Cycling Northern Vietnam | Hit by Reality (Ep.2)

I don't know if you've ever had this on a long journey, but for me, there's usually a point where I break down and start questioning everything. This was that day. After 10 days of riding in northern Vietnam, the sun finally came out. That lifted my spirits as the gloominess had been starting to weigh on my enthusiasm. The moment I'd both looked forward to and feared had arrived. I was entering the mountains north, which meant one thing. It was time to climb. It has been great to take a day off. My legs are a little bit more recovered, ready for some more climbing. I feel so clean, I feel rested. I feel like I was able to catch up with some work too. And today is another tough day. I need to average about a thousand meter climbing every day and about 63 kilometers a day on asphalt, so I'm hoping for a little traffic. Soon I should be taking a ride and I should be on a way quieter road. But despite the sunshine, doubt quickly began to creep in. Even after a rest day, my legs still felt tired and I hadn't even reached the toughest part of the route. I started wondering if I'd be able to keep up with the ambitious climbing plan, handle the heat, stay positive or even cope with solitude. I called Tristan. We've both had moments like this before and I told him that two months suddenly felt impossibly long, that I didn't think I could do it. But as I spoke those words out loud and after briefly checking the prices to change my flights, it became clear that I would be staying after all. For one, changing the flight would be more costly than staying in Vietnam for the whole two months I had planned. But more importantly, I reminded myself that no one was forcing me to stick to a rigid plan. If it got too hard, I could stop, change course, slow down or take a break. That simple realization brought a real sense of relief and gave me just enough peace of mind to keep moving forward. Something I also had to come to terms with was the state of animal welfare in some places. On the one hand, it was refreshing to see animals roaming freely in the open. On the other, it was hard to witness them caged or being transported for sale at markets, especially the dogs. I had to consciously dissociate a little to quiet the instinct of interpreting everything through a western lens. Many people here don't have the luxury of choice. They eat what's available. It wasn't easy to watch, but it did make me reflect on the broader realities of meat consumption. And the truth is, animals likely face even worse conditions back home. We just don't see it. I thought I would do a little update because it's been a while. I'm not sure exactly what day it is from my bicycle trip. Right now, I feel very much at peace. I feel like I'm starting to get into a pattern that I can follow daily, that I can keep up with and that I can stay motivated about. I'm about to reach a big milestone, at least personally, because I made it to the border with China. Like, literally behind me, on the other side of the river, that is China. I'm sitting in Vietnam currently. As you can see, I'm making myself a sandwich because, believe it or not, I have found it difficult to eat in towns because I'm usually cycling through very, very small towns where there's actually no obvious place for food. And I just don't know what I'm gonna eat. So I've been preparing myself in advance by buying tomatoes, by also boiling some eggs and getting some bread, what they call banh mi. And I'm just making some basic sandwiches. With a six-hour time difference from home, my mornings were always very quiet. It was during mealtimes that the solitude sank in. After hours of introspection on the bike, I craved some kind of exchange. I missed joking with Tristan, sharing thoughts from that day or just checking in with each other. Maybe it felt harder because I've always traveled accompanied or in places where I could communicate. But here, I hadn't had a conversation with anyone in days. But that was about to change as I approached the first tourist attraction of my trip, Ban Joc Waterfalls. I had to leave my bike and bags unattended if I wanted to visit the site. This made me feel uneasy, but for the first time ever, I was willing to take that risk. There's something about Vietnam that inspires a surprising sense of trust. So I bought a ticket and went off in search of the famous cascade. In the end, it felt like a valuable exercise in letting go. Ban Joc Waterfalls sit right on the border between Vietnam and China and are often described as one of the country's most spectacular natural sights. I was visiting during the dry season, so I didn't even catch them at their fullest. And still, I found them strikingly beautiful. Reaching this spot felt like a huge reward and it gave me a real boost of confidence to take on the journey ahead. Well, that was nice. Nice waterfalls. Not too many people for a touristic spot. And yeah, this is me now on the bicycle with my non-la. I guess I'll put on a helmet when there's traffic. But so far, I'm climbing. And no car, so... Yeah, I'm gonna be wearing this Vietnamese hat for the next month. It's been decided. Sticking to my promise of riding without rush, I looked for a nearby homestay to drop off my bike and take some time to explore. The region of Cao Bang is known for its remarkable cave systems. And just a few kilometers away was one of the most famous, Dong Nhum Nau. These homestays were making the whole journey feel easy and enjoyable. Even though I was carrying a full camping setup, I never had to stress about finding a place to pitch my tent. Of course, you never