Travel Diaries: Vietnam

I’ve always said that seeing Aston Villa get promoted at Wembley Stadium was the best experience of my life. My late, Villa-mad grandad would disagree, though. I rang him for some post-match analysis that day, as I was weaving my way through the jubilant claret and blue on Wembley Green - “they didn’t play very well, did they?” he said. He was always quite the pessimist when it came to footy. Second place on the life experiences table would be seeing The Stone Roses at the Etihad Stadium on Wednesday 15th June, 2016. At one point, close third was seeing The Clone Roses in Wakefield - my first ever gig. My brother’s stag do a few years ago was unforgettable, so that’s somewhere on the list, alongside Leeds Festival 2024 with Noble’s Kitchen, Gold Cup day at Cheltenham, the parties on Wellington Road, and the Taj Mahal. Friday nights at the New Scarborough Inn deserve a mention, as does New Year’s Eve at the Bartram’s. Getting engaged was alright, and who could forget those beef noodles?

If you’d have told me last week, that spending four days on the back of a moped with a Vietnamese bloke would firmly blow all of those experiences out of the park, I’d have told you to get lost, you big stiff idiot. But I find myself now, on a sleeper bus back from Ha Giang, pondering how anything could ever top the last few days. I’ve been dreading writing this entry, because I fear I’m not going to be able to accurately articulate the experience. Sounds familiar, I say it every time, but I really don’t know how I’m going to put this one into words. I don’t even know where to start - perhaps the beginning…

“Ride of the Valkyries” by Wagner pierced my ear drums as our plane began its descent into Hanoi. A fitting reference, I thought, to the greatest war film ever made. Laos had been great, but I was feeling melancholy and needed a change. A lovely little studio flat in the Old Quarter awaited Mia and I, equipped with a TV and Vietnamese Netflix. I needed a base, a headquarters to operate from. I was sick of moving constantly and living out of my bag, sharing a room with anywhere from five to fifteen other people. I was suffering from travelling and needed to feel like I lived somewhere, and the Airbnb we booked was the perfect remedy. Upon exiting Hanoi airport, we waved goodbye to Eden, who would be spending the next couple of days with Eva and Ella, also known as Chas and Charity Dingle.

The clock neared midnight as we pulled up outside our new home. I had a celebratory cigarette on the rooftop, and admired the Hanoi skyglow, reminiscent of a flickering candle. I could hardly contain my excitement to do nothing for the next couple of days. Soundtracked by The Doors and fuelled by Vietnamese coffee, I intended to brush up my war knowledge, have a couple of banh mi’s, and park my arse on the sofa in front of the telly… We did just that, taking a break only to purchase some warmer clothing and send some postcards back home.

Hanoi is a very liveable city. So much so, that me and Mia have even discussed the prospect of becoming expats here, perhaps teaching English for a couple of months when I have some free time in between Grand Slam tennis tournaments. It’s one of my favourite places on this trip so far - Mia brilliantly described it as “Delhi in a hundred years”, because it’s got the hustle and bustle of the Indian capital, combined with a friendliness and charm that only comes with time. It’s a people watcher’s dream, and within a matter of hours I was feeling a lot better, and enjoying travelling again. Probably partly because I’d FaceTimed my mummy fifteen times to vent and moan.

It’s impossible to forget where you are in Vietnam. You’re never five metres away from the iconic flag. It hangs from the shop fronts, the doorways of bars and restaurants, and from the balconies of apartments and hotels. By requirement or choice I’m unsure, but they are patriotic people, so I’m sure they don’t mind. They have every right to be proud of where they are from, too; an illustrious nation strong in the face of adversity, home to some of the most benevolent people and iconic food. I was never a huge fan of South East Asian scran back home, but this trip has shone a new light on the cuisine and ignited my taste buds, with the highlight of Hanoi being a delicious bun cha - essentially garlic pork meatballs.

