Hanoi to Sapa on a Motorbike

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Today was the big day—the most important day of our trip. We weren’t just hopping around cities anymore, we were about to ride 300+ kilometers through rural Vietnam on a motorbike. This wasn’t just any ride, mind you. This was the Harald Baldr, Bald and Bankrupt-style adventure I’d been dreaming of since watching them zoom across this mesmerizing country. Finally, I would be doing it myself!

There’s something about the countryside that draws me in. Don’t get me wrong, cities are fine, but let's be honest—cities start looking like copy-paste versions of each other after a while. The real flavor of a place? That’s hidden in the rural pockets, where cows roam the streets and the air smells like wood smoke and wet earth. And today, we were diving headfirst into that authenticity.

We’d picked up the bike the night before from the same guy our homestay owner, Nu, had set us up with. It was a different model this time, a trusty 150 cc scooty—perfect for the mountain ride to Sapa, right? Wrong. When I went to change the engine oil (because I wanted to be sure the engine sustained through the ride), the mechanic looked at me like I was about to embark on a suicide mission when I asked if it could handle the trip.

"Too long, too risky," he said, shaking his head like I’d just asked him to ride a unicycle to the moon. It didn’t help that the rainy season was in full swing, and the roads would be slicker than a bar of soap. But hey, what’s a little adventure without some danger? I wasn’t backing down.

“Forget the weather—just tell me if the bike can survive the trip,” I pressed. He shrugged, did an oil change, and wished me luck. That’s mechanic-speak for “You’re crazy, but sure, why not?”

After a solid bowl of pho—because you can’t start a perilous journey without good noodles—we hit the road at 8 am, full of optimism, protein and carbs. Missy and I had vowed to wait until we were out of Hanoi to find breakfast, but the seductive smells of street food slapped us in the face just as we were leaving the Old Town. Temptation won. One bowl of pho, with a side of crispy bread shaped like a bone—no, not for dogs, it was just quirky like that—was all we needed to fuel the ride.

And let me clarify something before you judge me for ordering just one bowl. YouTube commenters always accuse me of being stingy, but come on—the portions here are huge! We could’ve fed a small village with that one bowl, and besides, Missy wasn’t even that hungry.

We finally left the city behind, trading the bustling streets of Hanoi for a quieter, more industrial area. Factories and wood workshops lined the road, the smell of sawdust and hard work filling the air. We were getting closer to the real Vietnam.

After another hour, the scenery changed. Rural Vietnam unfolded before us like a lush green carpet, dotted with tiny houses that made us want to stop every five minutes for photos. The air was cool, the rain imminent. And let me tell you, the Vietnamese take their raincoat game seriously. The ponchos we got with the bike? Absolute units of rain protection. They covered the entire bike, front and back, like a waterproof superhero cape. Practicality: 10/10.

At one point, we veered off the road toward a river, inspired by a memory of Harald Baldr’s boat adventure. There was a little shop near the riverbank where we parked the bike. A smiling woman, probably in her 50s, greeted us with the warmth of someone who didn’t see many foreigners around these parts.

“Water?” I asked.

“Beer,” she replied, almost instinctively. Of course. Because in Vietnam, beer is so cheap. We passed on the beer and settled for a Coke, which she kindly poured into a glass filled with ice cubes.

As we sat at the little shop by the river, I noticed some snacks laid out on the counter. One item caught my attention—a small, dense cake wrapped in paper. I asked the shopkeeper about it through Google Translate, and she said it was Hemp Cake. Intrigued, I picked one up and took a bite. It was surprisingly delicious—sweet, but not overly so, with a nutty flavor and a dense, chewy texture. Missy loved it too. We ended up having two of those hemp cakes, savoring every bite. It was one of those unexpected moments where something so simple turns into a highlight of the day.

While I explored the riverside, Missy struck up a conversation with the woman and a few others who had gathered. I tried communicating with some boatmen, but yelling in English across a river? Not exactly effective. So I returned, only to find Missy practically part of the family. Everyone was so intrigued by us, and honestly, I was soaking in the attention too.

We weren’t in any rush. Why hurry when the journey was so much more interesting than the destination? Plus, I had spotted something that intrigued me—a Vietnamese bong. Here, it’s common to see bongs at roadside eateries, and they’re usually free for anyone to use. After fumbling with it for a bit, the locals kindly helped me out, and soon I was puffing away, much to their delight.

We couldn’t leave without clicking some photos. We took pictures with the women running the shop, who were excited to pose with us. Missy had become fast friends with them, and their smiles lit up our frames. I felt like we had known them for much longer than just an hour. After about an hour of enjoying this small, random corner of Vietnam, we reluctantly moved on. Rain began to pour as we left, and boy, did it pour. I joked to Missy that whoever wrote those textbooks about Meghalaya being the wettest place on earth had clearly never been to Vietnam.

By the time we reached a small town in the evening, it was getting dark, and the rain wasn’t letting up. We decided to call it a night and find a place to stay. The town felt more like a large village, but we were lucky enough to find a cozy hotel. And get this—the price for one night was only 200,000 VND (around 650 INR or 8 USD)! It was probably the best value-for-money hotel I’d ever stayed in. The room was clean, and spacious, and came with all the essentials—clean sheets, toiletries, and a comfy bed. The hotel owner, a woman who could make many men go weak in the knees, showed us around. I even made a YouTube short of our interaction, which ended up going viral with over 8 million views!

The next morning we left early, and after a few more rain-soaked kilometers, we hit a roadblock—literally. The motorbike road had flooded. Trucks and bikes were stranded, and the water was flowing down the road like a mini river.

I wasn’t turning back. No way. Sapa was our goal, and if I had to wade through waist-high water with the bike on my shoulders, I would. After waiting for what felt like hours, the water level finally dropped enough for a brave truck to cross. Then, a couple of motorbikes gave it a go. We followed suit, with Missy keeping a sharp eye on the silencer to make sure it didn’t get submerged.

Somehow, we made it through. We’d conquered the flood and zoomed on through Vietnam’s surprisingly smooth roads—no speed bumps for miles! Who knew?

Finally, after riding through thickening rain, cold mountain air, and a few more pit stops, we reached Sapa by noon. Wet, cold, but utterly exhilarated.