Last October, Emma and I embarked on an amazing adventure throughout Southeast Asia. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting stories from the trip based off journal notes and photographs.
Part 1: The Central Committee of Crosswalks
The Old Quarter, Hanoi
Shivering, I waited for the bus to take us to Vancouver International airport. It was late October, pouring rain and we were soaked and freezing. While we had two massive backpacks (one with 40 pounds of climbing gear, and the other with some clothes for both Emma and I), neither of us had packed anything warm, let alone rain gear. I had to keep reminding myself that we were going to the land of shorts, sandals and sweat and that soon, I’d be missing the cold, brisk weather of the coast.
For me, this adventure was going to be an embrace of uncertainty and vulnerability. I felt nervous and a little scared to leave my routines, diet, and comfortable bed behind for over four months. We’d left Whitehorse in early September to explore BC before heading overseas and didn’t plan on being back home until early January.
The Old Quarter, Hanoi
After hours of flying, fidgeting in seats, and mindlessly watching movies on our cell phones, we arrived at the incredible metropolis of Hanoi. Walking out of the airport, nothing could have prepared me for the sights and smells of this busling, living city. The hot, sweaty air, the perpetual onslaught of moving scooters and people, the lively roadside food stands feeding crowds of people on tiny plastic stools hunched over their bowl of Bún Chả; there was no escaping this overpowering and all consuming energy.
To me, Hanoi felt like the antithesis to the facade of organized structure presented by western cities. Granted, my perspective as a tourist who could barely say xin chào/hello in vietnamese was pretty skewed, but it felt to me that the city had successfully harnessed the power of raging chaos. As long as you kept your head up and stayed aware of your surroundings, things seemed to work out.
Take crossing the street for example. No one’s stopping for you and few people are respecting road lights or marking. The roads are crammed with scooters and cars 6 unmarked lanes deep in a seemingly impenetrable wall of loud engines and perpetual honking. Yet, if you walk across the street at a confident, steady pace, traffic will flow around you like a terrifying Moses and the red sea reenactment.
Often, this chaos would extend to simpler things. When we got to our air BnB, there was a gate with a padlock and no instructions on how to open it. The keys we had didn’t work, and we had no way of reaching the host. Before we could panic, an older woman seemingly appeared out of the shadows of the adjacent alley and silently unlocked the gate before disappearing without a word or a look.
After a couple days of getting somewhat acclimatized to this new world, we traveled east to the island of Cát Bà. It took a day of being corralled by people from bus to boat to bus again before arriving at the picturesque island. Tall limestone cliffs rose up from the jungle and welcomed us to our first climbing destination. It was here we were introduced to snakes, giant spiders and traveler’s diarrhea. For over a week, one of us would drive the scooter, while the other, carrying the giant climbing bag, would hold on precariously to the back of the bike. Driving along the steep mountain roads, we’d explore the island looking for rock to climb, returning to our hostel in the evenings sore and covered in sweat and rock dust. I felt like royalty with not a care in the world, filling my days with nothing but fun.
Deep Water Soloing - Cát Bàh Island
Climbing in Fisher Valley - Cát Bàh Island
Unfortunately, this was not to last. We were about to go north and try our hand at the Hà Giang motorcycle loop and things would take a turn for the worse…
