Pu Luong to Vinh Loc. Leaving the mountains behind, I follow the mighty Ma River through peaceful and undeveloped rural hamlets that seem to belong in a different era.
Ma River route, Thanh Hoa Province
Ah, Thanh Hoa.
The province which moves at its own pace, un-fussed by the rest of the world.
This part of the journey seems to take me into the Vietnam of a storybook or a film. Maybe a poem.
Traditional stone houses with pitched, red-tiled roofs sit amongst a very rural landscape, mysterious in the low-hanging clouds and ever-present limestone karsts.
I’m conscious of over romanticising the tough existence faced by the people who live here and work the land. At the same time I found the people in Thanh Hoa were also some of the most kind, calm and cheerful I’ve met in Vietnam.
My goal now was to follow the Ma River all the way to Thanh Hoa city, where the river meets the sea.
Historically, the Ma River is significant. It’s considered one of the cradles of civilisation for the Vietnamese people.
I was sad to leave Pu Luong behind (it would be easy to spend a week there trekking and biking around) but I’d been there on a previous trip and – with wet weather closing in – felt it was time to push on.
Back on my original tour in 2018 I’d traded my bicycle for a car ride to Ninh Binh after falling ill at a Ban Hieu village homestay, but still had a wonderful day exploring by bike.
Now, leaving the nature preserve, I wound silently through a green tunnel of sugar cane plantation, eventually meeting the river, rimmed with limestone peaks.
A bamboo bridge, propped up on dozens of steel barrels, is the first crossing point. There’s a fee of 5,000 dong to cross, and I assume these critical bridges are privately built and maintained.
The mostly good road continues through this peaceful landscape – some of it really quite stunning.
As the sun sets I get a room at the only guesthouse in the area, in the tiny village of Luong Ngoai.
The less to be said about this hotel room the better, but the sheets and towells are at least clean (if not the bathroom) and the hostess and everyone in the small village are warm and friendly.
I’m find someone to cook me instant noodles with egg and by 7am the next morning I’m on my way again.
The next day follows a similar pattern, moving through a delightful combination of jungle, farmland, villages and (to my delight) bamboo bridges. The occasional lorry rattles past, but otherwise the traffic is very light.
The only dampener is the near-constant drizzle, but low hanging clouds also make for some spectacular vistas.
At around 11.30 the smell of grilled meat is irresistible and pull in out of the rain to a busy street food restaurant. It’s a husband and wife team, with hubby working the grill hard out front to pump out loads of small hamburger patties.
The tiny patties are served with in noodle soup, different from the Hanoi variety but delicious all the same.
With lunch ticked off, I thank myself for carrying a second rain coat. However, a new crisis presents itself – coffee, or the lack of in this area.
I made a beeline for a cafe near the busy Ho Chi Minh Road junction, and stand there shouting for a while.
This sounds incredibly rude but with Vietnamese family businesses open long hours it is usual for shop owners to leave their store fronts unattended, relying on customers to call. On this occasion no amount of yelling could raise a soul.
Such was my desperation, I actually contemplated just walking in to the shop and making a coffee myself, but thought that might have been a bridge too far.
‘ANH CHI OIIIIIII’ (hey you / brother /sister) I bellowed for the tenth time before giving up and moving on.
It was 20 kilometres to the next cafe on Google maps, and I can’t remember all that much of it.
An hour or so later I stop at a faded karaoke sign, out front of what appears to be a regular house. The thought did cross my mind that it could be a house of ill-repute, but if Google Maps was telling me it was a cafe, I wasn’t going to give up.
But before I knew it, four generations of family members were bustling the highly unexpected foreigner in to their back garden courtyard and bringing me the most delicious coffee I’ve ever had in my life.
Caffeine energy pumping through my veins, it wasn’t long before I arrived at the town of Vinh Loc, famous for its ruins of an ancient citadel, now a UNESCO site.
At Vinh Loc, there’s a decision to make. Stay here, or push on 40 kilometres more to Thanh Hoa city, making it a 100km day.
I opt for pressing on, whizzing out of town, the sight of a shiny, nice new hotel in the corner of my eye, like an oasis in the desert.
The rain sets in again, becoming harder.
Ten minutes down the road, I ground to a stop.
It suddenly hit me just how exhausted I was. And I realised it was time to listen to my body.
Later, checking my app, I realised even though ‘only’ cycled 60km the roads had been challenging and I’d climbed nearly 700 metres total elevation.
So, at around 2pm, I collapsed onto the clean white sheets of a simple but very clean guesthouse.
It was to be one of the best decisions of my trip so far: Vinh Loc turned out to be exactly the kind of random small town you want to discover as a cycle tourist.
