Dropped on the outskirts of Ninh Binh, we stood silhouetted against the harsh illumination emitted from a local restaurant’s sign. Away from its sparse roadside seating, the light’s influence diminished and the leaden colours of the night returned to the long empty street. Unsure how to reach Tam Coc, I leapt upon two equally clueless backpackers and persuaded them to share a taxi with us. Weary from travel, we checked into the hostel, got a shower and got our completely unnecessary beauty sleep.
Emerging into the abusive heat of another standard Vietnamese morning, we had a shufty at what this hostel had to offer. Banana Tree was the talk of Vietnam in mid-2019. Everyone was recommending it and for good reason. The hostel was new and unfinished, yet was still host to a pool table, a ping pong table, a swanky pool-side bar/restaurant and indeed a pool (all for the price of a pint in the UK). Now, a pool at a hostel always seems like an alluring prospect however, in general the hostel pool is neglected. Going unused and unwanted, it sits as a sapphire pond of sadness, so close to the excitable mobs of backpackers it was made for. This pool at Banana Tree, however, was bucking the trend. Throngs of people were lounging there in the translucent water, sloshing around in the tepid concoction of chlorinated bodily fluids and spilled drinks. It may not sound like the most enticing prospect, but chatting to others and chucking a ball around in the pool made a nice change to socialising with a boring dry body.
*This heading serves as a warning. There will be an unruly number of photos of us in amongst the coming paragraphs. The reader’s discretion is advised*
After looking around the hostel we made our way out of town. Everyone on their mopeds passed us by as we strode out on the main street and then we turned off to take the smaller paths. These tracks cut between swathes of flat agricultural land and lay in the shadow of the towering limestone mountains. One of these jagged mountains, which rose vertically from the patchwork green sea below, held our final destination at its summit. Despite the heat and the brief flashback to Sapa (on encountering a few enormous dogs prowling the streets of a tiny village), we really enjoyed our leisurely walk to get there.
We reached the entrance and realised quickly that we needed to pay. Luckily, we had just enough dong to scrape by, but we were less than impressed by the price. The ticket gave us access to the strangest resort I’ve ever seen which we had to walk through to get to the main attraction, Hang Mua. This was a 500 step hike up to two pagodas where views of the surrounding karst landscape were spectacular. Despite the razor-sharp rocks that discouraged us from doing our usual scramble for solitude, we enjoyed the mountainous retreat.
As we headed back and reached the bottom of the steep stairs we decided that we needed to see everything possible to make the most out of our expensive ticket. So, we began to walk around the strange resort. A large unnaturally blue pond full of algae sat in at the centre of the resort and it held a small pool area for guests at its centre. Surrounding the stagnant cloudy waters, wooden bungalows were arranged neatly. However, despite the smiling faces of the guests; the slowly decaying swan pedalos, the unusual location and the new/dilapidated juxtaposition made me deeply uncomfortable.
Escaping into a large cave, we found a side tunnel down to a water-filled cavern that had begun to be developed into a swimming area but then mysteriously abandoned. Continuing our short wandering, we came to the other side of the cave and found another abandoned feature. A bar. Unfortunately, there was no alcohol, however (possibly a bit loopy from dehydration) Brendan enthusiastically made me a 100% water-based cocktail and our day once again devolved into an intense photoshoot (much like in Almaty). It started as it always does, with some nice innocuous photos of each other. But then on occasion, when Brendan gets the camera, he morphs into his demanding photographic director alter ego. Sorry, not “director”, he hates that term. He prefers “visionary”. He knows what he wants and I would be a fool not to give it to him. So, striking poses for nothing other than the purpose of sating Brendan’s artistic hunger, we spent quite a long time in this strange borderland between the intricate wild and fabricated oasis of the semi-complete holiday resort.
Brendan was happy with his creative deluge (which for better or for worse is now being released upon the world) and I was ready to head back for food. We set off the way we had come and got back to town ravenous. We rocked up to the spot, ordered some lemongrass and chilli chicken and that was that. “But what about drinks?!” I hear you scream. Well, usually a man inclined towards a beer or even just a water for a drink with dinner, this day I had the urge for change. I wanted to try something so adventurous, so daring, that it would echo through the halls of my mind as an experience never to forget, for decades to come. I ordered a coffee.
Never letting the cultural pressure of being British lure me into a tea drinking habit and never allowing the sippable stimulant, fuelling the economies of the world to hook me with its inescapable presence, I have felt both an outcast and a maverick simultaneously during my life. As hot drink pariah, I came to terms with the fact that I’m just a strange bearded man-child who would much prefer a hot chocolate to a tea or coffee. Therefore, I hadn’t even considered delving into the coffee scene of Vietnam yet. However, remembering one gloriously sweet sip I had back in Sapa in 2013, I was suddenly ready to hedge my bets and dip my toe into an unknown world. A coffee with dinner couldn’t hurt, could it? As the drip coffee arrived at the table Brendan turned his nose up at the smell and I waited for the dripping to stop. Not really sure what I was doing and without an ounce of patience I just gave in, stuck my spoon in there, swirled the viscous condensed milk around and had a sip. And BAM, just like that I became an addict. The wet slap of caffeine hit my completely unprepared brain faster than expected and my thoughts quickly ran in line with one of the best characters ever to grace TV screens, David Mitchell’s Mark Corrigan:
“I’ve been initiated. I am a drug user! F*** the police!”
Temporary caffeine induced insanity kicking in quickly, we went back to the hostel and had a chill evening as the coffee buzz died down, deeply glad that our accommodation was nothing like the resort we had spent the day in.
Getting naughtycal
The next day before leaving on the evening bus to Hue, we decided to make the most of the few spare hours and take a boat trip up the river. We hopped in with our rower lady and set off, luckily, we had chosen a time where other tourists weren’t out on the river in force so as we slowly moved along the still waterway the tranquillity was palpable. We glided into caves and around more giant monolithic mountains, it was a nice way to spend the day and as we came back the river became overrun by tourists and as the boat reached the shore the heavens opened. We walked the 50 metres to the hostel and remarked at our completely unplanned and undeserved luck.
Final thoughts
In this post, you have witnessed the forceful intrusion of artificiality into nature’s unfettered grandeur. You have peered behind the curtain and into the secretive lives of two (soon to be) international models. And finally, you have read in explicit detail the consequences of sipping delicious hard drugs. Costa Coffee? It may Cost(a) your sanity.
