I awake full of cold. My nose is streaming and I’m weak as a kitten. Making my way to breakfast I discover that Barry is also struggling with mysterious flu-like symptoms, as are one or two others. Fortunately Shereen has some Lemsips in her bag so I gratefully take one and struggle into my cycling gear before listlessly making my way down to the hotel carpark where our bikes await.
It’s raining and to make matters worse, our first leg takes us out of Haiphong up over an enormous suspension bridge which is so steep that every rotation of the pedals is a struggle and the wind and water splashes and freezes us as we climb to the crest and then freewheel down the other side. At the bottom, we make a sharp-right turn, away from the traffic but down bumpy terrible tracks, breathing in the pollution and dodging rocks as we go.
Over the bridge
Eventually I make it to the first rest stop, already exhausted and desperate for a toilet, and it’s only sheer force of will that gets me back in the saddle and continuing with the ride. Fortunately, the rain eases up and the sugary snacks kick in and I start to improve, although the industrial scenery and toxic smoke from roadside bonfires do their damnedest to make the ride as unpleasant as possible.
Towards the end of the second leg we turn on to an utterly deserted motorway, brand new and unopened, which stretches out before us for 20kms of smooth riding, my strength returning along with the colour in my cheeks, and we come to a huge river where we all gather on a big ferry to take us to the far shore of the surging Da Bah river and the last section of our ride.
Feeling dreadful at the first stop
We hairpin and wind our way up through charming scenery, past rural mansions and down country lanes, our destination getting ever closer, but the last 10kms are up an ever-increasing gradient battling ever-stronger headwinds until there before us sit our coaches, outside a school in an empty town, ready to transport our weary bodies to our final hotel. Almost delirious we sink into the seats and stare at the world outside as the buses drive us towards the city of Halong.
We’re dropped 6kms from the hotel for the final push. The grey, overcast skies and chilly air turn what should be a glorious view out across a glistening bay into an underwhelming bit of endurance before we gather at the causeway to Tuan Chau Island for our victory entrance to the La Paz Resort, a 5-star luxury hotel by gently lapping waters of the South China Sea.
In a crocodile line we cycle in pairs down the utterly deserted palm-lined road where a banner has been unfurled but hangs limply to the ground, its second side not yet strung up for us to cycle under. In front of us is a table of beers and we pull up in a rather lacklustre fashion, gratefully ditching our bikes and pulling off our helmets as we somewhat anti-climactically hug each other and pose on the beach for photos to celebrate our epic, two-wheeled trek which has raised over £750,000 for charity.
End of the ride
We’re meant to be herded straight up to the first floor restaurant for lunch but I sweet talk the receptionist into handing over the key to mine and Ryan’s room and head there to dump my bags and have a few minutes to myself, feeling pretty knackered from whatever bug is rattling through my system. It’s been a great adventure but by God, I’m glad it’s over.
My aching butt and throbbing legs are compounded by the general fatigue I’m feeling but I drag myself over to the restaurant and load up on the vegetarian feast I’m presented with, my conversation dimmed from the general chatter and hubbub of everyone’s delight to have arrived at the finish line.
Logging on to the wifi I check the weather forecast and it seems that the next two hours are as good as they’re going to get while we’re here, which is massively disappointing as we’re in one of the must-see destinations in south-east Asia; a place which has adorned the covers of travel brochures, been featured in James Bond movies and is a universally recognised symbol of tropical beauty.
The beach at Halong Bay
In fact, as iconic wonders of nature go, Halong Bay is to Vietnam what the Grand Canyon is to America or Table Mountain is to South Africa; hundreds of limestone outcrops formed over thousands of years which rise up out of the sea drawing tourists from all over the world to marvel at their splendour. Or that’s the theory.
Like most natural jaw-droppers they’re usually at the best with blue skies and sunshine, their towering forms abundant with verdant vegetation sat upon turquoise seas. But not today. Or indeed tomorrow. For it is winter up here and the sky is grey, flat and overcast, with a whole torrent of rain to unleash, despite it being the “dry” season. So as I stand on the white sand beach I can’t help but feel disappointed that the view before me is muted and grey.
While the rest of the Truants are freshening up after the completion of our ride, getting some zzzz’s and preparing for the gala dinner, I choose to walk along the spookily vacant sand, out past a little lagoon to take some photos of the jagged shapes on the horizon - before the promised rain starts to fall.
Halong Bay
Usually a paradise resort with luxury hotels all along the tropical white sandy beaches, it has the air of a ghost town, as if everyone has just vanished. There’s not a soul to be seen anywhere and I have the empty beaches all to myself. At a marina station there’s a couple of coaches sat in a car park and I watch some bedraggled Chinese tourists disembark from a boat and file on board.
To add to the slightly bleak atmosphere, across the road from our hotel is a half-built theme park, and I sneak inside gazing in bemusement at vast sculptures being constructed of dinosaurs, elephants, buffalos, Native American tribal warriors, bizarre crying babies and King Kong. In the flat overcast light pre-dusk it’s all rather sinister.
I presume the lack of tourists is because it’s winter here and the weather is bad, but the receptionist informs me that it is actually Tet - the lunar new year – tonight so everywhere is shut, including all the hotels, so that staff can return to their families across Vietnam. The only exception is our hotel which has been specially booked many months ago to host us... and it seems the few coach loads of Chinese tourists I’ve seen.
Our hotel
Those poor tourists don’t know what’s hit them later that night as our group gather in fancy dress - denoting the astrological animal of our birth year - and have a celebratory dinner and awards ceremony at high volume. Truants dressed as dragons, horses, snakes, rabbits, cats, rats and more (I’m wearing a dog-collar and leather-lead, being of the sign of the canine) carouse late into the night, running for cover when the heavens open and torrential tropical rain unleashes from on high, accompanied by deafening thunder and jagged flashes of lightning.
Still not feeling 100% I slink away before midnight, leaving the hardcore revellers up to whatever mischief they can find. Tomorrow brings our final adventure.
