Day 4: Ninh Binh, and the Ballad of King Dingaling

Every good day in Vietnam kicks off with a coffee strong enough to alter your perception of linear time, and this morning was no exception. After one cup of that dark, rocket-fuel-grade brew, every coffee I've ever had in the UK was retroactively downgraded to 'sad, brown water'. Buzzing with enough caffeine to power a small hamlet, I folded my probably-too-tall frame into a bus seat, an island of jittery energy in a sea of fellow passengers who had clearly already achieved enlightenment, or at least a sensible breakfast.

For the ride to Ninh Binh, I’d been mentally preparing for a bit of classic roadway chaos—a vibrant tapestry of daring motorbikes, perhaps a wandering water buffalo. What I got instead was a distressingly modern, air-conditioned coach on a highway so smooth it felt vaguely insulting. It was all terribly safe and efficient. A small, ungrateful part of me was, to be honest, a little let down.

We arrived in Tam Coc and were promptly ushered onto a two-hour boat trip, an intimate affair shared with what felt like the entire population of northern Vietnam. I was handed a life jacket that would have been a snug fit on a garden gnome, so I folded it up and sat on it. This turned out to be a stroke of genius, as the metal seats seemed to have been modelled on a medieval interrogation device. We drifted through a few stunning caves, then it was on to lunch and our next momentous decision.

As I type this, we've just been presented with three options. Option one: a 7km cycle. A hard pass. On the firm advice of my doctor, I am to avoid all bicycle saddles after an unfortunate incident that required the surgical removal of my underpants from my person. We don't talk about it. Option two: stay on the bus. Far too tame for a man vibrating with high-octane coffee. So, option three it is: playing Easy Rider on the back of a motorbike. It’s probably a 50cc rice grinder, but who cares? It has a motor.

Update: It was not a 50cc Honda so much as a 20cc asthmatic scooter that had long since given up on life. I half expected a small white flag to pop out of the exhaust. My driver was gunning it, bless him, but we were still being overtaken by people on electric mobility scooters. We visited the temple of some king whose name escapes me, but who shall henceforth be known as King Dingaling. His mobile throne was on display, a contraption that looked like it required an army of seriously strapped young men to haul him around. All in all, Ninh Binh was a bustling place built around two tourist traps: the river and King Dingaling's temple. My faith in chaotic travel has been restored, however, as the road back to Hanoi is a writhing sea of scooters, each with its own unique and inventive way of flirting with death.

Tomorrow is the big one: Ha Long Bay, where they filmed *The Man with the Golden Gun*. I might even don my swim trunks and go for a dip. Who knows. But for tonight, I’m off to Beer Street for some kind of festival. Here’s hoping for some interesting sights to report back on. Feel free to drop a comment with tips, critiques, or just a simple ‘hello’—it all helps me build a better blog, or at least provides moral support for my next questionable decision.