When we first started planning our Vietnam adventure, we had our hearts set on Sapa. Northern mountains. Dreamy rice terraces. Misty landscapes. You know, the Pinterest version. Then we did five minutes of actual research and discovered that February is not peak rice-field-glory season. Instead of emerald-green terraces, we’d likely get brown-ish fields and fog. So we pivoted.
And that’s how we fell down the rabbit hole of the Ha Giang Loop. Ha Giang sits at the very northern tip of Vietnam, right along the Chinese border. Most travelers conquer the loop on motorbikes which looks equal parts epic and life-threatening. Since we are responsible parents (most days), we decided strapping two children onto motorbikes for three days of mountain switchbacks might not be our brightest idea. So… Jeep it was.
First, though, we had to get to Ha Giang. Two options:
- Sleeper bus arriving at 3:00 a.m. with a 7:30 a.m. tour start. Hard no. We enjoy our sleep.
- A “limousine” van leaving at 3:00 p.m. and arriving around 10:00 p.m.
We chose the limousine van, picturing plush seats and peaceful countryside vibes.
The seats? Excellent.
The ride? Less serene.
Our driver spent roughly five hours FaceTiming his girlfriend. Singing. Whistling. Possibly performing a full one-man karaoke concert.
I had questions.
- Does she not have anything else to do?
- Is this normal?
- Are we on a date with them?
When he finally hung up, someone joined him in the front seat and they launched into a very enthusiastic, very loud conversation.
Meanwhile, the kids? Absolute champions. They eventually fell asleep despite the front-row live performance happening two feet away.
We arrived in Ha Giang at night to pure chaos. A group of travelers were arguing because they had booked private rooms and were being assigned dorm beds. Tension. We braced ourselves.
But when we gave our name… we were immediately escorted to our private rooms.
PHEW.
And oh, because no family travel story is complete without at least one dramatic fall, Emma slipped the moment we stepped off the van.
Face-first into a sidewalk coated in thick, sticky mud. No poop (yes, I did a sniff test).
But it was aggressive, glue-like mud. She was covered head to toe. And of course, this was the “traveling light” portion of the trip. One pair of long pants light.
Nothing says “family vacation” like hand-washing muddy clothes at 11:00 p.m.
When booking the loop, we had to choose:
- Newer, more comfortable Jeep
- Old, open-air vintage Jeep
The old one looked epic in photos, wide open, better views, full adventure-documentary vibes. The new one looked… responsible.
Unable to decide, we did what any sensible parents would do: We asked the kids.
They chose the old one. So vintage Jeep it was.
The next morning, we met our guide and our ride for the next three days. It looked AMAZING. Like it belonged in a National Geographic special. But it also had:
- No windows
- No visible modern safety features (including seatbelts)
- No working gauges
And instead of the old reliable Toyota we had imagined… it was a vintage Russian Military Jeep (wasn't actually a Jeep, brand was UAZ). We were about to learn some lessons.
A few days before the loop, Teddy and I came down with a GI bug.
As we recovered, a horrifying realization dawned on me:
- Teddy gets carsick.
- We were about to spend three days on steep, winding mountain roads.
- In an old Russian Jeep with what felt like zero suspension.
- Post-gastro.
What could possibly go wrong?
Miraculously, we recovered quickly. Joey and Emma avoided the plague. And we stocked up on ginger-based anti-nausea magic from a Hanoi pharmacist.
Hope is powerful.
The first morning started foggy and misty. Visibility: questionable. I mentally prepared myself for three days of scenic nothingness. But by lunchtime, the sun broke through. And the views? Absolutely unreal.
You may remember from a previous post how Vietnamese people like honking. Well you know how you're supposed to keep your hands at 10 and 2 while driving? Our driver kept his hands at Horn and 2. I'm pretty sure they replace the horn at the beginning of each tour because they get burned out by the end of it. He was honking at every living thing in sight. And nonliving things too. It was next level.
Mountains rising higher and higher. Roads twisting into tight switchbacks. Valleys unfolding like layered paintings.
And then… halfway up a steep climb… Our Jeep stalled.
In the middle of a switchback.
On a mountain.
With a drop behind us.
The driver restarted it.
It moved one meter.
Stopped.
Rolled slightly backward.
Repeat 20 times.
At this point, we deeply regretted allowing the children to influence transportation decisions.
After what felt like an eternity, and several heart rate spikes, the driver called the other Jeep for advice. Something mechanical and mysterious happened. And suddenly…We were moving again. We made it to the top.
And then realized: the Ha Giang Loop is approximately 90% going up and down mountains. In 3 days, we will be climbing around 10,000 meters in elevation!
Fantastic.
All meals were included and served family-style. The food was delicious though after a few meals, we began recognizing some dishes making repeat appearances.
Northern Vietnam is also famous for “Happy Water”, a very strong rice liquor enthusiastically shared at dinner.
It was… powerful.
I took one cautious sip and politely declined further participation. I did not need to elevate my resting heart rate any more than the Jeep already had.
Fueling the Jeep was its own adventure. Our driver checked the gas level by shining a flashlight directly into the tank. Precision engineering at its finest.
On the second morning, our guide brought us near the Chinese border. Seeing our location dot sitting right on the edge between Vietnam and China felt surreal.
Day two delivered the best views of the entire trip. Clear skies. Warm sun. Dramatic mountain ranges. Tiny villages that looked frozen in time. Roads weaving through valleys like ribbons.
We stopped constantly. Every turn looked like a postcard.
A Scottish couple traveling with us had chosen the newer, more comfortable Jeep. I suspect they found our vehicle… amusing.
Well.
On the second day, their cooling system failed. Completely. Their Jeep was done. Meanwhile, our dramatic, windowless, questionable Russian relic? Still going strong and I still can't believe it. We saw 3 other Jeeps parked on the side of the road with their hoods open. Joey was quick to point out that all of the Jeeps were breaking down while all the Toyotas were barely breaking a sweat. Teddy said “Daddy you were right, Jeeps are crappy”.
(Although the Scottish couple finished the last day on motorbikes, which made our kids wildly jealous. They were personally offended that our Jeep hadn’t broken down.)
By the final day, rain tapped on the roof in the morning but quickly cleared into humid sunshine. With the other Jeep out of commission, our guide rode in the trunk of ours. Not exactly first-class seating.
He shared stories about his home region. Ha Giang is home to over 20 ethnic groups, each with its own language. Children learn Vietnamese at school.
We visited over a weekend and saw many children along the roads. It wasn’t unusual to see small groups, ages two to six, walking together. The five-year-olds often carried the babies. Some children walk up to 5 km each way to school through the mountains.
Our kids noticed something we couldn’t ignore: despite the remoteness and simplicity of life, the children were smiling, laughing, entertaining themselves. Meanwhile, families worked impossibly steep, rocky farmland carved into mountainsides. Kids our children’s age were helping in the fields. Younger ones cared for each other.
They waved at us as we passed in our dramatic old Jeep.
It was beautiful. And humbling.
The Ha Giang Loop is wild, breathtaking, unpredictable, and unforgettable. Doing it as a family, in a questionable vintage Russian vehicle, somehow made it even better.
Northern Vietnam is staggeringly beautiful. But it’s also a reminder of how remote and demanding life can be in these mountains. The resilience, the work ethic, the simplicity. It leaves an impression.
I do wonder how increasing tourism will affect this region in the coming years.
But for now, I’m grateful.
Grateful our Jeep survived.
Grateful no one threw up.
Grateful Emma’s pants dried by morning.
And mostly grateful we said yes to the adventure even when it came with no seatbelts and a flashlight fuel gauge.
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