We have a short ride after the border to a guesthouse in a small town. A large coach load of Vietnamese guests arrives to the guesthouse a couple of hours after us, and that can only mean one thing: Karaoke. They are on it way into the early hours but are still up before us, and several smiling people come over to say hello and give the panniers and bikes an inspection. We’re used to reserved curiosity in south east Asia; being watched out of the corner of the eye, lots of friendly but reserved interest. People here just do what they feel. If someone finds us funny, they laugh at us. If someone’s interested in the bikes, they’ll walk over and poke around and chat happily away to us, even though we can’t understand. If someone’s expressing thanks or appreciation, then I’ve had arm squeezes and hand holds and small hugs.

We are in the Mekong Delta area in the far south west of Vietnam. It’s not a popular destination in a country that has a lot to offer, and for the first few days other than “Hello” no one speaks a single word of English. We’ve never expected people to anywhere, but it’s the only place we’ve been where they haven’t. Doesn’t matter though. We’ve never experienced so many people wanting to say “hello”, wave, give us thumbs up, high fives or ride along next to us. This whole region is a friendly place, but the Vietnamese have been unguardedly warm and welcoming. There is a carefree joie de vivre and it’s infectious.

It turns out that Vietnam is a salve for the doldrums.

On our first full day we ride on pathways hugging the rivers and tributaries. The roads are too narrow for cars to access, which means the villages here rely heavily on the river and have a very slow pace of life. Vietnam is very unique, but we also find unexpected echoes of other places. The long boats that workers have made their homes with furniture and tubs of flowers reminds us of barges in the UK. The pretty rivers lined with fruit sellers and cafes remind us of Germany.

The temperature is still soaring, so we stop frequently for iced drinks at the various shady coffee gardens which are everywhere, and discover how wonderful Vietnam’s version of the drink is. At one, which doubles as a shop, I browse the pot noodles. Since kettles in guesthouses are common here, they are handy to have. The young woman in the shop takes the pot noodle I choose and walks into another room at the back of the shop, calling after me and motioning for me to follow. I can’t understand what complication buying a pot noodle can entail. It’s a kitchen and she points to some simmering pots of broth and various other food items, and it dawns on me that she’s going to serve the noodles, not just sell me the pot. I point to pretty much everything. It turns out that the instant noodles are just used as a base, and she’s poured over some broth and adds various vegetables, fresh herbs, sausage and sliced meats. The woman is then on her phone while we eat and drink, and there follows a suspicious number of people who turn up on mopeds to stand over us and say hello. The coffees and noodle extravaganza come to less than £1, but I wonder if she deducted an entertainment fee for me trying to eat a corn on the cob with chopsticks.

The following day was the first of a few where we got hit with some end of season Monsoon rains. There’s build up to the rain here. The temperature drops (thank God,) the sky becomes angry, and the force of the wind gets so strong it feels like we’re being lifted off the ground and might end up in Oz, which would really piss me off because I like it here very much. We dived undercover just in time, but the little covered cafe we headed to ushered us next door to take shelter with a Vietnamese family who offered up hammocks and coffee. There’s no glass in the windows of these shacks and lean-tos, so keeping the rain out meant tying down a series of tarpaulins over each gap. We entertain the family with photos, maps and charades until the rain is light enough to leave.

We still had a fair distance to go that day, so had to head off before the rain stopped. In Thailand and Cambodia it was hard to find umbrellas for sale, even though the rains were almost daily. In Vietnam every street stall and shop now had a rack of ponchos out. There is a saying in south east Asia which is supposed to exemplify the character of the nations here. It goes something like: The Thai plant the rice, the Lao harvest the rice, the Vietnamese sell the rice.

By the time we arrived at our next destination there’s no rain in sight and it was boiling again. I was scolded (kindly) by a woman at some traffic lights for not covering up in the sun. She’s wearing a face scarf, jacket and gloves. It’s up near 40 degrees with humidity somewhere in the 90 percents, so while I do appreciate this woman’s care, she is sitting on a moped and I am exercising and would pass out from heat stroke if I followed her advice. Instead I make a beeline for a banh mi stall. There are still some vestiges left from French colonialism, and by far the best of them are these filled baguettes. A random woman goes and fetches me a stool while I wait for food and gives me a little hug as she sits me down. I know I look pathetic when I get hungry, but wasn’t aware complete strangers could notice.

That evening, hungry again, we wander round in search of somewhere for dinner. In many other countries people are friendly, but reserved or outright shy, often arguing who will get the short straw of dealing with us, or sometimes just running away when we approach a restaurant. Not in Vietnam. Outside one place Richard shows some hesitation at going in, so the owner walks behind him, puts both hands on his back and marches him to a table. We’re brought a spread of stir fried meats, vegetables and rice. Ever on the look out for more food, I spot the local pudding on display: Banh flan, which is a Vietnamese crème caramel, and subsequently I have at least one a day.

Vietnam has been revitalising so far, despite the long hot days. And the food here is the final cherry on top of this magnificent cake. I hadn’t expected that to be one of the highlights, but it now sits very close on the heels of Turkey, which is only behind Nepal in my food chart.

