Vietnam - Ninh Binh

The signage on the three-meter square plate glass window at the front of our new residence reads:  Hoa Bien Hotel Backpacker + Restaurant - Foods - Cold Drinks - Double & Single Rooms - Clean - Good Quality - Friendly.  We have certainly experienced all these attributes over the last couple of days, and even though we’re quasi-backpacking through Vietnam, The Hoa Bien Hotel has been a nice refuge.  The tourist transit network that exists in Vietnam is part networking between tour companies, part public transportation, and part magic—we’ve always arrived at our desired destinations, but we’re not really sure how.  

The trip to Ninh Binh from Cat Ba involved a short bus ride to the harbor at the southern tip of the island where we boarded a public ferry for an hour long journey into the bay before turning east and heading inland to the town of Hai Phong by way of the wide and muddy Song Cam River.  Upon disembarking from the ferry, a young lady from a local tour company walked our group of twenty-five a few blocks away to a small bus with a driver waiting to stow our luggage.  On each bus and boat we’ve taken so far in Vietnam, every seat is taken with no one left standing, and there has been just enough room for all the passengers’ luggage even though just about everyone on the given mode of transportation has booked passage through a different agency in different parts of the country—magic.  

Once we found seats at the back of the bus, I popped on Google Maps out of curiousity to see how much farther we had to travel that day and was relieved to see that the town of Ninh Binh was only sixty miles away.  Three hours and twenty minutes later, we still had ten miles to go, and I wanted to throttle everyone on the bus with the exception of my little family, of course.  The majority of the roads on which we traveled that day were in bad condition allowing a maximum speed of thirty kilometers an hour for small stretches, and the driver slowed to almost a complete stop to traverse huge potholes and road height variances that sent us flying straight up from our seats at the back of the bus.  Adding to the tension was the German family sitting in front of us with three small children that would melt down into ear-piercing, screeching fights over possession of the electronic devices—the father ignored and the mother tried kind words but to no avail.  At one point, our kids were leaning over to us and whispering, “Do Europeans discipline their children at all?” Our reply: “Not these.” Thankfully, the bus had excellent air conditioning, and watching the many kilometers of vast, green rice fields roll by helped us relax a bit.  We slowed down numerous times to pass through small villages that reminded us of the ones we saw driving through the countryside of Jordan with old block buildings, dusty streets, and small shops, but there were no piles of rubbish ever-present in the town roads of the Middle East.

We finally rolled into the town of Tam Coc knowing that we would have to secure a taxi to reach our hotel in Ninh Binh but didn’t realize that we were still about fifteen kilometers away.  We had already taken our luggage off the bus when the young lady at the transit office told us that we still had a bit of a journey and that the bus driver had agreed to take us near the city center where we could find a taxi.  We hauled our gear back on the bus, and after a twenty-minute ride, the driver pulled over to the side of the road on the center of a large bridge and said, “I take you no more.  Enjoy Ninh Binh, good luck.”  We dutifully hauled our bags back off the bus, and the driver pulled off in a cloud of magic Vietnamese transportation dust, which cleared to reveal a taxi idling about forty feet away.  Fifteen minutes later we walked into the lobby of the Hoa Bien Hotel with black and white floor tiles set on a classic diagonal, and the smiling staff welcomed us like I was Ho Chi Minh arriving with the presidential family.  We were ushered into large, bamboo chairs while the check-in process took place and then escorted to our second floor room where we collapsed on the beds to recover from our day.

Our room has two double beds, a small table with two chairs, and a small bathroom—indicative of the type of lodging we’ll be using during the rest of our time in Vietnam.  We’ve been used to staying in larger apartments with kitchens and extra space to spread out, so there will be a period of adjustment to living in smaller quarters, but the twelve-dollar-per-night price will hopefully ease the transition.  The showers in Vietnam hotel rooms consist of a handheld shower tool attached to the faucet on the sink and activated by pushing a diverter button.  The shower tool is hung on the wall in the center of the bathroom turning the entire space into a shower with the water flowing down the gently sloped tile to a corner drain behind the toilet.  Toilet paper, extra towels, toilet kits, and any other items which are better enjoyed when in a dry state must be evacuated to the main room before a shower commences.  Deveny considers this arrangement a particularly primitive form of savagery, and she’s working on stretching the borders of her comfort zone in Vietnam.  

The tiny window in the bathroom is open to the small concrete house below, and by open, I mean that there is a square opening in the wall with nothing to fill the void.  This type of window allows us to hear the chickens and roosters become active in the rear of the concrete house at 6:00 AM, especially the venerable, old rooster whose coarse cry dissolves into a fit of coughing, which has to be a source of chicken embarrassment.  I wrote before and lamented that I would miss the roosters crowing back and forth in the Thai villages, and that there would surely be roosters in Vietnam—there are—lots.