We of course allocated time for the tourist attractions, too, and the main one worth mentioning is train street. Bars and cafes with outdoor seating perch parallel to a single train track running through the central station, where tourists can enjoy Vietnamese egg coffee (coffee with condensed milk and egg yolks), salt coffee (self explanatory), and Hanoi beer. A school bell rings when the train is approaching, and acts as a signal for the waiters and baristas to tuck everyone in away from the tracks. The train then comes, narrowly missing the tourists. Everyone takes photos and videos, and leaves. Placing bottle tops on the tracks is common, and we’re now the proud owners of a flattened Hanoi beer cap, the same size as a two pence piece. God knows what we’re going to do with it.

We packed our bags before getting into bed for our last night in Hanoi. Not for long though, for we’d be back in two nights after completing the Ha Giang Loop. An activity which, on paper, doesn’t seem all that unmissable… not to me, anyway. You essentially get picked up by a bus and taken to the northern city of Ha Giang, where you spend the night, before getting on the back of a moped and ride through the mountains to your next hostel. You then do it again the next day, stopping to admire the scenery, and the day after that, they bring you back. It’s marketed quite well, particularly by social media influencers, all of which describe it as a must-do activity. The girls were all really excited, but I had low expectations. I liked Hanoi and my self imposed sobriety, and didn’t really want to leave. I especially didn’t want to leave our comfortable flat for a sixteen-bed dorm and get smashed every night.

Nevertheless, we made our way to the pickup point, Bong Hostel Hanoi, at eight o’clock the following morning and joined some thirty other backpackers ready for departure. Wrapped in my new snide North Face coat and matching pants, I sipped on Vietnamese coffee and watched a live chicken get slaughtered on the pavement outside the hostel. It was pretty grim viewing, and I worried that the procedure might set the tone for the next few days. Myself, Mia, Eden, Eva and Ella were instructed to board the spacious and comfortable sleeper bus (imagine a national express coach with leather bunk beds instead of seats), and set course northward into the fog and drizzle.

The journey was picturesque and pleasant, passing rice farmers with conical hats, planting and harvesting their crops. We stopped halfway for a coffee and toilet break, where we discovered Jade and Niall were actually on the same bus as ourselves. An hour or two before sunset we arrived in Ha Giang, and, after checking in to the dorm, set out to find some food. We stumbled upon the pertinently named Mr Hung Restaurant, and all ordered a pizza, bar Eden who opted for some vegetable fried rice. We made do with our mediocre but substantial meals and returned to the hostel to ask the whereabouts of the nearest ATM. An American receptionist who was volunteering sent us walking for twenty minutes, where we withdrew our spending money for the next couple of days. The tour group had recommended taking 1 million Dong, roughly the equivalent of £30. Food and accommodation was included in the package, so this money was to be used for coffee, booze, and a “nice tip for your driver”. I found it inappropriate they classed the drivers tip to be a prerequisite given that I hadn’t even met him yet. On the way back from the cash machine, we were infuriated to find that we’d actually walked past three other ATMs on the way to that one, and gave the New Yorker a stern look when we walked back through reception.

The following morning was a bit chaotic - in normal circumstances, the hostel could be described as having ample space, but when there’s over a hundred backpackers all ready to be assigned to a rider, it felt cramped and disorganised. Eventually, our names were called and I was introduced to my rider, Binh’h (pronounced Bing), twenty-five-year-old Vietnamese lad with an earring and dyed copper hair. I found it fitting that I’d been paired with the only other ginger-ish chap for a hundred miles, and after we’d all got acquainted and strapped on our helmets, we set off in convoy through the city towards the rural outskirts.

Zun was in charge of our group of ten, and led the motorcade uphill towards the first viewpoint. The general rule was to ride for thirty minutes and then stop for ten, to take photos and have a beverage, and most importantly, to give your arse a break. We pulled up on a hill and Binh’h removed my helmet, and rubbed his bare hands together to keep them warm. I noticed he was the only person not wearing gloves. We stood on the cliff edge and admired the archetypal rice terraces, and got chatting to the hilarious and emotionally intelligent Chloe from Wakefield. We sparked an instant friendship, which is often the case with Northerners abroad, before returning to the scooters and setting back off.