quite know what you're going to get. But after a long sweaty day on the bike, being able to take a cold shower and rest somewhere safe and peaceful felt like such a relief. Usually on a bike trip, riding is all I do. I tend to skip other activities, either because accommodation is out of budget or there's nowhere safe to leave my bike. But this time was different. I finally had the freedom and security to do something off the saddle. And I didn't want to miss the chance to see that cave. So I set off to find it. It's nice to park the bike and do other things, not always be pedaling. Up? Okay. Okay, come on. Got a little confused on the way, so I had to ask. But I think I'm on the right way now. Waking up early really pays off in Vietnam. The roads and even the main sights stay quiet for the first few hours of the day. I got to the cave by 7 a.m. and I had it to myself for nearly the entire time. According to the local legend, tigers once inhabited the cave. Or at least people believed the deep growls and echoes from within were the roars of tigers. That's where it gets its name, Nhom Nhau or Tiger Cave. I wandered slowly, pausing often to take in the silence and the scale. Towering stalactites and stalagmites fill the space, shaped over centuries by mineral-rich water dripping, pooling and hardening into surreal sculpted forms. It's grounding to stand in a place that has witnessed so much and will remain long after we've passed through. I didn't expect to be so moved, but being there alone, surrounded by that stillness, gave the whole experience a kind of quiet magic. It was nice to take a little rest at that nice, small village. See the caves, see the waterfalls. And I'm out again. I'm heading towards the province of Kha Giang, which is known to be more touristy because it's very beautiful, but also it's going to require a lot of climbing, so I'm a little bit scared about that. But let's see, I'm going to take it slowly. If I'm tired, I'll stop. There is no pressure, thankfully. I just saw this man with bread. Where are you from? Taiwan. Taiwan? Got some bread. I think I might have just bought bread with sugar. Somehow they add sugar to the bread here, so not ideal, but hey, it's something. Where? Beautiful place. Where? Bye-bye. Bye. People are so nice here in general. I'm gonna get out of the town now and I'm gonna keep on climbing because it's getting quite hot. It's gonna be about 30 degrees today, so the earlier I start climbing, the better. Every bigger town has a central market with fresh fruit and vegetables. By now, I knew this was my chance to stock up for the next day or two. Bananas, mandarins, some apples. Local fruit was always affordable. It was only the more exotic kinds or those imported from China that came with a higher price tag. I'd also learned to keep on snacking to avoid a blood sugar dip and to eat bananas on the spot rather than carrying them on the bike since I've had one too many explode inside or over my bags. Even though I had big riding plans for the day, I didn't make it far before the next stop. I was setting up my tripod to take these two shots when a woman approached and started gesturing. Found this lady on a bicycle who said that I should follow her to town. So that's what I'm doing. From what I could gather, she wanted me to ride with her. So I did. I'm not sure who was more excited, her or me. But we kept glancing at each other and giggling. She walked her bike on the small climbs and after a few kilometers, she began pointing ahead, then at herself. I figured she was showing me where she lived. She invited me to sit at the table and eat with her. I was offered a thin steamed rice sheet filled with a savory paste. A dish I later learned was called Banh Cuong, very common in Northern Vietnam but one I hadn't tried until then. It was good. But that wasn't all. Vietnam's signatory dish, Pho, is eaten at any time of the day though it's especially popular in the morning. Oh, you put it inside. We kept trying to interact with her hands and when I found she was 75 years old, I was amazed. I can only hope to be that strong and full of life at her age. Gestures can go a long way though I wish I could speak Vietnamese as I felt so curious and would have loved to learn more about her life and culture. Still, it was nice to bridge part of the gap with the help of the phone. Thank you for your kindness and for inviting me to eat. I offered to pay for the food but she declined. Moments of genuine hospitality and kindness like this never stop surprising me. Something I hope to carry with me and pass on. I just had Pho with a lady. She invited me for breakfast. So sweet. And just like that, I was back on the bike with a full belly and a big smile. A few kilometers later, I was sweating. The heat was rising fast so I kept hiding in the shade whenever I could. And what had started as a heartwarming, cheerful day soon took a sharp turn. I'm having the first little crisis because I'm super tired and I just cannot find a place to sleep. I thought about asking some locals and I did but it was so weird. They were weird. They didn't understand how to use Google Translate. I don't think they could read either. And we started doing like this. It's a bit of a poor area. A little infrastructure. And yeah, I'm just a little meltdown probably because I'm tired. So I'm thinking that I'm gonna try and push 20 more kilometers with some climbing to make it to an official guest house because I'm really not feeling the vibe in this valley. No, but if you're super tired, if you're doing 90 kilometers in a day, you know, that's a lot. Maybe tomorrow you feel like taking the