On the road the next day we make one of many stops to get cold drinks, and meet 10 year old Nguyen. He’s shy at first, clinging to and hiding behind his mum when we go in her shop. Then he wants to be the one to get the drinks out of the fridge for Richard, followed by translating some questions from his mum. And finally bursting into a torrent of information and questions in flawless English. He periodically gets overwhelmed as he’s tripping over himself trying to get his words out, but is full of insights about the world, agrees that spiders are the worst possible animal, and is pleased and proud to hear how wonderful we think Vietnam is. To travel like this we’ve sacrificed seeing friends and family for a long time, but on the other side of the scale is meeting people like this, where we will speak with them for less than 10 minutes and never see each other again, but will remember them all our lives.

At the next town I wake up to a lovely bout of conjunctivitis, and since a lack of eyesight makes cycling complicated, we stay there for a couple of days until it clears up.

On our way again we stop at one of many cafes and try to get breakfast. I have no idea what we’ve ordered, we just nod along to what is being suggested without understanding it. A group of teens bring the food out. Or rather one does, and the others each carry things like a fork or a straw, and it becomes apparent that it’s a cover to come over and practice speaking English with us. They all talk over each other trying to explain what everything is. It’s been very touching how helpful people have been to us.

It’s the hottest day yet. We get a bit of a break from cycling because we have to catch two small ferries, but otherwise it’s a day with less coffee gardens than usual. We finally find somewhere to stop for drinks, and the shop owner seats us in the shade and brings over some watermelon, the perfect thing to cool down with. On the road into the next village there’s a guy coming towards us with a fridge freezer balanced on the back of his motorbike. We both turn to stare at each other as we pass, but he has the disadvantage of balancing a fridge freezer on his bike and nearly topples over.

We’ve decided to head for Ho Chi Minh City, and make our way onwards from there. We’ve come to the decision over the last few days that although Vietnam in totality has been amazing, we have had our fill of the heat and humidity in this part of the world, and it’s time to move on. We leave ourselves plenty of time to make our way there at a leisurely pace, so we can enjoy meandering between the river towns of the delta.

It also means we have time for a rest. It’s a bit out of season, so it’s not hard to find a nice bungalow-cabin hotel with a pool for a couple of nights at a good price. We get to swim and relax, watching the coconut barges go by. And because of the bikes, we’re able to ride the few kilometres to a nearby town for dinner in the evenings when it’s cooler.

On the road again, and the highways are getting busier and the landscape more urban as we’re now getting in the vicinity of HCMH. Gone are the relaxed coffee gardens by quiet rivers, and the pretty little bridges across every tributary. Now we’re crossing on enormous structures spanning as many waterways as possible in one go. It’s really the only climbing we do in Vietnam though. We eventually find a cafe and stop for an iced coffee. While we’re there a woman arrives on a moped and she turns out to be a rep for a local energy drink company. She wants us to be in some photos, and arranges a series of shots of us with the drinks. So it’s possible that somewhere in Vietnam there is an ad campaign for an up and coming energy drink featuring a couple of sweaty middle aged Brits, which probably doesn’t make it appealing at all.

We’re now only a short day’s ride from the big city, with flights booked for just under a week’s time. The bikes have taken a splattering from the dust of Cambodia and the rain here, so we’re on the look out for somewhere to give them a clean so they’re not boxed away in the state they’re in. We spot a motorbike washing service in a small town, and the guy there is pretty happy to oblige. Rather than stand over him, we go for a coffee or two while he works his magic. When we return he refuses payment. He points to the cafe across the way and says it’s his sister’s place and we’ve bought coffee there which is enough.

We leave a short day to Ho Chi Minh City because it’s usually such a trial to navigate places like that, but it’s an easy ride, and the main road even has a completely separate road for motorbikes, so we don’t even have to worry about the trucks and lorries. We’re able to scout out the bike shops we might need and drink plenty more coffee before we arrive. It also means we are loitering around and bump into a French couple who are travelling by tandem. We exchange details and meet up for a beer the following evening. Sylvie and Hervé have been travelling in various ways for 4 years, including cycling in Saudi Arabia, driving a camper van round Australia, and working in Morocco when their movements were curtailed during COVID. They have been to many of the places which are next up for us, so it was a great opportunity to mine for intel. They are now off to ride in south east Asia as a last hurrah before heading home. 

The one chore we always dread turns out to be easy peasy. We nab some brand new (though costly) bike boxes from the second shop we try. None of the other practical things we wanted to get done pan out though. Richard can’t find a cheap place to get his hair cut. None of the bike shops sell saddles, and mine is almost unusable. The super duper pictures of a camping shop turn out to be a load of bollocks, so we can’t get the sleeping mat we need. We’ll have to leave those things for the time being. But Richard has been craving a burger, and that desire is easily fulfilled in a big city. It’s the first meal for ages where he doesn’t donate unidentified bits of food to me.

A few weeks ago we were both a bit fed up with bike travel and it was hard to imagine what could cure that. Vietnam has been the answer to everything apart from the heat. I could probably write paragraphs about the people we’ve met in Vietnam and the kind things they’ve done for us and said to us. We’re heading back to Europe now to continue our ride, but wild horses won’t keep me from coming back here.

A playlist for the ride: