We set off from Dong Hoi to Ninh Binh at some unspeakable hour for our 8 hour train journey.

Why Ninh Binh Had Been on My List for 30 Years

I have wanted to visit Ninh Binh for thirty years. The same way I’ve always wanted to see Ha Long Bay. The kind of long-term travel dream that sits quietly in the back of your mind, waiting for the right moment, the right season, and ideally the right knees.

This year, the stars aligned. Or at least they tried. The weather didn’t get the memo.

Is Ninh Binh Really “Ha Long Bay on Land”?

Ninh Binh is famous for being Ha Long Bay on land, which is true if Ha Long Bay had been shrunk in the wash and laid out across a patchwork of rice fields.

The karst mountains rise up like giant mossy teeth, and the whole place looks like a postcard that someone has smudged with a damp thumb. Beautiful, but in that slightly smug way landscapes get when they know they’re on Instagram.

Why We Stayed in Tam Coc Instead of Ninh Binh City

We chose to stay in Tam Coc, and thank goodness.

Ninh Binh city has expanded into one long sprawl of concrete and traffic. Tam Coc, by contrast, still has charm. Over five days I grew to love it more than I expected, even as I grew to hate what is happening around it.

Cement factories loom on the horizon. Industrial plants hum away. Entire karst formations are being carved up and hauled off in trucks.

We haven’t seen industry on this scale anywhere else in Vietnam. Seeing it here, in and around a UNESCO-protected area, felt surreal.

Not just surprising. Wrong, somehow.

The air carried a faint sulphur tang, and the sky stayed stubbornly grey, like it had been painted with leftover cement.

Life in Tam Coc: Bicycles, Paddy Fields and Quiet Moments

Our homestay owner greeted us with a beaming smile and a plate of fresh fruit. Her sister was equally as pleasant, only she had the enthusiasm of a woman who had been waiting all day to hand someone a bicycle.

Any bicycle

The only problem was that we didn’t want a bicycle. We wanted a scooter.

She looked at us the way a dentist looks at someone refusing anaesthetic. Then handed over the bicycles anyway, as if determination alone might turn them into scooters if we pedalled hard enough.

It didn’t. 

We had two scooters during our stay. One which blew our ear drums and guzzled fuel And one that was

Ok if you like a dead arse.  

Still, wandering on and around Tam Coc was lovely . Quiet lanes, paddy fields stitched together like green quilts, farmers bent over their work with the patience of saints.

Most days in Tam Coc followed a simple rhythm: sightseeing by day, whether walking or by motorbike, with evenings back on the main strip.

We visited a war graveyard, and one name stopped me completely.

Nguyen Dinh Quynh.

Born 1933. Joined the army in 1945. Died in 1946.

Thirteen years old.

It sat heavy on my chest for the rest of the day.

Evenings in Tam Coc: Food, Pool and Rotisserie Ducks

Evenings were livelier.

The main street is lined with restaurants and bars, all serving food mercifully free of mystery animal parts. Whole roasted duck is the main event, rows of birds spinning over coals like they’re auditioning for a rotisserie ballet.

After seeing their cousins flapping around the fields, it didn’t feel entirely right.

Craig and I played pool most nights, occasionally table football, while he ate his way through enough Korean spicy chicken to qualify for a loyalty card.

Tam Coc Realities: ATMs and Other Tests of Patience

There are loads of ATMs in Tam Coc, but one is always busy. Naturally, we chose that one.

Big mistake.

It was digital, touch screen, and moved at the speed of a dying sloth. Every tap took three seconds to register. Every screen took five to load.

By the time we finally got our money, the machine ran out.Closely followed by Craig’s sense of humour.He stared at the screen like it had personally insulted him.

And the queue behind us had grown to a reasonable length.

We had to do a walk of shame.

The Tam Coc Boat Ride Experience (And the Mosquito Donation Programme)

We chose the Tam Coc boat trip over Trang An because it was quieter.

We arrived at dawn and were third in line.

Our rower, Linh, used her feet. Which is both impressive and slightly unsettling when you realise she’s doing it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

The trip was peaceful. Kingfishers, storks, still water.

Still grey, obviously.

For an hour and twenty-five minutes it felt like drifting through a dream.

Each cave, however, felt like nature’s attempt to scalp us while mosquitoes collected their daily donation.By the end I felt like I’d given enough blood to open a small charity.

Five minutes before finishing, Linh produced a stack of paintings to sell. When that failed, she asked for a tip.

We had planned to tip her anyway. Being asked just takes the shine off. Like someone handing you a birthday present and telling you what it cost.

The People of Ninh Binh: Strength, Work and Quiet Pride

As we explored, one thing became clear. It was the older women doing the work.

Not the men. Not the young ones.

Women in their sixties, seventies, eighties. Bent over fields, hauling baskets, rowing boats, running shops. If Vietnam ran purely on resilience, these women would be powering the grid.

It makes you wonder what happens next.

We passed a woman standing thigh-deep in a river collecting shellfish. She looked up and smiled, a warmth that cut straight through the cold.

On the bank, her mother, easily in her late eighties, stood in flip-flops shouting instructions with military precision.

She couldn’t work the river anymore. But she could still run the operation.

Small Moments That Stay With You

These were the moments that lingered.

An old lady waving from behind a half-open garage door as if I’d made her entire week.

A man cementing a wall while his wife watched in a wool hat, like he was performing delicate surgery.

A tiny puppy guarding them both, though from what I’m not entirely sure.

In Vietnam, people seem to go about their day quietly unnoticed. But when someone acknowledges them, their whole face lights up.

In the UK, smiling at a stranger usually gets you labelled suspicious.

Temples, Caves and Knees That Have Opinions

We visited Hoa Lu Ancient Capital and admired Bai Dinh Temple from a safe distance because Craig didn’t like the car park situation. 

We also admired Mua Cave from the ground, because after the Perfume Pagoda hike my knee had officially given up.

Bridges, Balance and Questionable Life Choices

At Kenh Ga we crossed a tiny rickety bridge that nearly shook my teeth loose.

Craig didn’t hesitate. He was already halfway across, clearly imagining himself as Indiana Jones.

I followed behind, imagining dentures.

The Chicken With Feet Like a Mythical Beast

One evening, walking through the paddy fields, we spotted it.

A chicken with enormous feet. Truly enormous. Feet like tree trunks.

Google later informed us it was a Dong Tao chicken, prized for its dragon-like legs. Only in Vietnam could a chicken look like it’s halfway through a transformation spell.

Even the chicken looked at Craig like he needed help.

Travel Reality: Colds, Tissues and Forty Years Together

After three months of travel and one solid month of rain, Craig finally cracked.

Sore throat. Cold. And apparently, a complete abandonment of manners.

He now snots at the roadside like a wounded yak.

We have tissues. Plenty of them. Enough to supply a small hospital, thanks to a stolen toilet roll. Yet here we are.

Every time I mention it, I’m somehow the unreasonable one.

Thirty Years Later

And yet, standing there in the middle of it all, grey skies and everything, I felt it.

Gratitude.

Thirty years of dreaming, and here I was.

Time does its thing quietly. Knees complain, colds arrive faster, and suddenly you’re measuring life in decades instead of plans.

And more importantly, here I was with Craig.

My partner of forty years. My constant. My favourite person to see the world with, even when he sounds like a broken accordion.

It brought a tear to my eye.

Thankfully he was too busy talking to notice. Probably telling me a story he’d already told me twice that morning.

I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Well.

Maybe with a tissue.