Solo Travel Snapshots in Vietnam: Trapped in Ha Giang

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 #1.

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 13-14, 2024

I didn’t know anything about Ha Giang until I met my first crew of SE Asia backpackers in Bali. And then my next crew in Flores and the next crew in East Java. Everywhere I went, everywhere I ran into backpackers, there the words were again: “Ha Giang Loop.”

When I Googled it, I found hundreds of blogs on the subject intermixed with Trip Advisor forums asking, “What can I do that’s like the Ha Giang Loop?” and “Where to find Ha Giang Loop-like experiences?”

The Ha Giang Loop, the backpackers told me again and again, was the best thing I did in SE Asia. The Ha Giang Loop is incredible. Do the Ha Giang Loop!

So I wanted to do the Ha Giang Loop and here I was in Ha Giang about to do the loop. I’d set it up in advance, finding a small company so it wouldn’t be party-central. I was all excited, expectations high. But the homestay/hotel the tour company put me up in was quiet. Like empty-other-than-me quiet. I’d arrived a half an hour earlier and it was already 9pm with the tour set to start the next morning. The company owner had given me no info, not even mentioned the trip when I checked in, so I interrupted his conversation with some other Vietnamese people hanging around in the lobby. “Sooo, how many other people are going on the trip tomorrow?”

He seems to cringe a little. “Just you,” he says.

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just bid him goodnight and go to my hotel across the street. I feel frustrated. And stupid. In my effort to try to totally control my environment so that it wasn’t a huge drunk frat party, I ended up setting myself up for a different experience that I wanted to avoid–doing it along. I should have specifically asked what days other people were already signed up for. Especially because he made it clear that he had a group of 4 go on June 13. Well, I could have gone on June 13 with them if I’d only been more specific in my questions.

I feel trapped by my own dumb decisions and completely unsure what to do. Do I go, knowing that it is going to be me and my non-english speaking driver for three straight days? That I’ll be eating lunch at the restaurants along the way, all alone and reading my book. I do that all the time, of course, but that’s not the experience I wanted for Ha Giang. This is basically a backpacker right of passage. I want the company of great people. I want to have fun!

So, if I can’t have that, do I leave? I’m already here. This seems like a waste of the travel time.

Do I try to join another group? It’s already 9:45pm and most leave the next morning at 8am. Also, I already committed to this company. Will he just let me back out?

I spiral. I shed some frustrated tears. I even call my mom to vent and parse through my options.

Finally, I leave the hotel, take the stairs down 6 floors and cross the street to talk to my tour guide. He’s somewhat expressionless so it’s hard to say how he feels, but he eventually promises to call people he knows who also run Ha Giang trips and see if any of them are going tomorrow. It is the off-season, so no guarantees.

He texts me an hour later and lets me know that he’s found a group I can join. A huge weight lifts from my chest. Everything feels, if not perfect, at least fine. It ss going to work out. I believe that things happen for a reason and that somehow I am meant to be on this tour instead.

I’m finally able to get to sleep, the trapped feeling finally having faded.

It’s all good.

Until, the next morning, when I got trapped in the hotel elevator.

I’m usually a stairs person but I’m on the 6^th floor and I’ve got all my gear on my back and it’s hot and humid already since most cheap hotels only have AC in the rooms, not the entire building. I step into the elevator and press the button for the lobby. The doors close. The elevator starts to descend. Then there’s a loud thunk and the elevator stops.

I don’t panic. This is not the kind of situation that would cause me to panic.

I push some button. Nothing happens.

I push the call button down to the lobby. I can hear it ringing through the walls, but no luck.

At least I have the WhatsApp number of my tour guide, so I try calling, but he doesn’t answer. I text him and then text my brother, telling him I’m–wait for it–stuck in an elevator in Vietnam.

It’s hot. The hotel room was air conditioned last night, but the hallways and the elevator are not. It’s the kind of humid I’ve come to expect from Vietnam. Even though I’m in the mountains and so it’s not 95 degrees, it is 80 degrees with 95% humidity. And there is no airflow in this tiny box.

Sweat trickles down my face from stale, humid air. I begin to wonder if my Ha Giang trip is simply cursed. Will I be stuck in this elevator while my tour guide taps his toes and the new group I was supposed to join simply drives off without me?

After a few minutes, the tour guide replies that he’s on his way. Good–at least someone knows where I am!

Soon, the lights go out. Clanks echo through the elevator shaft. The lights come on again…just to go right back out.

Finally, they manage to pry the door open. I’m stuck between floors, a huge chunk of cement visible at waist height, but they pull a chair over and I’m able to slide out with my bag, free at last.

As I scramble from the elevator and heft my backpack on my back again, I’m sticky and clammy and none of it actually feels real.

As my brother so accurately texted me while I was stuck: “No kidding. WTF.”

That’s exactly how I feel.

But here I am, just along for the ride.