All roads from Phong Nha to Ninh Binh pass through Dong Hoi. We had two options to choose from: an overnight train from Dong Hoi straight to Ninh Binh, or a plane to Hanoi where we'd need to backtrack on a train to make it to our destination. We chose the train, but as it was an overnighter and we left Phong Nha at midday, we had some hours to fill.
Turns out, there's a valid reason why Dong Hoi isn't really on the tourist trail - there's nothing to do.
We went to The Citadel, and unless we are all mistaken, apart from one remaining wall and gate, it doesn't seem to exist. We did find a big parade ground and an impressive memorial, but the space seemed strangely barren. Compared to most places in Vietnam, Dong Hoi was a ghost town; there were hardly any cars, let alone traffic. The whole city had an eerie, empty feeling.
With nothing left to do in the city, Mum and I headed to the beach in the north. It was a bit further away than we had first anticipated, but we eventually found an area with some deck chairs and sun shades, so we settled in for the afternoon. We didn't end up swimming because the sea was a bit too rough, and I felt that wearing a bikini might attract too much attention while walking through the modest locals to get to the sea (our seats were pretty far back on the beach).
It seemed that when the sun went down, that was when the city really came alive. Restaurants were packed, and the estuary promenade was filled with children on mini electric scooters zooming around, somehow not crashing into everyone and everything. Would I recommend visiting Dong Hoi? Not really. The guesthouse from which we rented a room to store our stuff was super welcoming, and it was nice to see the locals at the beach and in the evening, but it felt like we were just wasting time. In hindsight, we probably could have just hung around the guesthouse in Phong Nha until the evening, enjoying the pool and another lovely dinner before getting a taxi straight to the train station.
We arrived at the train station half an hour early for departure, thinking there would be information or signs on where to catch the train. However, there were none. So we looked around in confusion, only hopeful that we were actually at the right place due to the dozen other travelers inhabiting the waiting room. Five minutes before departure, the train station personnel finally arrived and gestured for us to wait along a certain point of the single platform, through the previously locked doors. The train arrived directly on time, and we made our way to the four-berth cabin we would be sharing with a stranger who could seemingly sleep through anything, including the three of us getting settled.
We weren't on the train long when the door was reopened, and a ticket inspector arrived, not to check our tickets but to ask if we wanted to pay to upgrade our room. We declined, but this was only the first of many times I would be woken up that night. The other times were due to the bumps and shudders of the train hurtling down its well-worn tracks, and the squeals of the brakes as we slowed down to pass through stations. So my sleep was fractured, and I didn't feel well-rested, but we got to where we needed to be.
We arrived at 9 am and were ready for some breakfast, or at least some caffeine. Much to our dismay, there weren't many options near the train station, and of those options, the menus were limited due to a city-wide power cut. After a questionable and disappointing breakfast, we jumped into a taxi and headed out to our accommodation. The taxi ride took about 20 minutes, leaving the city behind, traveling through the narrow streets of the surrounding villages until we reached a small track that would lead to our homestay.
When visiting Ninh Binh, people mainly stay in either Trang An or Tam Coc. Despite their appeal, both locations seemed a bit over touristy from my research. Wanting a break from the crowds, we opted for neither and chose to seek peace and tranquility elsewhere. This decision did have its drawbacks, such as a twenty-minute walk to find dinner at night (plus a twenty minute walk back in the pitch black) and longer travel times to reach our desired destinations. However, we believe that the trade-off was worthwhile.
Hang Mua Eco Garden (the homestay we chose) was located by a small lake, surrounded by rice paddies and local's homes, tucked up to a big karst limestone mountain providing a cool escape from the hot Vietnamese weather. Even though our hosts had minimal English skills, they used a translation app to welcome us warmly and share details about the surrounding attractions. They even allowed us to check in early, which was convenient since we got there at 10 a.m.
That afternoon, after a dip in the pool and a little relaxation, we hopped on the free-to-use bikes our hosts provided and cycled our way to Trang An for an afternoon boat ride. There were three routes we could have chosen from; we went with route three - mainly because we would be rowed through a mile-long cave, and I thought that sounded pretty cool.
