Our flight from Taipei to Hanoi is short, but it’s at an awkward time for lunch so I plan to have a meal on the plane. The flight is delayed so I’m already hangry by the time it takes off, and then they run out of food.

The taxi driver in Hanoi tries to have a conversation with me via a translation app, but I am nearing starvation and he has a model of a yellow lotus on his dashboard that looks like a bowl of chips, so I am too distracted to really concentrate. He ends up trying to scam us, but Richard has read about the trick he uses and stands his ground. It’s a bit chippy, but he lets us out after having locked the doors at one point.

Out in the fresh air, and the humidity has gone from 98% in Taipei to 50% here, and it’s about ten degrees cooler. It’s wonderful just to be able to walk the streets in comfort, and there’s even a bit of an evening chill which is like music to my cold northern soul.

I loved Hanoi when we came here in the distant past. We are staying in a different area now – the narrow buildings of the old town mean too much hassle to guess who will allow bikes inside. We take a walk to that area the day after we arrive, and to Hoan Kiem Lake, which I remember as a serene and beautiful escape from the chaos of the city. We turn around as soon as we get there, because it is swarming with people. I have good memories of this place, and it’s better to keep them as they are. We pass the theatre where we saw the water puppet performance back then. There were only a couple of other people there, and one performance a day. The board inside now lists multiple daily start times, and they are all sold out for the next four days. I’m glad for Vietnam experiencing a tourism surge, though disappointed for myself.

One tourist spot is still on the agenda. Richard is very keen to see Train Street, where the track runs precariously close to the cafes either side. We get there well ahead of time and settle in with some expensive coffee. The experience is actually worth it and we can leave the city with that. Otherwise it’s been a place neither of us cared for at all.

Unpacking and re-assembling the bikes in cooler weather makes a big difference, and we’re entertained by a scrap over who will get our cardboard boxes, until one woman realises that we actually want rid of them and asks us for money to take them away.

We’ve cycled in Vietnam before, and spent a long time in this part of the world, but the traffic is still worrying me almost to the point of panic attacks. As always, once we’re immersed in it, it’s easier. Going with the stream of mopeds is like being in a shoal of fish; everyone somehow avoids each other and moves in a flow. At the big junction I was most worried about, there’s a teenage boy on a bike in front of me so I latch on to his tail and unashamedly use him as a shield.

Once we clear the city, we’re on a small road shadowing the expressway. It’s supposed to be only for two-wheeled vehicles that can’t use the latter, but this is Vietnam and so it’s full of trucks and cars too. People have created vegetable plots beside the road, with vines trained up the motorway fencing. There are small local markets everywhere and it doesn’t seem like we’re close to a major South East Asian city.

It actually becomes a bit boring for a couple of hours. Some excitement is restored with flooding on part of the road. Richard has to take his shoes off because it’s too deep, and we have to balance the front panniers on the handlebars, but it’s better than a long detour.

We get a taste of riding on a section of the QL1, the old road which links Hanoi all the way to Ho Chi Minh city. It’s exhilarating. On the main arteries and in towns, Vietnam is chaotic, exotic, loud and energetic. There are street sellers, lots of hellos, piles of rubbish being burnt, and whole dogs being roasted by the side of the road.

It’s been a long and tiring day, from the anxiety, the adrenaline, and wanting to get well clear of Hanoi.

We’re expecting more rural riding on quiet roads the next day, and it’s not a long distance, so are looking forward to taking our time and taking in the scenery. We enter the province of Ninh Binh, known for its karst mountain scenery and grotto caves.

It rains heavily not long after we set off, and then fairly consistently all day. The good news is that we have shiny new ponchos, and it is cool enough to wear them. Eventually it becomes too heavy to ride in, so we shelter under a disused barn.

The scenery is a bit of a disappointment. Away from the tourist hotspots, the limestone karsts are being destroyed, and the cement factories and attendant lorries leave the roads covered with mud. The roads aren’t really designed for heavy vehicles, so in the rain they are a mess.