The walls and ceiling of our room are made of plaster with a thick crown molding set against a twelve-inch pink painted border on the ceiling.  The walls are painted a light sea foam green, and the trim and doors are stained a dark brown with barely any wood grain visible beneath the heavy coats of varnish.  The hotel common areas sport a similar motif, and the main lobby also serves as the restaurant with green faux marble formica tables surrounded by blue plastic chairs, and the huge glass entry doors are always propped open to the busy four lane boulevard out front, constantly full of vehicles with horns blaring.  

The hotel is run by a family of four brothers and their wives who could serve as a worldwide model for the epitome of warm and sincere customer service.  The men work the front desk and the restaurant floor while the women and small children stay in the back preparing fresh, flavorful meals for about a dollar each.  On occasion, one of the brothers will sit outside at a small table for a cup of tea and a cigarette until duty calls, and he’ll run inside to work while another brother walks outside to finish the tea and cigarette in a very efficient arrangement.  While not quite as popular a pastime as it is in Europe and the Middle East, smoking is enjoyed by many southeast Asians despite cigarette boxes that display graphic pictures of lungs and faces horrifically ravaged by diseases commonly attributed to inhaling tobacco smoke.  The brothers enjoy interacting with the guests and speak passable English, French, and several other European languages.  There are two nearby natural wonders that we were interested in visiting, and ended up choosing the one which one of the brothers described as being “close to my heart”—good enough for us.

On our first full day in Ninh Binh based on the brother’s recommendation, we took a twenty minute taxi ride to the Trang An area, which is a World Heritage site containing huge limestone karsts, a network of grottos, and thick jungle all bordering a wide, peacefully flowing river.  We bought tickets for a three-hour ride in a row boat piloted by a sturdy native, and we were instantly immersed in a world of fantasy where bends in the river revealed pockets of pink water lilies floating in front of giant banana trees on the bank with limestone cliffs covered with thick, leafy vines towering behind.  We passed hundreds of meters through dimly lit grottos underneath the karsts and emerged to see centuries old Buddhist temples which we stopped to visit.  

A gentle rain started to fall halfway through our journey which dimpled the calm water of the river and made the colors of the jungle seem more intense as the misty drizzle passed through.  Fortunately, we remembered to pack rain gear, which we quickly donned and assisted our oarsman with his task by employing the extra oars stored on the floor of the boat.  It turns out that the Trang An area is more popular with the locals than the nearby and similar Tam Coc area, which is more commonly frequented by tourists.  Many Ninh Binh natives venture out to Trang An to have their wedding photos taken much like Americans who like to be photographed in overgrown fields next to weathered fences.  We were the only westerners on the river that day, and we found ourselves the subjects of many photographs and videos, so we played the part, smiling and waving all the while.

We paddled against the current for most of the trip, and even though it wasn’t swift, I still marveled at the strength and skill of our oarsman who steered the small craft around the many bends of the river and through the low and narrow passages through the grottos.  We finished our tour a little soggy but exhilarated by spending an afternoon touring another astounding example of the beauty of Vietnam. We thanked our host for his referral upon our return to the Hoa Bien, where we settled in for long naps.  Dinner was sauteed rice noodles with beef and morning glories followed by an evening of school work culminated by the completion of our basic economics book that we began in Bangkok.  Today was Valentine’s Day, but with no chocolate and clever cards available, we just proclaimed our love for one another—just as satisfying with no calories.

We deemed the next day a day of rest so we could catch up on school and save a little money.  I spent several hours sitting in the hotel lobby writing and looking out to the busy street while I continued to cultivate my relationship with Vietnamese drip coffee.  I enjoy observing the ingenuity people use when faced with obstacles that are a bit above everyday challenges. Today I saw a guy pedaling down the street on a bicycle that he had rigged to carry three full sheets of drywall and two three-meter sections of aluminum gutter.  Sometimes I worry about how in the world I’m going to transport a sixteen-foot trim board in my van for crying out loud.  

My family joined me in the lobby for lunch, and we had the good fortune to meet a friend of the hotel owners who spoke English very well and was a real character.  We told him we were just hanging out for the day, and he invited us to his nearby house for tea later that afternoon.  We took a late afternoon walk down the quiet residential street behind the hotel and found his house where we were expected, and Anh drew us in with laughter and sweeping hand gestures.  Anh’s house was larger and nicer than most of the other houses on the street and had a lush courtyard contained by a vine-covered concrete wall and filled with many varieties of tropical plants and fruit trees.  We were seated on comfy chairs around a low table and served steaming cups of green tea and met Anh’s family one at a time as they passed through the room while performing their chores.  

Anh met his wife while working at a homestay down in the Mekong Delta for a couple of years, and he was delighted to learn that we’re planning on staying at this same place for several days later in the month.  His wife joined us for tea, and they shared funny stories about their life and gave us a lot of travel tips to use as we continue our journey.  Anh and his wife share their house with her parents, her sister and her husband, and their children, and they told us that most Vietnamese outside the big cities still live together in large families in order to support each other and have a better quality of life.  Anh remarked that in the west, “People reach eighteen, tell parents have a nice life, bye bye!”  He advised Joseph and Deveny to stay with their parents for as long as possible while showing astonishment at their great height at such young ages.  He told us, “In Vietnam we only see western people on TV, we see in real life they giants!”  When it came time to leave, Anh’s entire family came out to shake our hands and bid us farewell, and as we walked back to the Hoa Bien Hotel, we felt like we had been a part of something truly special.

