Through the Mist: My Motorbike Adventure in Vietnam's Highlands

July 09, 2025

I wasn't planning to rent a motorbike that morning. Honestly, it seemed like a terrible idea. Fog thick as milk, winding mountain roads, barely any visibility. But something pulled me toward it. That little red bike parked outside my guesthouse in Sapa—shiny, inviting, slightly dangerous.

"You ride before?" the man at the counter asked, raising an eyebrow.

I lied. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

Into the Unknown

The first few minutes? Terrifying. Slipping through mist, dodging potholes, gripping the handlebars like my life depended on it—because, well, it did. But after a while, something shifted. The fear melted into freedom. The wind hit my face. The world softened.

Endless rice terraces unfolded around every bend, their greens glowing through the white mist. Water buffalo grazed lazily by the roadside. A woman carrying a basket of vegetables waved as I passed. Suddenly, I wasn’t a stranger anymore. I was part of it.

Unexpected Stops

Hours passed, or maybe just minutes. Time blurs in places like this. I stopped at a roadside shack—barely more than a wooden platform with a kettle boiling over a fire. The woman running it handed me a cup of tea, strong and smoky, and a plate of sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves.

No English. No problem. We smiled, shared food, laughed at my awkwardness as I tried to say "thank you" in Vietnamese. She touched her heart, then mine. No words needed.

Above the Clouds

Further up the mountains, the mist broke suddenly. I gasped. There it was—miles and miles of mountains rolling like waves, kissed by sunlight, clouds swirling below me. No cars, no noise. Just wind, birds, and my heartbeat pounding with awe.

I sat there, helmet off, legs dangling over the edge of the road, just soaking it all in. It felt like standing at the edge of the world, yet somehow right at home.