Ninh Binh to Vân Long

Today we left the beautiful region of Ninh Binh. After our visits to Tam Cóc and Tràng An, we were now starting the last section of our South East Asian odyssey.
We planned to reach Hanoi, our destination in a couple of days cycle but we’d break the journey up into two legs. We’d spend a couple of nights in a homestay so we could visit the wetland reserve at Van Long and then head north, breaking the long stretch somewhere on route to make it manageable.

Setting off after breakfast, bidding farewell to the friendly folk at the Tam Coc Friends Bungalow, we passed through the green flat landscape, criss-crossed with small waterways. Cycling along raised roadways we could appreciate how much water there is. One underlying impression of Vietnam is how much water populates the landscapes. Irrigation channels, rivers and ponds are ubiquitous. Both functional and ornamental, water drives agriculture and rice production in the ‘rice’ basket of the country, feeding its population and the economy - rice is a major export. Water has cultural significance and possesses revered status. It helps to grow food and as such, holds the balance of life and death. Its waterways are historic routes, connecting communities and providing a backbone for commerce and trade. Water is ever present at temples and shrines and much of it supports life - fish, reptiles, birds and flora - spiritual and nurturing.
“Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink” - much of the populous rely on this unsafe water, generally not considered potable, resulting in reliance on boiled, or bottled water and the resulting plastic waste it creates.
As a side thought, I feel incredibly lucky that we have drinkable water at home, taken straight from the tap.

We arrived at the city of Ninh Binh, close to Hoa Lu, the ancient capital of Vietnam during the 9th and 10th centuries. Large ‘socialist’ boulevards run in multiple directions. We pass under ancient gateways and also communist inspired arches, a mix of the grandiose and austere testament to the communist message. Large vacant looking buildings in an older brutalist architecture sit next to newly built hotels, looking like they could be on the French Riviera. The spires of churches can be seen in the distance, incongruent and sometimes painted white or pink!
We followed the Red River for a while. Wide and sitting in its flood plain, large barges navigated along it. The river rises in China and passes through Hanoi, where we were headed.
The karsts we left behind at the start of our day were now far in the distance whilst others came into view, slowly materialising from the haze and miasma of humidity and pollution. This part of northern Vietnam appears to be a powerhouse of cement production with large industrial plants, often as tall as some of the limestone pinnacles, their steel knit of pipes, vats, kilns and conveyor belts, smoke billowed from their summits. We saw people in utalitarian overalls caked with dust on motorcycles, making their way home from one plant. Many towns and small villages we passed through seemed to be involved with the manufacturing of bricks or blocks, their roads garnished with grey dust from the ‘block factories’ feeding Vietnams ever increasing demand for the raw material to build. Limestone is a major ingredient in cement and in this limestone rich area, we spotted several large karsts in the process of being demolished, quarried until their lofty grandness is reduced to but a small bump, to feed a hunger for raw materials to build roads and buildings.

One of these gigantic plants lay close to Vân Long, one of the few remaining intact lowland inland wetlands remaining in the Red River Delta area. Limestone karsts surround and tower over a freshwater lake. Meandering creeks covered in floating plants, reed beds and marshes and swamps make it a rare and complex habitat, uncommon in Mainland Southeast Asia. It is also an important habitat for the severely endangered Delacour's langur and is the only place where the species can be observed in the wild. Knowing they were there was a thrill, however I doubted we’d see any (but hoped we would). They are super cool and look like they wear Victorian gentleman’s white breeches!
We arrived late afternoon, cycling along the raised dyke, the green expanse of the reserve to our right, past a small town with a very large church to our left and along a straight road lined with red flags for what seemed like ages before we turned off to our Homestay. We had been in touch with a lady called Phuong who ran a homestay close to the jetty at the wetland, where the boats depart and where we would take a boat trip tomorrow. We managed to get lost as Phuong’s home was tucked away in a maze of closely compact houses amongst a maze of alleyways. A wrong turn at a dead end led to the bemusement of a very old lady, who stared at us then raised the interest of some local kids who surrounded us, all enthusiastic and yelling at us in Vietnamese, touching our bikes and generally not being controlled by the attendant adult! I was tired and a bit overwhelmed whilst trying to map read and we beat a hasty retreat so my brain could think.
10 mins later we arrived at the Ninh Binh Nature Homestay and to a warm welcome by Phuong herself.
A quiet and polite lady, she spoke a little English. She showed us to one of the nicest chalets we stayed in, small and tastefully laid out. Set in her beautiful shady and lush garden, it was one of 4 small accommodations, built as an addition to her husband’s family home where she lived with her husband and children. We chatted with her husband and he had lived there all his life, inheriting it from his father and telling us it would pass to his son, which is the family tradition in Vietnam, where the son inherits everything. We had read that Phuong provided evening meals and previous guests mentioned that her home cooking was very good, so we decided to have dinner there rather than go on a search for food.
We had dinner in the small outside area at the back of the house, to the soundtrack of insects and the buzz of the three generations of the family in the main house. Her food was fantastic!