A rude idiot from one of the Channel Islands thought it’d be a good idea to wear shorts for the trip, and after about an hour he realised how daft he was, and requested the whole convoy to stop in order to buy some long pants. I noticed the shop sold gloves, and thought it would be nice to buy a pair for Binh’h, who didn’t really know how to react. He didn’t seem all too grateful, but I would come to learn he is unaccustomed to receiving gifts, and therefore subsequently unaccustomed to showing gratitude.

We set back off in formation, Zun at the front with his recognisable “Bong” flag attached to the rear of his bike, waving characteristically in a leader-like fashion. He had Chloe on the back, and was followed by a couple of other extras who don’t really deserve a mention, then it was Mia, with her driver, Phuc, followed by myself and Binh’h, who were just in front of Eden, and her driver, Toi. We worked our way to the first of two homestays, stopping regularly for photo opportunities, with the cold wind smacking our faces in between. I was enjoying myself - being on the back of a bike is great fun, particularly when you’re on with someone who knows what they’re doing, and in the kind of setting we were in.

During the lunch break, where we were fed a medley of typical South East Asian food; noodles, rice, spring rolls, all of which were served flat cold. I thought it would be thoughtful to learn some more basic Vietnamese, or at least how to say “mate”. I read online that it’s common for people to say “anh trai”, meaning older brother, to men who are older than you. Binh’h was one year my superior, so I tested it out on him and he cracked a big smile. He called me “em trai” and put his hand flat halfway down his body, signalling it meant younger brother. From that point on, we didn’t call each other anything else.

We arrived at our hostel in Yen Minh at around five o’clock in the evening. Myself and the girls (now including Chloe, who shares a striking resemblance to Tommy from Come Fly With Me) checked into our dorm room before perching around a table in the common area. Food was served a couple of hours later, but before we could dive in to exactly the same array of plates we had at lunch, now even colder, we were forced to take part in a toast. One of the convoy leaders, also called Kai, stood on a chair in the now packed common room, and announced to the hostel that he was going to teach us a song to say “cheers” in Vietnamese. I noticed the drivers were beginning to make their way through the tables and look for their passengers to take part in the toast together. Phuc wandered over to Mia, and Toi stood behind Eden. Soon after, I received a tap on the shoulder. It was Binh’h, holding a shot glass filled with “happy water”. Happy water has been described as home brewed alcohol or watered down tequila. Nobody really knows what it is, which is rather disconcerting given the recent issues in Laos with tourists drinking mystery shots, but there was bottles on each table, and it’s custom to do a shot of it before, during and after your meal. On the loop it is, anyway.

“Are you ready?!”

Yes!

“An xa moii!”

Oiii!

“Mot hai ba zo!”

Mot hai ba zo!

“Hai ba zo!”

Hai ba zo!

“Hai ba zo zo zo!”

Hai ba zo zo zo!

“Hai ba uonggg!”

Hai ba uonggg!

Cheers!

It translates to something like “one, two, three, let’s drink”. Binh’h and I slammed our shots, before he wished me a happy meal and left us to eat. The food was, as previously stated, cold, again, and isn’t worth talking about. The second-nature frustration towards the meal I’d normally feel, though, didn’t even have time to brew, because just as I was finishing, Binh’h reappeared with another shot of happy water and sat on the chair beside me. He got the Google translate app up on his phone, and began talking into it using the conversation feature.

“You are the nicest person I have ever met. I have been driving for over two months, and nobody has ever bought me gloves,” he said.

We chatted for almost an hour, the bulk of the conversation being about his life away from working for Bong. He told me he lived on a rice farm, and only works once or twice a fortnight with the tour company. The rest of the time, he does nothing but plants and harvests rice, not to sell, but for consumption. Every meal he has is rice, grown on the land he lives on with his mother and younger brother. Therefore, his only source of income is the, essentially part-time, job he has taking Westerners around the mountains of northern Vietnam. The conversation stunned me - I forgot, way too easily, that there’s people in the world that live day by day, and simply strive to survive.

