Motorbike Adventures in Vietnam

Xin chào from the back of a Honda Win, my adrenaline-seeking amigos! I've done something potentially inadvisable: I learned to ride a motorbike in Vietnam, the country with possibly the most chaotic traffic on Earth. In Hanoi alone, there are an estimated five million motorbikes, and they all seem to be on the road at once, weaving through traffic in a choreographed chaos that somehow works. After a few white-knuckle hours learning the rules (there are no rules), I joined the flow. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. It's the only way to truly experience Vietnam.

Let me describe Hanoi traffic for the uninitiated: imagine a swarm of bees, but the bees are motorbikes, and some bees are carrying entire living room furniture sets, and other bees are going the wrong way, and somehow no bee ever crashes into another bee. Intersections have no discernible system—you just enter the flow and trust that everyone will adjust. Pedestrians wade into traffic like wading into a stream, and the stream parts around them. After a day, I stopped being scared. After a week, I was carrying groceries, weaving through traffic, honking the universally understood "I'm here, don't hit me" honk. Evolution in real-time.

The real magic happened when I left the cities for the mountain roads of the north. The Ha Giang loop is legendary among motorcyclists: 350 kilometers of winding roads through some of the most spectacular scenery in Southeast Asia. Limestone karsts rise like giant teeth from rice paddies. Hill tribe villages cling to impossibly steep slopes. Clouds drift through valleys below you as you navigate switchbacks carved into cliff faces. I stopped approximately every ten minutes to take photos, catch my breath, and marvel at the fact that this place exists and I was riding through it on a $200 secondhand motorbike.

The Vietnamese I met along the way were unfailingly friendly, especially in rural areas where tourists are still relatively rare. At one mountain pass, an elderly H'mong woman waved me over and insisted I drink tea with her family. We couldn't communicate except through smiles and gestures, but she kept refilling my cup and offering snacks. Her granddaughter practiced English words with me while chickens wandered around our feet. These unexpected human connections are what travel is really about—and they only happen when you're moving slowly enough to stop.

The food, of course, was spectacular. Phở for breakfast, bánh mì for lunch, bún chả for dinner—the Vietnamese eat constantly, and every meal is delicious and cheap. In Hanoi's Old Quarter, I found a phở stall operating from someone's living room, where the broth had been simmering since 3 AM and the owner ladled it with the precision of a surgeon. In Sapa, I ate "thắng cố"—a horse meat stew that's a local specialty—and felt very adventurous indeed. Vietnam feeds you well and feeds you constantly. Bring elastic-waist pants.

Should you ride a motorbike in Vietnam? Honest answer: it depends on your risk tolerance. The roads are unpredictable, medical care is limited in rural areas, and accidents happen. I saw several close calls and met travelers nursing road rash at hostels. But if you're an experienced rider, or willing to take it slow and learn, the freedom of two wheels opens up Vietnam in ways buses and tours cannot. Start in quieter areas, always wear a helmet (law requires it), and don't ride at night. And if motorbiking isn't for you, hire an Easy Rider—a local guide who drives while you sit back and enjoy the view. However you do it, Vietnam's roads will change you. 🌵🏍️🇻🇳