2026

We left Sapa with flu, optimism, and a motorbike flinging mud at anything within a five‑metre radius. Craig was yakking like he’d been hired as the official spokesperson for mucus, and I was hanging on like an underpaid stunt double. The roads twisted, the views exploded, and the whole thing felt like a low‑budget action film starring two wheezy tourists who should probably be in bed.

Motorbike Madness: Sapa to Hekeo, Stunning Valleys & Flu-Fueled Grouchiness

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Cold, flu, mist, and one man snorting like a yak — that was our Sapa morning. Then the mountains appeared, the valleys opened, we got stuck in mud, rescued by a stranger, and blown sideways by wind. By the end we were filthy, freezing, and weirdly euphoric. One of our best days.

Sapa: Riding the Roof of Indochina with One Human Yak

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Ten hours on a sleeper bus, Craig stood on the cabin boy, my pillow tried to power the national grid, and Sapa greeted us with mist, misery and a shuttle held together by hope. The mountain tribes were gorgeous though — apple cheeks, embroidered jackets, and sales techniques that could charm the Queen.

Tam Coc to Sapa: Sleeper Buses, Apple Cheeks, and Mountain ...

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What should’ve been a gentle outing became thirteen hours of boats, bread, pilgrims and pain. A mystic smoking something questionable blessed us, my knees filed a complaint, and Craig somehow became the star attraction of an entire boat. By dinner he was shouting at strangers and still had room for spicy chicken. Perfume Pagoda: wet, wild, unforgettable.

Perfume Pagoda: A Pilgrimage of Boats, Bread, Boulders and Bad ...

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Ninh Binh gave us cement‑coloured skies, slow ATMs, heroic grandmothers, and a chicken with legs like a mythical beast. We drifted through caves, dodged mosquitoes, crossed questionable bridges, and watched Craig descend into full wounded‑yak cold mode. After thirty years of dreaming, it was messy, wet, and unforgettable.

Tam Coc and Ninh Binh: Thirty Years of Dreaming, Five ...

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Two weeks of relentless rain, a disastrous birthday, and soggy penguin walks in Huế. From imperial tombs and mass graves to the Perfume River and full-volume karaoke democracy, join us on a journey of wet misery, beauty, and humour in central Vietnam.

Hue: Rain, Royalty, and Karaoke Democracy

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Five days in Da Nang and it rained so hard our shoes developed personalities. The dragon wouldn’t breathe fire, the pool turned the colour of mushy peas, and my haircut nearly took flight. Thank heavens for curry, a yappy puppy, and the kind of rain that forces you to slow down whether you want to or not.

Da Nang: Rain, Curry Obsession, and a Dragon That Wouldn’t ...

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A £4.30 motorbike, a surprise M&S bra, polished cows, rocket‑fuel coffee and a postman who nearly wiped us out with friendliness — that was our loop to My Son. Temples in the jungle, weddings in full gong mode, and villages that greet you like long‑lost cousins. Vietnam at its warm, weird, wonderful best.

Hoi An to My Son Ruins: A Motorbike Loop of ...

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Hoi An is beautiful, chaotic and faintly ridiculous. Within 24 hours I’d acquired a black eye, a bruised knee and mango juice down my arms, but somewhere between the lanterns and Noodle Island it still felt like relief.

Hoi An: Relief, Black Eyes, and Lantern Light