“Have you ever been outside of Vietnam?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “I have been to China.”

“Oh, cool. Did you go there on holiday?” I said, stupidly.

“No, little brother. I was smuggled illegally across the border so that I could try and get a job logging in order to provide money for my family. But I was caught, and sent back to Vietnam” said Binh’h.

I felt like a right twat. I’d never had a conversation like this with someone from such a different walk of life. You hear stories about this kind of way of living, but I didn’t think it’d be so moving to look someone in the eye, and listen to them talk about risking their life to earn some money. Imagine waking up each day, not for work, but just to find food. Food! Which is so readily available to us, which we waste so much of, which we’re so picky with. I felt so ashamed to be me, but yet so lucky at the same time.

About four shots of happy water later, still sat by my side, Binh’h asked “When do you plan on getting married, little brother?” via the translate app.

“Maybe a couple of years” I replied.

He turned his phone to me, and it read “She is a nice girl. Try not to lose her.”

Binh’h then asked my permission to go to bed, which I’m hoping was just mistranslated from something like “do you mind if I go to bed”. After I granted him permission, Niall and I jumped on karaoke and blessed the hostel with a rendition of “Seven Drunken Nights” by The Dubliners. I sang it in, what I thought, was a terrible Irish accent, but I had a couple from Cork come up to me afterwards and ask me whereabouts in Ireland I was from. I was too pissed to keep up the act, so confessed I was a plastic paddy, and went to bed.

The next day, I said “chou buoy sang anh trai” to Binh’h, and climbed onto the back of his bike after he’d strapped up my helmet. We set off, both tired and sore-headed, for another day of beautiful scenery and picturesque viewpoints. It was misty, but the views were still spectacular beyond description. As mentioned in a previous entry though, this isn’t a travel guide, and I’m not going to bore you with descriptions of the landscape. It was beautiful, but I’ve got plenty of photos and videos, so if you want to see, just ask. But, to be honest, they don’t do it justice either!

I can never stomach anything first thing on a morning, not least when I’ve drank half a bottle of happy water the night before (nobody mentioned how unhappy you feel the next day), so skipped breakfast. Alas, an hour or two later, by the time we’d got to the third viewpoint, I was ravenous, and needed something. The two coffees I’d had tied me over, but I was in need of proper sustenance. The only thing on offer was a skewer of unspecified meat on a makeshift barbecue located on a cliff edge somewhere near the border with China. I pointed at it and said “that one, please”, and about seven minutes later, after the young lady had relit her barbecue, she served me the lukewarm stick of uncertainty. It was alright, and tasted a bit like pork, so I’m going to hope it was pork.

I finished off my “meal” with a KitKat chunky, which are bizarrely readily available everywhere, even in the mountains, and bought an extra one to throw in Binh’h’s direction. I stuck the sharepods back in (AirPods that are shared between Mia and I), and queued everything from “Lebanese Blonde” by Thievery Corporation (shoutout Max Haywood) to “How Does It Feel” by Slade (shoutout Sean Bent). Every song fit the vibe perfectly and made me feel like I was in a music video or film - Joy Division perhaps being the most fitting band for the foggy weather conditions in terms of synesthesia. Even Gwen Stefani and Daft Punk didn’t feel too out of place as we raced through mountain villages…

Towards the end of day two, I was confident that I could probably ride a bike myself, and quite well, so pondered how I could probably make a career in motorsport should the tennis thing fall through. We pulled into our homestay in Meo Vac, nestled in the mountains. It was essentially a repeat of the night before; cold food, washed down with cider and happy water to the sound of karaoke. I chatted more extensively with Binh’h, and Zun invited me to smoke some tobacco from a wooden bong, which was absolutely vile. In spite of that though, we were having the time of our lives. We got chatting to a couple of Scousers, Paul and Josh, and found that we had mutual friends and family, sank shot after shot of happy water, and revelled in the hilariously terrible karaoke - debauchery which accompanied extensive heartwarming and weighty conversations with Binh’h.