morning off and you can. Just know that you are in charge here. Right. Yeah, it was so weird. It was like suddenly I had like four guys around me and they were like very weird. Two small climbs, okay. I'm pretty sure you can do it. Take some water. If you have a snack, eat it and just put your mind on zero. Pedal to the knee. Make sure it doesn't get dark. And yeah, I think I have one hour of flight. One hour of flight and 20 kilometers. So I think I can make it. You're very brave, Vy. Keep on going. Speak soon. Bye. Okay. I need to do this. This was the first time I felt genuinely scared and insecure during the trip. Having Tristan on the line, watching out for me from afar, helped calm me down. When we travel together, we figure things out as a team and lift each other when it gets tough. But this time, I had to find my footing alone. I was exhausted. But I kept pushing. Really pushing today. And it's also the heat. Like, it's so hot. I just wish camping was easier. It's so hard because of the terrain. It's just up or down. And also whatever is not up and down, it's just full of agriculture. So I don't want to mess up with the crops. Or it's by the side of the road. And I'd rather not be seen. Just in case. I'm dripping. The coin flipped once again. I made it before dark and I was safe. So I came across this little town and saw a very nice meadow over there. And I asked the lady in this house if I could camp there and she asked if I was alone. I said yes. She asked if I was afraid and I asked her if I should be afraid. And she laughed. Then she told me that she has beds inside and that if I want, I could stay with her tonight. That there is no running water. But she's boiling some water for me, I think, so that I can clean up. So I'm going with the flow and spending the night here. If there's something I've learned to trust while traveling on my own, it's my intuition. That gut feeling when something feels off or when it suddenly feels right. I'd strongly felt the former earlier that afternoon. But something shifted as I pedaled past this quiet meadow and spotted the woman standing there. A wave of calm washed over me. This serendipitous moment of generosity came to me in a moment of vulnerability. She appeared just at the right moment. Offering help without hesitation. Almost like a guardian angel on the road. I played with her nephew while she prepared dinner. Her laughter was so joyful. And later I washed up with the water she had kindly boiled for me. I felt calm, relieved and deeply grateful. After dinner, I settled under the mosquito net ready to let go. What an intense day it had been. That had been a restless but peaceful night. Restless because I'm a light sleeper and my back was sore from the hard surface. Peaceful because I felt safe, welcomed and protected. Wow, that was such a lovely experience. By that point, I had already let go of the idea of camping. Other bike travelers had warned me how difficult it is in northern Vietnam. Especially if you're looking for some privacy. Still, I brought my setup anyway. I had never traveled without it before and just knowing I had it gave me peace of mind in case of an emergency. But I'd never been anywhere where camping was so challenging and where family-run guesthouses were so common. So I figured I'd just be hauling the gear around the country. I was at peace with that. Every morning, I was on the bike by 6 am trying to time the longest climbs with the earliest hours to avoid the heat. But even by 9, the temperature was already creeping above 30 degrees celsius. Climbing under the sun with the humidity weighing everything down, it was brutal. Not far from the Chinese border, I cycled past Pak Po and stopped to visit the memorial site dedicated to Ho Chi Minh. It was here after decades in exile that he returned to live in hiding and quietly began organizing the resistance against French colonial rule, laying the foundation for what would become the Vietnamese independence movement. To many, Ho Chi Minh remains a powerful symbol of resilience, unity and national pride. Something I kept noticing as I rode through the north where his name and image appear everywhere. Northern Vietnam has long been a stronghold of resistance, an identity deeply woven into the region's history and still carried with quiet pride by those who live there. And yet, despite the painful memories of relatively recent conflicts with foreign powers, people are remarkably open, curious and respectful to those who come from afar. As a guest in someone else's home, I try to be as respectful as possible, picking up on customs and habits as quickly as I can. What I wasn't adapting to fast enough was the heat. Wow, that's shedding so much. But this hat, the nonda, it's really proving to work very nicely. I was facing my first big pass of the trip, something I could have handled much more easily in cooler temperatures, when I started feeling lightheaded and a constant pinch build up in my knees. I saw a local bus. Driving up, so I think I'm gonna take it. Another lesson learned over all these years on the bike is to take the opportunity when it shows up. So when a bus passed and the driver made eye contact, I flagged it down and asked if he could take me to the top of the pass, 12 kilometers further. Surprisingly, he didn't hesitate, despite the bike and the bags. It was an unexpectedly kind gesture and honestly, a relief. I just wasn't entirely sure where he was headed or if he'd understood what I meant. I'm a little confused. I think we're driving a little bit further and then he's dropping me off, but I don't know, I don't know where we're going. I think