Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam: Bonds Made on Winding Roads

This is my Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam Series.

I spent 33 days in Vietnam. Each day brought something different–a different experience or surprising thought or new challenge. I cannot possibly share them all, and even if I did, so much would fall short. Instead of sharing my day-to-day everyday, I want to capture the essence of my Vietnam experience in 10 vivid snapshots. This series will consist of those 10 solo travel snapshots that encapsulate many repeat experiences in Vietnam and throughout Southeast Asia.

This is #2.

Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam

1. The comedic feeling of yet another thing going wrong, plus needing to relinquish control
2. The bonds of travelers
3. The peace and serenity of a solo morning exploration
4. Remembering not to sweat the small stuff–or the sweaty stuff
5. Plastic toddler tables = the best food

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June 14-16, 2024

As the Ha Giang Loop trip starts, the countryside we ride through immediately begins to blow my mind. As we zoom along the road just outside of the city of Ha Giang, I think the mountains look like shark teeth.

They rise steeply in the distance, but not with a single peak like the New Zealand Southern Alps or the Rockies. No, these mountains are like a wall of mountain with a bunch of little peaks all in a row, like teeth on a jawbone.

Our motorbike drivers stops at a beautiful overlook as we climb into the mountains. I finally get to meet my new travel group: three friends from Ireland and a solo traveler from Spain. They’re all very friendly and I feel very happy with the way things are working out, especially after all of my worry the day before and the morning spent stuck in an elevator!

We load back onto the bikes and set off again. My little backpack is strapped on behind me and I hold onto the edge of the seat as we lean around switchbacks and climb through the greenery.

As I’d experienced in other parts of Asia, even though we’re not in a city that doesn’t mean the landscape is untouched. There are homes and huts everywhere and wherever possible the land is being farmed. The famous rice terraces of Vietnam pass in a blur.

Other motorbike groups sometimes pass us on the roads, otherwise its locals on motorbikes. We see a dead pig laying on a board on the back of one. A bus passes with a goose on top. Water rushes in ditches beside the road. Only a few days before, there was flooding on the Ha Giang Loop and some trips were canceled. It is the start of the rainy season.

The rice fields turn to corn as we get higher in elevation and the temp drops a little bit. Clouds wisp around the tops of peaks. Coupled with the intense green, it feels magical, like we’re climbing to the roof of the world.

The mountains lose their shark teeth look now that we’re closer and driving among them. Instead, it seems like there is the base of a normal mountain, but as we climb it, it looks like giant hersey kisses have been attached to the top. Multiple small conical mountains rising from the base of the big mountain.

Valleys between the hersey kisses are flat places for villages.

We stop at a view point and local Hmong children run around in their colorful clothing, playing and trying to braid tourist’s hair for money.

We briefly stop to visit the Hmong King’s palace, exploring the mansion that was built in the 1890s by a feudal Hmong family. Unfortunately, the most memorable part of the experience is hearing pigs scream on the street next to the mansion as their feet were tied and they were hoisted onto a scale to be weighed for sale.

Shortly, we arrived in Dong Van town and settled into our shared room for the night. I left to go wander around the area and found the old town built at the foot of a karst tower. I walked the streets and then sat in the square and watched the locals exercise.

Vietnamese people are very active, finding ways to have fun and exercise. In Hanoi, despite the heat, there were always lots of people working out in the parks, and here, in the center of the old town, several groups of women were playing volleyball on the stone courts.

The next day brought even more stunning karst limestone mountains (as I learned). But first–China.

From Dong Van town, we head off on a side road no more than 10 minutes. Our drivers pull over on the side of the road, looking across a deep, wide valley.

“China,” says my driver. That’s only the second word he’s said to me beside his name. I look across and about halfway up the opposite slope I can see a fence. The Chinese border.

Our head driver/tour guide tells us that the fence is new in the last 10 years. You used to just be able to walk across, if you wanted.

The scenery the rest of the day is mind-boggling. I love mountains, and these are crazy mountains. They make me wish my dad was standing right beside me so I could put my hands on his shoulders and shake him and say, “do you see how crazy these mountains are?!”

Steep and beautiful and green and studded with towers and cones like growths. I’ve never seen anything like it.

We pass people working in the fields in conical hats and kids playing in the water flowing in the ditches and women with traditional Hmong baskets walking on the sides of the road and kids in bright clothes shouting hello as they herd goats on the road. When we drive through villages, little kids line up and reach out, and our drivers slow down so we can give them high-fives as we pass.

That afternoon we stop at a waterfall to swim. Me and one other girl are the only ones willing to jump off the fifteen foot cliff by the waterfall. There is a really strong undertow and we have to drag each other out of there, but it was nicely refreshing.

We take breaks from the motorbike and even though most of our drivers don’t speak very much english other than the lead driver/guide, we all have fun playing “foot badminton.” Basically there is a shuttlecock-like thing that you have to keep in the air using any part of your body except your hands. Us westerners suck, but the drivers show off–kicking it behind their backs and while twisting around. When we stop, we just play in the road, so we’re always listening for other bikes coming around the bend and get out of the way. Feels like playing in the neighborhood as kid.

The last day is just as stunning, the amazing scenery continuing and the whole thing feeling bittersweet because we know it’s ending. There’s something about traveling that makes anytime spent with others feel a whole magnitude more powerful and connecting.

I met my group only three days ago but we’ve gushed about the pretty mountains, laughed about the antics of our drivers, theorized about the lives of the locals, attempted to keep up with the drivers in foot badminton, shared food family-style, negotiated shower times, posed in photos, and learned about each other’s lives. Even though three of the five of us already knew each other before, there is still something that makes all of us feel like a team as we did this together.

Amazingly, this is nothing new.

Maybe it’s stronger from our three days without outside influence, but this is the life of a solo traveler. Brief, bright connections that are stronger than they have any right to be for how ephemeral they are. But bright and strong and amazing all the same.