Finally we branch off to a very rural road, and as we approach a small village there’s a loud crack, and my saddle falls out from underneath me as I go over a bump. If I’d been a bloke, there may have been some serious damage. The steel bolt holding the saddle in place on its mount has sheared completely in two. I retrieve what I hope are all the other parts of the mount, and we pull over by a bench to try and figure out a way to fix this, but it isn’t possible. The rain has almost stopped, but we’re in a tiny village. A woman comes over to see if we are okay, and when she sees the problem, takes us to a house on the other side of the village.

The old man living there gathers us, our bikes and his tools at the open front of his house. He examines all the parts that make up the mount and seatpost, and nods encouragingly. I have long been convinced that if you cannot get something fixed in Vietnam, then it cannot be fixed. After some trial and error, he fits everything back together, and puts on a new bolt that is good enough, and we are good to go. When we ask how much we owe him he suggests 30p, and we are all happy to make it more than that.

It pisses it down for the next ten kilometres to a homestay we have booked. It would have been a complete nightmare to walk.

The homestay is a little haven. We manage to find a covered spot to wipe the bags down, but we still turn up like drowned rats. The serene homestay is set right on the beautiful river, with incredible views and limestone cliffs and caves right on our doorstep. The food they cook in the evening is amazing; some of the best we’ve had. We find a little place down the road to eat lunches and we plan to do some cycling around the area, so we have everything we need. I’ve caught a cold and we have to find a more permanent solution for my saddle, so we extend our stay.

We set off the next day for the nearest town, hoping there’s either some kind of bike or motorbike shop, or at the very least a mechanic of some sort. The fix the old guy did was great for an emergency, but the head of the bolt is too large and is cutting into the seat cradle, so it’s only a temporary solution. After a couple of miles the bolt comes out, and once again I have no saddle. We don’t have the right size spanner for it, and it is doing too much damage anyway, so I fall by the wayside while Richard continues to the town. I have a long trudge back through the mud in my sandals.

Richard returns with a new seatpost plus mounts, a selection of bolts, and even a mounting cradle which will fit my current post. It is like Christmas. I opt for the seatpost. Even though it’s heavier and crappier than my old one, it is the most secure option, and my saddle needs to know who’s boss.

We get a dry day to do some riding around the area, and plan to get a boat through the caves which are the main draw here. Traditional travel sites still assert that this place is not very visited. But things have changed. It’s a great example of the impact a few popular travel blogs and some instagram posts can have in such a short space of time. It’s packed, and it’s the most packed place we go to in Vietnam. Online guides emphasise how much less touristy the boat trips are from Trang An, compared to the alternative, even suggesting that it is peaceful. It is nothing of the sort. There are hundreds upon hundreds of boats, floating down the river in streams of florescent life jackets.

When we leave, we spend most of the day on a main road again, and it’s actually nice in a way. I like seeing a mix of both the quiet and the crowded parts. We pass through a town just as a primary school goes on its break time, and there are crowds of kids lining the road for high fives and to shout hello. That evening we take a walk to a shopping mall, and are stalked by kids, who occasionally run up to say hello, then cover their faces and run away laughing. The braver girls stay longer to practice their English, but can’t hold out for long before running off giggling. The braver boys come up to Richard and shake his hand. Being laughed at all the time is difficult to get used to, even though we know it’s is a cultural difference and is not meant to be insulting.

Unless we go inland at this point, it is difficult to avoid main roads. We are heading south with the wind for now, so are happy to follow the QL1 some more, intending to cut away from the coast when we get further south. The newer expressway runs almost parallel at this point anyway, so it’s a good way to make ground on good surfaces without too much traffic. We’re surprised that the limestone karst scenery extends this far, and some of it is just as beautiful as in the Ninh Binh area. However, just like there, these are being wholesale destroyed in places, and most of the traffic is either the ubiquitous motos, or streams of lorries carrying the very landscape away.

At break time today we are near a secondary school, so this time we are swarmed by teens on mopeds. The high fives are a bit more precarious, but they are more willing to ride alongside us and chat, rather than run away.