that we're going towards Baulac, which is where I'm going, but I'm not really sure. As we climbed, I kept glancing out the window, trying to match the road with the line on the map. He took a few detours to drop off packages, but eventually he pulled over at the top of a mountain, slightly beyond where I'd planned to stop. Okay, I think we're getting out. Top of the pass. I paid and thanked him as best as I could. He smiled back like it was nothing. So I was actually dropped off at the top of the pass, meaning I just have to descend to Baulac. And it's great because my knees were really struggling, so it's going to be a nice descent. Apparently, there might be more buses from Baulac, so maybe I can skip the next stretch to Meo Bac, which is another thousand something meter climb. And I think it's probably worth it so that I can actually cycle the Hajan loop without messing up with my knees because every day I'm climbing so much, so it's starting to sum up. I didn't feel ashamed for having skipped a few kilometers by bus and I didn't feel guilty either for already planning to try again the next day. The truth is, Northern Vietnam is incredibly mountainous and as much as I wished my body could keep up with the physical demands, I just couldn't without hurting myself. It wasn't worth it to me. Traveling by bike is an endurance activity. It's demanding on the body and that body is what keeps you moving forward. So listening to how I was feeling, paying attention to the aches and my motivation, felt like the smartest thing I could do if I wanted to keep riding through the Hajan mountains. So coming back to that thought of not needing to stick to a rigid plan, I looked for a place to properly rest and hide from the heat in Baulac. My host was incredibly kind. She even called the local bus company to make sure they'd pick me up at the guest house the following morning and take me to the next town. I used the rest of the day to cool down under the air conditioning, clean up, eat as much as I could and just enjoy a soft quiet bed. Basically everything my body had been asking for. And just as promised, by 8am the next morning, the bus came to pick me up. This time there wasn't any space inside for the bike so the driver said the only option was to strap it to the roof of the van. That felt a bit scary. But then again, I'd seen Vietnamese people tie all sorts of things to their vehicles, including full-sized motorbikes. So I figured my outback would be in good hands. Luckily, it's a tough bike. The bike is going on the top so I really hope it makes it. Thank you! I'm being taken to Mya Bac, skipping 70km today on a 1200m climb. So very happy about that because it's still very hot today, 34 degrees expected. My back is on the top of the bus so I'm hoping it'll be okay. Again, I'm very happy I don't have a change, that I have a belt and a gearbox because that means that I don't have to worry about ventilators. So as long as it doesn't fall, all is good. But things took a turn when I started feeling motion sick. It's always a bit of a lottery and this time, I lost. I'm pretty discreet when it comes to throwing up so I don't think anyone noticed. Either way, I couldn't wait to get out of that van. So I was told to get out at this station. I don't even know where I am. And apparently, there's gonna be another van coming over at 12 to pick me up. But I'm so confused. So I'm here with my stuff and just waiting for instructions. We'd reached the end of the route but not my destination. Apparently, another bus would come pick me up in two hours to take me to Meovac. I had no idea how I was going to find them or vice versa but just like I had been doing throughout the whole trip, I sat down to wait and see, trusting it will all work out. My ride has arrived. And it did. This time, it was an old bus packed with rice bags. Clearly more for cargo than for passengers. Okay, I hope I go to Meovac this time. They tossed my bike inside and off we went, picking up and dropping off packages all along the way. It's really fascinating to see how they'll puzzle just about anything into these vehicles. Once again, I felt at ease knowing the bike can take a beating. The 70 km I skipped ended up taking 6 hours, probably about the same time as riding them. But I was glad I'd spurred my knees, avoided the heat and gotten a wild ride in a local delivery bus. By 3 pm, I was in Meovac. I planned to ride to a nearby guesthouse for the night and as I did, I noticed the town's vibe felt distinct from anywhere I'd cycled over the past two weeks. Suddenly, I understood what it meant to be at the doorstep of the Hajan Mountains. I had entered one of the most popular spots in the country. A hotspot for organized motorbike tourists packed with young travelers chasing scenery and good times. After days without seeing another tourist, I felt quite disoriented. It soon became clear I'd be sharing the road until I cycled out of the Hajan loop. I quickly moved away from the town center and with it, the loud music and revving engines faded into the background. I had a feeling the next section of this trip would unfold differently from what I'd experienced so far. After so many days of being the only foreigner, I suspected that would change and instead, I'd likely be looking for ways to avoid the crowds. Still, touristy places come with their perks. Better communication, plenty of food options, exchanging stories and experiences with other travelers which, at that point in the journey, I was more than ready to lean into. The road ahead looked different but I was feeling excited for that shift. Tomorrow, I'd be back on the bike.