Exploring Ha Giang

by aengelson | May 30th, 2013

Winding roads take you on a roller coaster ride through Ha Giang's mountains.

About a month ago, I had the opportunity for one last epic motorbike ride in Vietnam before moving to Geneva this June. I set out to explore Ha Giang province, one of the more remote and gorgeous corners of Vietnam.

To see a gallery of photos from this trip, click on any of the pictures in this post or this link.

One year ago, I’d attempted a trip to Vietnam’s far north, only to be hampered by motorcycle break downs. This time I did the trip solo. There’s something to be said for the freedom of traveling by yourself with just your motorcycle and a small pack strapped to the seat and the wind in your hair. (Well, not exactly. I did invest in a quality helmet with a wind-screen, after a previous trip left my eyes feeling like they’d been bathed in grit).

The ride from Hanoi to Ha Giang town is a long slog–about eight hours on my little Honda Win. There are few nice stretches of road near Tam Dao mountain, and as you approach Ha Giang, you get tantalizing hints of what’s to come. But there’s also a rutted, dusty, ugly stretch packed with overloaded logging trucks that look likely to topple over on top of you at any moment.

Ha Giang is a pleasant river town, but the real attraction is the 300-km loop beyond, Vietnam’s final frontier. After picking up my permit (about 200K VND or $10 US) it was out on the big empty roads. They were in great shape.

The first day on the loop took me up winding roads higher and higher and eventually to the town of Dong Van. This is a surprisingly arid part of Vietnam. The red-dirt cliffs give way to bare gray rocky peaks. Pine and firs dot the hills, and then give way to lone trees and barren rocks. You start to see people in traditional ethnic dress, and it’s clear the towns here are poorer, although not grim. Corn stalks grow in precarious terraces and in every tiny patch of ground that’s not stone. Men dressed black jackets, pants and caps sit outside stone buildings drinking Chinese beer. You know you’re far from Hanoi when no one speaks either English or Vietnamese. Women wear colorful headresses and embroidered clothing. Something like 90 percent of the people here are ethnic minorities.

Taking a break with the locals.

Dong Van has a smattering of historic buildings, including an old cafe, and a beautiful red-brick market. After arriving, I took a quick shower and then as the sun set, I hiked up an unmarked trail just outside of town. It wound steeply to an old fort with an astonishing view of the surrounding mountains and valleys. I was definitely a world away from the bustle of Hanoi.

The next day I set out to explore the winding countryside roads, including a hair-raising, tortuous 2,000-foot descent to the bottom of a gorge. The air was dry and hot, and clearly the villages propped up on the terraced hillsides have a tough time eking out a living. As I wound along a road that came quite close the Chinese border, I was met with curious stares from women working tiny plots of land. Occasionally I would get a smile from a woman collecting firewood or a group of men playing Chinese chess.

The Honda performed splendidly, and the riding was incredibly fun–the best I’ve found in Vietnam. Switchbacks hacked out of the mountainsides twist and turn through steep karst formations. Children walk home for lunch in a landscape that’s spare and stark.

The road from Dong Van to the town of Meo Vac is rightly renowned–it’s an impressive work of engineering completed in 1959. The views are incredible–the steep peaks recede into the haze  like something out of ancient Zen painting.

Ninety percent of the people in Ha Giang province are ethnic minorities.

Meo Vac is rather characterless town, but the surrounding mountains are worth exploring. Breakfast was the northern-style pho, laced with beef, scallions, mint, and generous heaps of ginger. Elsewhere in Ha Giang, the ubiquitous fried rice is served with delicious little white  eggplant-like pickles, and you always finish  your meal at the tea-and-toothpicks table, and have a smoke of the tuoc-Lao (the strong tobacco water pipe) if you’re so inclined (I’m not).

Beyond Meo Vac pass, the ecosystem changes dramatically–you enter a cloudy forest where mist clings to the firs. Women in traditional Hmong, Dao, and other tribal clothing harvest crops or walk to the local markets. At one roadside market, the traditional blended with the modern as women in brightly colored clothes sold vegetables, chatted on their mobile phones and ate ice cream bars. A couple men sitting at a cafe offered me a glass of what looked like a potent fermented honey–complete with honeycomb and dead bees. I smiled and politely declined.

As the road descends toward Bac Me, the flora and fauna become tropical once again. Rice fields appear, and the road curves and weaves its way through lush forests full of birdsong. Then it was back to Ha Giang town, for another shower and a beer beside the river. At dinner time, I returned to a great little restaurant selling scrumptious bamboo shoots sauteed in garlic, spring rolls filled with field crab, and salty-sweet short ribs.

I was reluctant to leave, and the ride home to Hanoi was long, but it was a little easier knowing I had stashed away memories of Ha Giang before I leave Vietnam after four years living here.

3 Responses to “Exploring Ha Giang”

  1. It seems like a wonderful way to depart. You definitely have a sense of adventure and a way of being in the world that is refreshing. (Plus, I can live vicariously through your photographs and words.)

  2. aengelson says:

    Thanks for the kind words, Troy–I’ve been lucky to have had the opportunity to explore these kinds of places. Now on to the next adventure in Europe…

  3. Sounds like a wonderful trip, Andy. I’m glad you were able to make it! And thanks, as always, for sharing.

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About This Site

Andy Engelson is a writer and editor who lives in Hanoi, Vietnam. He's currently working on a historical novel set in the Northwest United States during World War II. He's also a freelance writer, essayist and member of the Hanoi Writer's Collective. In a former life, he edited Washington Trails magazine for six years and before that was freelance journalist. He likes to hike, travel, and play with his family.

Quotable

During the early seventies, when Robert Irwin was on the road a lot, visiting art schools and chatting with students, he was proffered an honorary doctorate by the San Francisco Art Institute. The school’s graduation ceremony that year took place in an outdoor courtyard on a sunny breezy afternoon, sparkling clear. Irwin approached the podium, and began, “I wasn’t going to accept this degree, except it occurred to me that unless I did, I wasn’t going to be able to say that.” He paused, waiting as the mild laughter eddied. “All I want to say,” he continued, “is that the wonder is still there.” Whereupon, he simply walked away. — Lawrence Weschler, Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees: A Life of Contemporary Artist Robert Irwin

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