Riding the Hai Van Pass from Da Nang

Da Nang greeted us with a comfortable hotel and a surprisingly good breakfast. The sort that makes you linger over coffee while pretending you are planning the day carefully, when in reality you have no idea what you are doing.

Finding a motorbike shop proved harder than deciding whether to have a second bánh mì.

We eventually found one hiding down a side street like it owed someone money. Craig upgraded from a scooter to a semi‑automatic because today we were tackling the Hai Van Pass, made legendary by Top Gear and every traveller who has ever described a road as “iconic”.

The rental staff were carefully checking international driving permits. Apparently the police had been stopping Western riders recently. Vietnam requires an international licence, not a UK one, and when funds run low the police sometimes focus on tourists for what could politely be described as a roadside donation, a sort of mobile tax office.

We handed over our permits and tried to look like responsible people. It felt unnatural.

The Famous Hai Van Pass

The Hai Van Pass curls along the mountains between Da Nang and Hue and is often described as one of the most beautiful coastal drives in the world.

Top Gear certainly thought so on a clear day. This was not a clear day.

The pass greeted us with a thick stew of smoke and cloud. Halfway up we could see diggers gouging out the side of the mountain for a new resort. It was enormous. Vietnam does not believe in modest construction. If they ever build a garden shed it will probably require a permit from NASA.

Nothing says untouched natural beauty quite like a construction site the size of a small town and a gigantic bulldozer. Then the rain arrived.

We pulled over to wrestle with our raincoats. Mine smelt faintly of Comfort fabric softener which instantly reminded me of home. It was Mum’s coat and I had a quiet smile to myself. She would probably be quite pleased it had made it to a Vietnamese mountain pass.

Craig was having a different moment.

He was swearing at his coat with increasing frustration. When Craig starts swearing at clothing you know the situation is serious. After a quick inspection I discovered the problem.

The zip was perfectly fine.

His coat was already fully done up and he was trying to unzip it from the top instead of the bottom. This is the man I trust with navigation.

Tourists, Buses and Top Gear

At the summit we stopped at the old fortress viewpoint at Đường Cứu Nạn. The views were impressive, though slightly obscured by the number of people posing dramatically for photos.

The road down the other side improved immediately. Fewer buses, more sweeping bends and glimpses of empty beaches far below.

We passed small waterfalls and streams tumbling down the hills. Pleasant enough, although Norway’s waterfalls near Briksdal Glacier still hold the world championship title for this sort of thing. Once you’ve seen that, everything else is a polite dribble.

Halfway down we saw a monk sitting calmly on a bend eating a loaf of bread. His expression suggested he had achieved complete enlightenment through carbohydrates. I approved quietly.

Apples, Fishing Nets, and Elephant Ears

We reached a little peninsula with surfing sea on the right and a calm lake on the left. Fishing nets stretched across the water like giant hammocks for fish who’d made poor life choices.

Further along the coast we stopped on a quiet lane to grab a drink and an apple from the backpack.

An elderly woman in a Gucci silk outfit approached and asked for money. Real Gucci, of course. Craig broke the apple in half and offered her some. She laughed and revealed her single remaining tooth. Craig then showed his wobbly front tooth and suddenly we were all laughing like old friends.

Further along the coast we followed a tiny mud path past wooden fishing boats with tin hoods. I’d never seen anything like them before. High tide turned the path into a shallow river. Splash back straight to the bum. Refreshing, if questionable.

It was Sunday so the Vietnamese were relaxing, which includes karaoke at volumes that can be heard even in remote farming communities. We stopped to watch a buffalo and calf. They were calmer than the karaoke.

Craig’s helmet was now fastened so tightly he could barely hear me. At one point he announced the straps felt like elephant legs wrapped around his ears.

For the rest of the day most conversations consisted of me speaking and Craig replying with “Eh?”

It was not our most sophisticated dialogue.

Into the Hills of Bach Ma National Park

We eventually turned inland towards Bach Ma National Park.

The hills teased us all day. Beautiful shapes hidden behind cloud like they were saving the big reveal for someone more important. The drizzle came and went. The mountains stayed shy like they were hiding from us, which I understood. If I saw two foreigners on a motorbike arguing about Google Maps, I’d hide too.