The traffic and the dust pick up as the day wears on. An entire roadside stall blows onto the lane in front of me at one point, and we’re struggling a bit with the bikes.

We’re hankering for a coffee, but cafe culture doesn’t seem as prevalent up here as it was when we visited the south. It takes a while until we find what we’re looking for. The chairs are just as tiny though, and the gestures are the same. The woman serving us coffee gives my shoulders a squeeze as she sits us down, something I remember women doing a lot, although I’m not sure what it means. She wants photos taken with us before we leave; another thing that is hard to get used to.

I’m starving when it gets to lunch. Richard is really picky about food, but after wandering around and not finding anything to his liking, I settle down in a little bun cha place. It is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten, and I pity Richard his crisps and packaged cakes.

That evening I am not well. My stomach makes an enormous rumbling sound, which at first Richard thinks is a passing van. Luckily my friend Glayne brought with her some Imodium when we met up in Malaysia, knowing as I do the results of my indiscriminate eating.

The next day we divert off onto smaller roads, and through smaller towns and villages. It’s the weekend, and there are seemingly weddings happening everywhere we pass. Vietnamese weddings tend to feature music at a volume that could cause earthquakes.

Even though it’s a shorter distance, I am having a rough time. I’m caught between needing loads of calories, but not feeling like eating them. In the evening there’s a shopping centre near where we’re staying with a pizza place inside. I’m not the biggest fan of pizza, but it seems like a safe bet and a good way to cram in loads of calories. Even in a country not remotely known for pizza, how bad can it be? Really, really bad. Somehow, someone in Vietnam has invented a cheese with the texture of snot, and “pepperoni” which looks like discs of raw chicken. Richard sees several cockroaches on the table across from us, but decides to not tell me until after I’ve eaten what I can.

We’re at a table for four, and a couple of times people come over and just sit down next to each of us, or sit their kid next to us, to have their photo taken. Someone else is obviously filming us from the next table. As we leave, a teenager has herself filmed walking alongside us, and a kid runs up to Richard to hold and shake his hand. The people wanting their photo are gracious, with lots of bowing and thanks, but we’re in the middle of eating and no one asks if it’s okay. But I do know it is a facet of privilege at play, and I’m sure we’re treated unfairly better in other ways.

Despite the snot pizza, I’m feeling better the next day. Hotel prices in non-tourist cities are ridiculously cheap during the week, so we’re staying in quite a nice place for the night. We have our photos taken at check-in with a little desk camera “for security” which is really odd. We find out it’s because they have a facial recognition system at breakfast, I assume to keep non-guests out. At the buffet, there is a mini brazier of red hot coals to toast little baguettes over. I cut my finger on the bread knife and then set fire to the bread with one of the coals, so their security measures apparently don’t keep the riff raff out.

We’ve been mostly enjoying cycling in Vietnam, but one thing that is a constant issue is the insane pollution. South East Asia is notorious for its pollution haze, but this is the worst of any country we’ve been by a long way. The fog in the air hangs over everything, and it actually feels toxic to breathe it in. Everywhere there are burning piles of leaves and burning piles of rubbish with the fumes from the burning plastic clogging the air. That is added to the horrendous traffic pollution, city pollution, factory pollution, pollution blowing down from China and the waves of dust from the ill-kept roads. Then there is the crop burning, where the stubble from the rice harvest is burnt to make way for the next crop. We’ve hardly taken any photos in Vietnam, because nothing can be seen through the thick haze. We spend most of one day riding right beside a large mountain range, but even though we know it’s there, it’s hard to make it out. It just looks like a different shade of grey against the sky.

When we detour off the main road inland, we find that there is no point. The pollution is no better wherever we go; we can’t see anything, and the scenery is completely wasted. So we’re back on the main road again. For the most part we’ve been doing big distances, making the most of the tailwinds and the good weather. It’s been reassuring to know that we can can still pull them off when conditions are good. We had only planned to ride halfway down Vietnam – our flights out were booked before we arrived, but they are cheap flights and in our enthusiasm we start talking about continuing all the way to Ho Chi Minh City. What crazy days of foolishness…

A playlist for the ride: