Trek to Ninh Binh offers rustic experience

embraced the current state of being – managing multiple time zones for work; local ways to exercise – boxing, running clubs, and late-night Zumba in the park; and, astringently new experiences each time I set out the door.

With my feet firmly squared, it was time to push the edges of the comfort zone in search of the “growth zone”; between what has become second nature and what manifests in sheer panic.

To effect this, I broke away from the group and booked a solo overnight stay in an AirBnB homestay 2.5 hours south of Hanoi by train, in Ninh Binh province.

Putting my full trust in humans, I communicated with the daughter who ran the listing for her parents. While she spoke English and helped coordinate the homestay, she lives in Hanoi; meanwhile, her parents and the rest of the village do not speak English.

I knew there were some tourist sights to see within 20 km from Ninh Binh train station, so I organized a bicycle rental and, after that, it would be whatever the universe presented.

With Google Maps in hand and a crudely drawn map of the “touristic sights of Ninh Binh,” I set off on my onegear, rusted bicycle across multi-lane highways and nerve-shattering roundabouts.

Thankfully, many years of riding Vancouver streets paid dividends.

Soon enough I was beyond the busy thoroughfares and cycling through rice paddies, past goats, ducks, pigs, water buffalos, countless temples and pagodas. Eventually I found myself at Trang An, an UNESCO heritage site which features a stunning landscape of limestone karst peaks and valleys, as well as series of nine caves which can be traced back in humanity some 30,000 years; if you’ve seen the movie King Kong, it was filmed there.

For the next three hours, the local guide paddled me through waterways and caves in a traditional sampan. For every cave we’d enter, she’d chirp “head down”, at which point I would duck my head between my knees; the ceilings just narrow enough for our passage.

The air was warm with a distinct smell and the water black like Vietnamese coffee. The slower she rowed, the better, there was no rush to leave this magical place.

A quick visit to Hoa Lu, the ancient capital of Vietnam, and it was back on the bike to return before dark. Along the way I stopped at a street-side stall for Bia Hoi, much to the amusement of the older gentleman seated there.

Bia Hoi is the local version of draft beer. Brewed daily and delivered fresh in steel or metal barrels, it’s only three per cent alcohol content and sells for the small sum of 7,000 Vietnamese dong (or $0.40).

Though not an entirely regulated beverage, it was rather refreshing and all the inspiration I needed for my return commute across the highway and back to the station – thankfully uneventful.

Upon arrival, I settled in for part two of my adventure. Unfortunately, the pre-arranged motorcycle taxi to the homestay was now busy; instead, the mother of the AirBnB organizer would come and pick me up – “don’t worry, my mom is a good driver.” The sun had since set and with the effect of the Bia Hoi long burnt off, a bit of nerves built in my belly. Growth zone engaged.

Eventually mom arrived, jumped off her motorbike, danced over and gave me a whole-hearted hug and a nod. I guess we’re off!

I strapped on my Hello Kitty helmet, hopped on the back and clung to her for the next 45 minutes as we zipped along roadways and highways; unsure as to where I was in the universe at that exact moment, or how fast we were getting there – the odometer of the motorbike steadfast at 0 kmh – but otherwise content.

We arrived safe and sound, at which point I was shown to my room: a mattress on the floor of the second level of the home; rustic, but clean. I flat-lined on the bed for a moment, letting the body digest the adrenaline surge and experience of the day.

Roused by a grumbling stomach, I returned downstairs to a dinner feast.

The dining table was a mat on the floor and we – mom, dad, brother and I – sat cross-legged, drinking a mysterious clear liquor and eating an abundant spread of food; most of which I wasn’t sure what it was.

They were simple farmers, but so generous and caring my bowl would not go empty for a moment.

Even though we couldn’t communicate with words, we shared a beautiful, human moment. Smiles, nods, and occasional thumbs up to say thank you and indicate that I was enjoying myself.

After dinner, we settled into the living room and watched a National Geographic series on lions and hyenas, in Vietnamese, naturally. A typical Sunday.

The next morning, I awoke to another breakfast feast, after which the mom rolled out a bicycle, pointing at it and smiling. Sure – I consented, why not? She went into the back room and pulled out a non la (the traditional conical hat), and again, I nodded. Pleased, she went into the cupboard and returned with a beautiful pink ribbon, replacing the existing chin strap and putting it on my head for a fitting.

So, off I rode through the small village. Again, no one speaking a word of English aside from “hello.” Some brave locals would cheer it out then look on expectantly to see if they’d got it right. I’d reply “hello!” and smiles all around would ensue.

I did not have a route, nor plan, instead letting the journey unfold as the side streets and alleyways would permit.

Unfortunately my time was limited, and soon enough I was back for a quick lunch and another motorbike ride to the station and Hanoi.

Perhaps I didn’t start Remote Year with lofty expectations as to what I’d find in northern Vietnam, but the people and the landscape continually leave me breathless.