The trip started off well, the scenery was stunning, limestone towers covered in verdant foliage and despite our fears that we would be surrounded by other boats (as you see in most photos) we practically had the place to ourselves. We passed through the first low ceilinged cave no problem, ducking occasionally but not feeling too claustrophobic.
Things soon changed. After we had gone to explore one of the remote - only accessible by river - temples that the area is famous for there was some confusion when we went to get back on the boat. As my mum went to sit back down, our abrupt and unfriendly rower started to shout at her and gesture. Having zero Vietnamese skills we had no idea what was going on, but eventually surmised that she wanted us to sit on the boat floor rather than on the seats. The reason for this soon came apparent when we squeezed into the next cave, the ceiling nearly brushing us even in this new uncomfortable position. Ben and I were still enjoying the experience and it wasn't until I heard a faint "oh no" and turned around that I realised that my mum, who was trying her best to become one with the boat floor wasn't really enjoying it at all.
Perhaps I had made a mistake in choosing that route! I mean, we were only halfway through two-hour journey, and there was still another cave to explore. Luckily, the last cave wasn't quite as snug (or as endless). Unluckily, our rower bumped into a friend and spent the rest of our supposedly serene voyage chattering away at full volume, just our luck. For the most part, we enjoyed our experience but we were all ready for it to be over before it actually ended. It went on just a little too long, the seats were just a little too uncomfortable and our rower just a little too rude.
The next morning we cycled off in the opposite direction and explored the town of Tam Coc. As we suspected, the town was heaving. Our tranquil bike ride through rice paddies and past farmers herding their buffalo ended abruptly, and instead we were weaving past parked lorries and dodging cars and scooters. After finding a place to park up our bikes we decided to have a walk around the lake to see their famous foot-rowers in action. After extensive research (okay just reading the front page of google) I can't work out when this foot-rowing began, just that it's now a popular tourist draw.
After we'd lapped the lake, stopping for a drink along the way, we decided to head out to the nearby Bich Dong Pagoda. Not wanting to brave cycling through more of the towns traffic we settled on getting a taxi for the final 3kms.
The entrance to Bich Dong Pagoda presented itself as unassuming, a small bridge guiding visitors towards a beautifully adorned gate that initially seemed to reveal nothing but the vast mountain looming behind it. However, as we ventured beyond the gate and circled around to the side, the truth emerged. Carved into the mountain side were steep and winding steps that led to a cave far above. Initally, I mistook the cave and the structure within it for the entirety of the temple complex. Yet, a small path led around the back of the building, revealing another step of stairs that led up into the darkness in the middle of the mountain. Eventually, light made it's way through from an opening on the other side and I emerged into the bright day to be met with yet another step of steep stairs. I finally reached the top, sweaty and alone - both Mum and Ben had decided to stop a various points along the way - to be met with a small temple building and a crowd of people.
After reuniting with our bikes and cycling back to our homestay - stopping to admire some more free-roaming buffalo on the way - we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the pool, making the most of a luxury (more of a necessity given the intense humidity) we wouldn't have available to us once we left for Hanoi.
At six thirty the following morning, Ben and I once again hopped on the free bikes to Hang Mua Caves, aiming to beat the worst of the heat with our early start. Ten minutes later, upon reaching the ticket office, we were already feeling a bit sweaty, and we still had 500 steps ahead of us to climb. The main attraction of the Hang Mua complex, the caves, was not our primary focus; they were located at the base of the mountain. Our goal was to visit the temple at the summit, which we could see illuminated from our lodging on the opposite side of the mountains. The ascent was challenging, with the temperature rising steadily as we climbed the uneven 500 steps. The panoramic view from the peak was stunning, showcasing layers of karst limestone formations fading into the misty morning light, surrounded by vibrant rice fields. Once we'd looked around (or in my case sat trying to get my breath back) it was time to brave the precarious steps and carefully head back down.
After a brief wander around the rest of the complex, we headed back to our homestay, packed our bags and hopped into our taxi to Hanoi. It was time to trade the tranquility of the countryside for the vibrant chaos of Vietnam's capital city.
Trip date : May 2024
P.s Our homestay had a friendly cat who would join us every morning for breakfast, he was a bit of a weirdo.
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