Priyan R Naik
When my wife and I planned to visit Vietnam, I weighed all the pros and cons, the amazing food, stunning nature, rich history, low costs, the intense traffic, potential language barriers and the awareness of cultural nuances. Confronted with several questions like “Would Vietnam be senior-friendly?” “Who would fill our online forms?”, I spoke with the confidence of someone who is neither balanced nor adept at technology saying: “We’ll see.”
Hanoi was our initiation. There are many things, historic, atmospheric, noisy in all directions, but “easy to navigate” is not one of them. The streets wind like noodles, the cafes appear and vanish like magic tricks, and everybody walks faster than we could. The traffic does not stop; it simply rearranges itself around obstacles, pedestrians, whether they be locals or senior citizens. We learned quickly that the trick to crossing the road was to walk at a steady pace and pray that the scooters interpret your intention correctly. Mostly they did which is why I am here fit to write this piece!
Of all the beautiful memories of my Vietnam visit, a lazy boat ride around the charming riverside town of Ninh Binh is easily the fondest. The town has a quiet allure, a welcome contrast to the bustling metropolis of Hanoi. Although in that glorious stage of life where “rushing” is not desirable, like most tourists we were going to squeeze Ninh Binh, a UNESCO World Heritage site, into a rushed day-trip. My hostess Ms Mai, who had been badgering us to choose one of her trips, was approving as she okayed our decision. “Tomorrow morning, Trang An,” she said.
The next morning, a short drive out of Hanoi and suddenly the world became peaceful shifting the landscape from honking traffic to quiet rice fields, from neon signs to misty mountains. After a detour to Hoa Lu, the access to which involved a little cycling, where wife declined to join because she can’t ride a bicycle and to the Mua Caves viewpoint, which involved a steep climb. The stairs looked reasonable from below. A hundred steps later, I realised they had been designed by someone with strong calves and questionable empathy. I climbed anyway, pausing often, pretending to admire the scenery while actually breathing in large amounts of oxygen. From the top, the view stretched endlessly, green valleys, winding rivers, soft light over ancient rock. The wife of course preferred to wait for me at the base, afraid her knees would give way.
The best way to take in all places around Ninh Binh was byboating on the tranquil Trang An river. Only when we finally arrived at the boat pier, but the wife declined to accompany me because she was worried that the boat would ‘rock too much’ and make the ride unpleasant!
Climbing onto a boat with a romantic tourist couple, I was left alone to myself the beauty of Ninh Binh’s lush vegetation, mesmerising waterways, limestone cliffs, caves, temples and shrines. My rower, a cheerful woman who looked as though she could row me to Laos if required, pointed towards a life jacket which I meekly put on. And then we set off, gliding between towering karst mountains, slipping through caves cool enough to make me miss a second jacket, drifting past temples that seemed as old as storytelling itself. The water was so calm that even my thoughts slowed down. Every now and then, the rower switched to rowing with her feet, raising her feet high, leaving me staring with admiration.
If Vietnam were a book, Ninh Binh would be its most beautiful chapter. The uniqueness of the day’s adventure, I found, doesn’t shrink with age, simply changes tempo. You don’t need to outrun the young. You just learn to read the chapter slowly.
