Next morning the restaurant is thronged with the chatter and noise of hundreds of Chinese people tucking into a breakfast buffet, little of which seems to have appeal to Western eyes - or stomachs - and for some reason there are oriental versions of Christmas songs being piped through the speakers. It makes for a surreal atmosphere for the Truants who brave it, getting ready for our boat trip out to the rocky islands of Halong Bay. 

While the rest of the group have wisely chosen to head straight back to Hanoi and explore the city, I and about 20 fellow riders, have already paid to charter a boat to sail us around the UNESCO-listed wonders out at sea, all of us presuming it would be a real highlight to end our trip on. But rain is lashing the road as we drive to the port, the dramatic monsoon-like conditions causing palm trees to thrash in the wind and surging torrents of water to cascade across the tarmac.

The whole city is utterly deserted with huge strips of brand new hotels being built, many of which have hoardings outside with huge photos of how Halong Bay looks in sunshine. It’s almost as though they’re rubbing it in.

We’re not the only fools at the terminal looking to head out to sea, but there’s a fair degree of nervousness in our party at what is increasingly looking like a fool-hardy venture. In fact, as we board, I voice the opinion that this has all the makings of a disaster movie, just as a fork of lightning hits the jetty beside us. The captain of our boat reassures us that all will be fine but within minutes of us sailing out into swelling water with just a view of torrential rain on the horizon there’s a big debate taken about calling the whole thing off and just turning back around. 

A hands-in-the-air vote is taken on whether to proceed, which is won by those wishing to continue out to the invisible limestone beauties by just one solitary arm, so I grit my teeth and pray that we will get back to dry land safely. Eventually, after 30 minutes, and just as even the most intrepid sailors are about to give up, we spy some rocky outcrops looming out of the mist on the horizon and our boat starts drifting between the majestic islands that tower either side of us. It’s beautiful.

We may be lacking the blue skies and sunshine which show these majestic karsts at their best, but the glowering weather makes them more dramatic and atmospheric. It also means that there are fewer boats out on the waters than normal too so our views are not crowded with the flotillas of ferries and pleasure cruisers that usually do battle with each other navigating the straits and passages between the myriad island outcrops.

For a time the rains ease and we stand on the top deck of the boat, taking photos of the spectacular views but soon enough the dark clouds start to pour once more and this time we vote unanimously to turn back towards the mainland, being served an early lunch as we go. We’re on dry land and in the coach before midday, driving to Hanoi where the fabulous Melia hotel awaits, with its enormous bed and swanky bathroom.

Ryan has already departed for Singapore so I have the room all to myself, unpacking all my belongings and getting dressed in decent clothes once more after days of wearing cycling gear. Outside the city is lashed by a continuing monsoon, with huge hailstones bouncing off my 11th floor window and lightning forking across the sky. However, I’m not going to let the weather spoil the final night of this incredible adventure so, with an umbrella borrowed from reception tucked under my arm, I join a few of the Truants to walk up past Ho Hoan Kiem lake to the tourist strip of bars and restaurants known colloquially as Beer Street.

Just as we get close, the heavens open once more, and we find ourselves cowering under little awnings as we try and make our way down neon lit streets, past little stalls selling steaming hot bowls of pho and rice to backpackers sitting on plastic stools trying to escape the downpour. It’s like a scene from Blade Runner, a vision of dystopian future, where humans huddle together in rain-soaked, over-crowded Asian back alleys.

I take shelter by myself for a while in a little bar called Aoki Beer House, where I have a plate of noodles, before eventually finding Factory 47, where the Truants who arrived in Hanoi earlier than us have been drinking for hours. Stomach suitably lined, I soon find that the margaritas on offer are incredibly potent and the evening kicks up a gear.

Before I know it, I’m upstairs in the Prague Bar with Alex, Alan and Luke where huge balloons of laughing gas are being passed around, and then on a pub crawl into the early hours of the morning, dancing and singing with friends and strangers alike; Hanoi seducing me with its exotic nightlife charms.

It’s the end of my south-east Asian odyssey – a fabulous riot of beauty and culture, food and scenery, craziness and tranquillity, exertion and rest. It’s been a remarkable journey through the region’s harrowing past and exciting future, a holiday of a lifetime with my wonderful husband and a cycling adventure with the assorted characters of the Truants.

As I fly back to London via Hong Kong the following night, wearing my facemask on the plane to protect against the emerging threat of the coronavirus, I’ve no concept that this will be our last foreign trip for quite some time. The world is about to change dramatically… but these memories will last forever!