and I hopped on. Smiling and thanking Thai, I said goodbye and we set off into the slowly breaking dawn. I tried to sleep, unsuccessfully, and resigned myself to sitting slumped in my seat with my eyes closed as my legroom was steadily invaded by the sacks of oranges people send for delivery on busses in Vietnam. Four bumpy hours later, punctuated only by a brief stop at the side of the highway for a toilet break, we arrived on the outskirts of Ninh Binh.
Ninh Binh, Monday 30th December 2019
When I stepped off the bus, my first thought was food. But as is often the way when travelling, I found myself at an uncomfortable time directly between meals. I wandered the streets for a while until a large billboard directed me in the direction of a ‘cho’ (market). Picking up an orange, I scanned google maps and found the nearest patch of green.
It was eerily quiet in the park. I walked round a small lake towards a row of disused pedalos. Their sad swan faces stared through me, vacant of expression. I continued on down a path away from the lake, avoiding two stray dogs that barked at me angrily. Sitting next to a roundabout feature that could have once been a waterfall, I ate my orange and took of my jumper. The feeling of the hot sun on my skin in December is still unnerving. Carrying on through the park, I reached a viewpoint where some steep, rough stone steps led up to a small pagoda looking out over the river.
The rusted hammer and sickle motif sticking up proudly from a circular concrete block made me wonder if perhaps it was an older lookout bunker from the war. Circling round it, all I could find were concrete-sealed doorways and graffiti. I continued up a series of ladders and got my first look at the city of Ninh Binh.
Peacefully watching a freight train cross the bridge over the river, while heavy mineral barges slowly ploughed through the brown water below, time drifted away. My stomach led me back down the steps two ladies in the park who shook me by the hand and asked how old I was, and into town to a bustling local restaurant for some fried rice. Full and satisfied, I hired a bike, checked into my hostel and headed out of the city onto the highway.
Ninh Binh itself has little to differentiate it from any other Vietnamese town, it is the surrounding countryside that people come to see. Riding some seven kilometres out of the city past rice field after rice field, barren and bare in the winter, I arrived at Hang Mua.
The instant I removed my helmet my head was turned by the sound of British voices, a group of men in their twenties stood in the carpark smoking and talking. They seemed to be on the same tour. I moved past them towards the gateway to the attraction, paid my entrance fee and began slowly wondering down the path. Tourists are a curious breed of human. Being one myself, it is hard to be objective. But somehow, no matter how multicultural these attractions are, no matter people’s different languages, different backgrounds, different nationalities, we all seem the same when we become tourists. We all walk with the same slow aimless shuffle. We all gaze around slowly with the same wide-eyed wonder. We are all itching for any opportunity to slip our devices out of our pockets and capture the scene forever.
Passing waterfalls, bars and cafes, I made my way towards the foot of the mountain. There is an eco-lodge at the very foot of the dragon’s peak, and it seemed to me like an expensive way to ensure that you would never escape the crowds of tourists.
Swigging my water, I tightened my shoulder straps and five-hundred steps later I emerged by the little pagoda at the top of the mountain.
The views were astonishing, but I was surprised by how much the view was obscured by the eternal smog of dust and air pollution that hangs over the country. I could barely make out the city, but turned instead towards the hills behind Hang Mua.
This was what I had come to see. Below me, a lazy waterway wound between the towering blocks of rock. The hazy light made it seem even more mystical, as I marvelled at the raw cliff faces and craggy mountain tops, utterly untouched by man. Such a unique landscape I had never set eyes on before. And I sat for some time enjoying the view.
Snapping the compulsory selfie and panorama, I made my descent and returned to the hostel for a shower and a rest.
I was relaxing in the peaceful garden courtyard, complete with palm trees, pond and koi carp, I was approached by a fellow traveller. Her name was McKenzie, and one invitation later I found myself shaking hands with her friend Daniel and walking out into the city alongside them. McKenzie was from Nevada, and Daniel from Canada. The pair had met the previous week on Cat Ba Island, some distance south of Chu. I fell into comfortable conversation with the pair as sat down at a restaurant for noodles and a beer. It felt refreshing to discuss the Vietnamese experience from a foreigner’s perspective.
McKenzie had spent the past five months in Thailand studying, while Daniel had arrived in Vietnam in early December, and was taking a motorbike tour of the whole country. We exchanged travel stories while we ate, and then went out into the night to explore.
Agreeing to welcome in the new year together, we left Daniel at his hostel and retired for some well-earned sleep.
31st December 2019
Trang An was the next destination in my sights, and McKenzie had decided to join me, so we set off together on my hired bike and wound our way out of Ninh Binh and along the highway until we reached the beautiful winding road which took us past rock after giant rock until we reached Trang An. The boat trip cost 200,000vnd and lasted around three hours. Four of us, McKenzie and I and a couple from Hamburg who sat behind us, all piled into the little boat, powered only by our driver herself. As she rowed us steadily out away from the water’s edge and into the mountainous landscape, it felt as if we were setting off on some medieval quest of the utmost significance. The mist was still low over the peaks of the mountains, and not a breath of wind disturbed the still water. The only sound was splash of the oars and the odd birdcall from the depths of the foliage to left and right.
We swung left round a rocky outcrop and glided softly into the first cave. Emerging from the tunnel, I was filled with awe at the sight that lay before me. All around the massive hulking rock faces dwarfed us in our little boat, and I spent the next three hours slowly soaking it all in with reverence. We stopped at three temples, where information boards informed us that they originated from the time of the Mongol invasion, when a Vietnamese king had retreated into the depths of Trang An to shelter from the invasion and lead a religious life. Indeed, such an alien and unwelcoming landscape would provide the perfect defence against invasion.
We rode the bike some way back down the highway for lunch in Tam Coc and were amused to find it absolutely crawling with tourists. This then, would be where we would come in the evening for the New Year’s celebrations. It was clear that Ninh Binh would be deserted, the Vietnamese save all their festivity for the Lunar New Year.
After a rest, I slipped out for a rich black coffee with condensed milk and returned my rental bike. It began to rain properly for the first time since I had arrived in Vietnam. I laughed and walked giddily through the streets in the vague direction of the hostel. Before I was soaked to the bone, I slipped into a Vinmart to pick up some beers, and then made my way back to my hostel down an alleyway that was obstructed by a large gazebo for a wedding.
Daniel arrived, and we passed some time playing pool and listening to music, drinking beer from cans and laughing with each other, before grabbing some food on the side of the street and calling a Grab to Tam Coc.
The atmosphere was bubbling with festivity and activity, and it felt nice to be surrounded by people from so many different countries. Walking in the street, we bumped into two ladies, one from Brazil and one from Slovakia, and a German man named Flo who knew McKenzie. We joined them in the Banana Tree bar, and whiled away the last minutes of 2019 with laughter and cheap drinks.
1st January 2020
Leaving at around 2am, I was out like a light the instant I lay down, and didn’t stir until I was gently shaken awake by McKenzie telling me the lady was asking me to check out. It was midday. I had planned to be on the bus by 10am. I gathered my things in a rush and hurriedly checked out. Feeling disorientated and confused, I grabbed a Banh Mi with McKenzie and Daniel, said a travellers’ tearless farewell, and rushed across the main street and onto a bus.
Sapa – Vietnam Blog 3