The following day we walked down to the boat dock and took a tour by rowing boat through the wetland. Our pilot was a small man with a weathered face and warm smile. We set off along the channels between the vegetation toward the karsts. It was peaceful - the rhythmic pull of the oars the only sound as our bamboo boat glided along. Relaxing and with no other boats it was the total opposite of our experience at Tràng An, where boat tours were a commercial, orchestrated affair.
Small islands of water lilies drifted on the water, their vivid purple flowers open to the morning sun. We caught glimpses of egrets and storks, roosting in the trees and high up on the rocks, noisy and gregarious. The odd duck would appear and solitary heron would bolt into view. We had no binoculars and couldn’t really identify them as we were too far away.
We arrived at a cave in a karst and we slowly entered. With no current and no wind, the water was extremely still. So still that it was like a mirror and reflected the roof and walls of the cavern in so much clarity that it deceived the eyes. I felt like we were floating and my brain tried to deal with the optical illusion, generated by the imperceptible join between water and rock. It was fleeting and as the boat draft broke up the image, my mind was dragged back to reality.
Onward along the waterways, the blue flash of a kingfisher or diving duck teasing us. A couple of other boats appeared, their clientele adorned in safari type gear, with a garland of binoculars and brandishing long lens cameras. “Have you seen anything interesting” we asked. “Nothing much” they replied. I felt we visited at a quiet time for wildlife, despite the time of day. It is often the case with wild encounters - luck is needed and when you do witness it, it makes the experience a special privilege.
Our pilot rowed us out across the large body of water toward the dock. The wind now pressed into our faces and it must have made it harder for him to row, especially as we had been out about 2 hours. Amanda and I both felt an amazing sense of calm from the experience and a break from the hectic pace of life in Vietnam.

Next day we cycled up to the next town, Lãng Nội. Dominated by a large Catholic Church, appearing out of place in the landscape, it dwarfed the town. Gothic in style, its white edifice made it look like it was glowing and standing out amongst the greens of the field and karsts. It turned out to be Vietnams largest church. Ten years in construction and completed in 2025, it can manage a congregation of 5000 Catholic worshippers. It did feel shiny and new and we enjoyed the cool of the vast nave. Birds flitted about high up in the vault making this holy place their home. We wandered around and found our way into the main bell tower which is over 100m tall! With no locked doors or restrictions, we climbed stairs through large open spaces, empty of anything other than the wires for the bells, passing through slots in the floor, covered in a layer of construction dust. As we climbed higher we could feel the breeze passing through large vents in the walls. The town far below could be glimpsed and the sense of height more apparent. Arriving at the large space with enormous bells, we hoped they wouldn’t be rung. The stairs continued upward, changing to a metal ladder that led to a hatch to the exterior base of the spire. Too scared to use it, we popped out one level below onto a small balcony which provided great views across the town and wetland beyond. The feeling of space, height and bright sun contributed to feeling of headiness and we were amazed that we could explore it unaccompanied.
The true sense of a church - open to all.
We cycled along the dyke road back to our homestay for our final night and one more home cooked meal. Tomorrow we head north to Tam Chuc, our final stop before we hit the city of Hanoi.Leia mais