We’d only booked the two night/three day option, and decided to extend for an extra £30 so that we could have one more night of pure pandemonium. It also meant, in turn, that our drivers would get an extra day’s pay. Binh’h had informed me that the driver’s daily wage was 200,000 Dong, roughly the equivalent of £6.25, meaning he’d earn a whopping £25 for four days work. For context, to match that in the UK, he’d only have to work for two hours.

Zun kindly sorted the logistics of us rearranging our transport back to Hanoi and extending the activity, and the next day we joined a different group with Kai as the leader. Another day of beautiful scenery followed, and the mist had slightly cleared, with the highlight of the stops being a fun boat trip along the green Song Nho Que river.

That evening, we arrived in Xa Du Gia, where we checked into our sixteen bed dorm with our new group. I had a little walk through the village to see what amenities were on offer, and at one point was surrounded by eight or nine little boys, all of which wanted a high five from a white man. I returned to the hostel to see the family dinner being dished up…

“Are you ready?!”

Yes!

“An xa moii!”

Oiii!

“Mot hai ba zo!”

Mot hai ba zo!

“Hai ba zo!”

Hai ba zo!

“Hai ba zo zo zo!”

Hai ba zo zo zo!

“Hai ba uonggg!”

Hai ba uonggg!

We celebrated our last night in style, with more revelry and fulfilling conversations with Binh’h. He told me that his mother is blind in one eye and is very ill, and any money he makes from driving he spends on medicine for her. He asked me what my mother looked like, so we quickly FaceTimed her whilst she was on her lunch break back in West Yorkshire, but couldn’t hear a word she was saying over Cyndi Lauper on karaoke. I ended the call prematurely, after Mia excitedly informed me it was Phuc’s birthday. In between umpteen renditions of “happy birthday”, I got chatting with Lorcan, a Villa fan from Bristol, who sparked a friendship of sorts with Eden, and, when the hostel bar closed, piggy backed her to a “nightclub” in the village. It ended in disaster, obviously, and she now has a big graze on her knee which we haven’t heard the end of.

I slept relatively well, unlike Chloe, who woke up the majority of the dorm by violently vomiting at two o’clock in the morning. She blamed it on food poisoning, but I think she just couldn’t hack the happy water. At nine o’clock sharp, the leaders rounded up the backpackers for the last time, and we set back off riding through riverside settlements, with the familiar formation of Mia and Phuc in front of us, and Eden and Toi behind. We passed villagers carrying crops, women as old as seventy climbing uphill with their supplies stacked high on their backs. Children of all ages playing on the side of the road or on their bicycles, in ripped clothes, waved at us as we pass by. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, working tirelessly to provide for each other, selling everything from KitKats to cigarettes, planting and harvesting crops, and training buffalo to carry their agricultural equipment and make their loads that little bit easier. I felt guilty for describing the way they live as “simplistic” in other entries - their lives are in fact just as granular and complex as ours. Chatting with Binh’h taught me that they have all the same feelings and dilemmas that are synonymous with friendship and romance. They have different social pressures, of course, and their priorities are much different from ours, but talking to him every night made me realise we are much similar than perhaps I’d attained to before.

“Favourite” by Fontaines D.C. played in the sharepods as we made our descent downhill towards the Bong Hostel in Ha Giang, signalling the end of what had been a magnificent journey. I’d made memories for life, not least thanks to Binh’h. He had earned his tip twice over - we’re budgeting around £30 a day, and I was more than happy to sacrifice a couple of days getting pissed on a beach if it meant he could not worry about medicine for his mother for a little bit longer. He’d taught me so much, not just about the way his people live, but about myself, and what I’m grateful for. I’m reluctant to get into the whole “I’ve found myself” thing, but the experience solidified the notion to me that travel really does broaden the mind. As the chorus hit, Mia extended her arms wide like a soaring eagle in front, and I turned behind to find Eden and Toi smiling at me. I wrapped my arms around Binh’h and squeezed him tight, never wanting the formation to break, or the experience to end.