Anh's neighborhood

I had an epiphany as I sat in the hotel lobby yesterday and watched many backpackers check in and out of the Hoa Bien carrying backpacks emblazoned with familiar names like Osprey and Deuter all stuffed to capacity.  Backpacking is a major hobby of mine, and I’ve had the pleasure to go on many excursions to some beautiful places over the years for weekend trips and longer, extended mileage journeys carrying everything I needed to survive for days in the wild on my back.  For years, I’ve heard phrases like, “backpacking across Europe” and “backpacking across southeast Asia” and thought it would be exciting and fun to do something like that but figured I had missed my opportunity since my teens and twenties are a distant memory.  

It dawned on me yesterday that all of the backpackers I’ve seen so far on this trip have been on the same flights, the same buses, the same ferries, and have been staying in many of the same places that we have.  I’ve looked out of may bus and train windows for hundreds of kilometers for many months and have seen nary a backpacker trudging down the road logging major miles for the day.  We have backpacks too, but ours are half the size of the ones we’ve seen on this trip and actually fit into the overhead compartments correctly.  With the exception of my daughter, our hair is shorter than most of the backpackers we’ve encountered, and we have fewer tattoos, but Deena and I are having the same amount of fun as our kids and the other youngsters half our age who are carrying these immense, ninety-liter backpacks filled mostly with stuff they’ll never use on the trail, or road, or bus, or whatever.  So, sitting in the Hoa Bien Hotel lobby surrounded by giant backpacks propped up along the walls, I realized that I hadn’t missed my opportunity at all, and at fifty years old, I’m traveling with my beloved wife and children, and when people back home ask if we backpacked around the world, my reply will surely be, “dang skippy.”  

It’s a new day, and I’m once again seated in my favorite corner of the lobby drinking strong coffee and contemplating our last day in Ninh Binh.  Checkout is 12:00, and our backpacks will join the others lining the Hoa Bien first floor walls, but before we leave Ninh Binh we’re planning on taking a day trip to Tam Coc for another boat ride through the mountains. The accommodating staff have agreed to stow our gear until we return.  We have booked passage on the midnight train to Da Nang which leaves late this evening and pulls into the station fourteen hours later. 

On this last day in Ninh Binh, we took a short taxi ride to Tam Coc, which is small picturesque town located on the river among lush farmlands and huge limestone karsts making it popular with foreign visitors.  Like the river region of Trang An to which we traveled a couple of days ago, local companies offer lengthy boat rides to tourists, but we decided that our previous boat trip was sufficient and chose to spend the afternoon exploring the town and walking along the banks of the river.  The conditions in Vietnam had been cloudy since we arrived in Hanoi two weeks ago, but the sun finally came out in glorious fashion accompanied by deep blue skies and a warm breeze—a refreshing change after so many cool and damp days.  

We spent an hour walking slowly next to the bank of the river along the paved path which meandered through the neighborhoods packed tightly with small houses and gardens among clusters of banana trees and coconut palms.  Chickens, pigs, and water buffalo shared back yards with swing sets and outdoor dining areas. Small docks sunk low in the water with age and strung with frayed ropes securing dented metal rowboats lined narrow canals branching from the river.  In many areas along the bank, the air was thick with the smell of fish spawning, and men from the village walked through patches of water lilies in the waist-deep river pulling drag nets in hopes of catching dinner or enough fish to sell in the town market.  The paved walkway ended at the Tam Coc Bungalows which occupied a large bend in the river and offered bamboo chairs in the shade of huge ficus trees and views of boaters gliding in front of giant jungle-covered karsts surrounded by blue sky and fluffy clouds.  We secured a spot in the shade and stayed there the rest of the afternoon and talked and laughed together for hours almost forgetting about the long journey ahead of us that evening.

Deena working hard at not working

We got lost trying to get back to the center of town and ended up making a complete circle of the village where we found ourselves in the middle of an elementary school dismissal much to the local kids’ delight.  We smiled and waved at all the friendly families and then stopped at a couple of markets for supplies and fresh pineapple sliced in spirals and served with the stems cut for a handgrip.  We made it back to the town center and quickly found a taxi for one last trip back to the Hoa Bien Hotel, and even though we had checked out at noon and stored our luggage in the back area, the owners insisted that we return to our room for a nap before dinner, and we were happy to oblige.  After a good rest, we went downstairs and enjoyed an excellent meal of fried rice and sauteed noodles with beef. When we had collected our bags, the brothers summoned a taxi for our trip to the train station and swarmed around giving us hugs and handshakes. We said goodbye to this wonderful family whose hospitality and warmth made our stay in Ninh Binh memorable and restorative.