Every so often enormous stone graves appeared beside the road. They looked like king‑sized marble beds, except twice the size and placed very confidently in the middle of the countryside. Vietnam does ancestors properly.

Craig was slowly losing patience with the map app, Top Gear for overselling the earlier part of the day, and possibly with me. I could feel him blaming me for the mist, as if I’d ordered it on purpose.

The scenery, however, was beginning to improve dramatically.

The Road That Wasn’t There

Deep in the national park we rode through a small village and I asked Craig if we needed fuel.

He said no.

Our fuel gauge is optimistic at best. I call it the doggy gauge because it wags around happily without providing any useful information.

We continued along a beautiful road following a winding river.

Then the road stopped. Not gradually. Completely. The river had decided it preferred the road somewhere else.

A man appeared from behind a bush and pointed us towards a newly built road climbing into the jungle.

We followed his instructions and suddenly found ourselves riding along a massive highway construction project. Workers were blasting rock, pouring concrete and shaping a road with serious ambition. This was not a small upgrade. It looked like the kind of project that turns a quiet area into a small city within a few years. They knew they were building something that will one day be on postcards.

Give it time and Bach Ma will probably be on every Vietnam itinerary.

Riding Through Dinosaur Country

The jungle around us was extraordinary.

Huge ridges of forest rose on both sides like the spines of enormous dinosaurs. The air felt thick and ancient, as if the whole place had been growing quietly for centuries and had only just noticed us. Vines hung like ropes. Ferns unfurled like green feathers. The whole landscape felt alive and watchful.

It felt like we were riding through the middle of something prehistoric.

The jungle around us was breathtaking. To me it looked like we were tiny ants riding through a valley of dinosaur spines covered in dense green. To Craig it was so primitive he said King Kong could appear and it would feel normal. It was some of the best jungle he had ever seen.

The Fuel Situation

Then Craig suddenly stopped the bike.

We were almost out of petrol.

One of the construction workers kindly gave us a small amount of fuel from a container and suggested we head back to the nearest village.

We debated the options. Carry on and hope for a petrol station, or return twenty kilometres the way we had come.

We turned around. This turned out to be a very wise decision as we would not see another petrol station until Da Nang.

The Unexpected Star of the Day

On the way back we spotted a tunnel ahead and Craig accelerated slightly to beat the sunset.

Just as we entered we heard shouting, whistling, and a dog barking furiously.

Craig slammed on the brakes. Tunnel guards waved at us with the urgency of people trying to prevent a small disaster, which, to be fair, we often are.

No motorbikes allowed.

Two choices: 100-mile detour or the Mui Trau Pass. The guards pointed us down a muddy track climbing steeply into the hills. We would never have found it without them.

This was the Mui Trau Pass.

And it was magnificent.

The road wound along the ridge of the mountains like we were riding along the spine of a giant creature. Valleys dropped away on both sides while the setting sun finally broke through the clouds.

After a day of drizzle the sky suddenly revealed everything. The light was perfect. Soft and golden with just enough cloud to make the mountains look dramatic.

It felt adventurous, slightly ridiculous, and completely brilliant.

The pass ended and so did the road. Not again. We looked around and in the distance saw a group of locals on scooters. One man beckoned us to follow him. Kind, helpful, and possibly leading us to an ancient beheading site. Luckily, it was the helpful option. He guided us through mud tracks, half‑built highways, and makeshift roads until we reached tarmac again.

We hugged the river. If anywhere deserves a picnic spot, this place does.

Craig turned on the headlight which worked but was only attached by a single wire. It swung around like a drunk firefly but did the job.

Half an hour from Da Nang the heavens opened. It absolutely pissed down, in case anyone was wondering who was in charge of the weather. By the time we got home everything was soaking wet.

Exactly the sort of travel moment you hope for, minus the fuel panic and soaked socks.

A Closing Reflection

By the time we rolled back into Da Nang we were damp, hungry, and mildly traumatised by our own fuel gauge. But the day had given us everything. Chaos, comedy, kindness, and a jungle so beautiful it felt like it had been waiting for us.

The Hai Van Pass may have the fame, but the Mui Trau Pass stole the show. Somewhere between the bulldozers, the monk with the loaf, Craig’s elephant‑ear helmet, and tiny wooden fishing boats with tin hoods, Vietnam reminded us why we travel in the first place.

Not for perfection.

For days like this.