The initial plan was simple. Charming, even. A gentle cycling convoy through poetic limestone valleys in Ninh Binh. Coordinated outfits. Sandals chosen for aesthetic harmony. Sunglasses. Optimism. Something cinematic. Carefully curated memories designed to look excellent on Instagram.
Then Vietnam did what Vietnam supposed to do in February. But only for that one day.
That one day after we arrived in Ninh Binh at 2:00 AM. Slept briefly. Woke up. And discovered the sky had decided to conduct a full-scale aquatic experiment. Can’t look at our heartbroken eyes any longer, the hotel concierge dashed to nearby shop to buy a dozen of raincoats for us. Following that agility, the activity team fearlessly declared: We proceed with the initial plan.
At the bicycle rental shop, everyone selected their mechanical soulmate for the day. This was optimistic, acknowledging many of us had the athletic profile of a decorative houseplant. Among the riders: one who hadn’t cycled for decades, one who treated left and right as philosophical concepts, and several who had arrived wearing white princess flats and carrying shoulder bags worth more than the bicycles.
The route? More or less 20 km. The conditions? Rain. Wind. Mud. Uphill. Downhill. Hunger. Chaos. Even the experienced cyclist among us found the going was tricky.
Bikes got stuck. Chains slipped off the gears. People fell. Princessy flats sank into the mud. One bicycle gave up entirely and had to be transported like a fallen comrade.
And yet, strangely, and gloriously, nobody was in bad mood.
We were soaked, cold, underfed, and occasionally sliding sideways, but the vibe stayed comical. We laughed at bad news, worse news, and news that was technically catastrophic. People checked on each other. Shared jokes. Shared helpful hands. Shared dignity losses.
Because what this team lacks in practicality, it makes up for in spirit.
And it is a team of extremes. Different backgrounds, different generations, different ambitions. Some seasoned travellers, some on their first trip abroad. Some were super excited to be in this outing, some didn’t care at all. Different speeds. Different comfort zones. Sliding through Vietnamese mud together, and somehow enjoying it.
The days that followed were, thankfully, less survival-oriented. Boats drifting through caves in Tràng An. Wind at the top of Hang Múa. Hanoi’s glorious chaos. Michelin street food. Sun, eventually. Comfort, at last.
We got to explore local flavours beyond Pho and Banh Mi. We had this murky soup with bamboo shoots and starfruit slices in it. We had this clear soup with crab and jute leaves. We also had this claypot of duck and dracontomelon. Some fancied it, some despised it. Things became warmer. Easier. More photogenic.
But here’s the thing.
If Day One had gone according to plan, we’d have nice photos.
Instead, we got something better.
A quiet confidence. A stronger bond. And the comforting knowledge that whatever the next storm looks like, we’ll push through. Together.
Trân trọng,
Axioo Bali
