S.E. Asia Part 2: A Comprehensive Review of QT Tours

Last October, Emma and I embarked on an amazing adventure throughout Southeast Asia. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting stories from the trip based off journal notes and photographs.

Part 2: A Comprehensive Review of QT Tours

Northern Vietnam - Hà Giang Province

At first, it felt thrilling. Clutching the tiny plastic handles on the back of the motorbike, I watched in awe as my driver tore through the dense traffic of Hà Giang. The growl of our little bike engine was peppered with incessant honking, warning anyone near to get out of the way. Whenever the driver saw even the smallest gap between traffic, he’d gun the throttle with such ferocity that it took all of my strength to hold on and not get thrown off the bike. Soon, we had left the city center, the traffic thinned, and the roads began to narrow and steepened as we entered the countryside. It wasn’t long before things stopped being fun.

The Hà Giang loop is a famous motorbike loop that weaves through the mountains on the border of Vietnam and China. An incredible mountainous landscape dotted with little villages, the area hosts an incredibly diverse population with over 40 unique ethnic groups with their own language, traditions and subculture living in this small northern province. The motorcycle loop had garnered a reputation as a must do adventure and had come highly recommended to us by a friend back home.

The official Hà Giang loop uniform.

Our drivers, happy to have ended the day without killing anyone.

We had been emphatically told by the hostel owner in Cát Bà that we should not do the trip ourselves and recommended we join a tour group. So after a little bit of research, we booked two seats with QT Adventures and excitedly prepared to head north.

After an awful 12 hour night bus ride (which could be its own blog post), we were dropped off at 4am at QT Tours’ headquarters in Hà Giang city and shuffled into a crowded dorm room with mats scattered on the floor. There were bodies everywhere and mold in the bathroom, but we did manage a few hours of restless sleep. The next morning, as we were having breakfast, I turned to Emma and said “Is it just me or are there a ton of wounded people here?” The room was packed with people either getting ready to leave or returning from a tour and looking around we noticed a few people on crutches, a few with their arms in a sling, and lots of folks with bandages. Looking back, it should have been our first clue to get the hell out of there.

A few hours later, Emma and I, wearing the provided rain gear that I can only describe as pink garbage bag ponchos, were sitting on the back of motorbikes driven by drivers who barely seemed to notice us. After our thrilling ride out of the city, things got bad quick.

Motoring up switchbacks up a steep mountain side, we rounded a hairpin turn when the bike in front of us, driven by a guide, suddenly washed out, throwing the passenger onto the pavement. I watched in shock as the guide picked up his bike and yelled at his passenger to get back on without so much as a second to check for injuries. None of the other guides slowed down and we continued barreling up the mountains. It was at that moment that I knew anything could happen. No one was safe.

Our drivers seemed to be motivated by one thing only: to pass as many vehicles as possible. On narrow, cliff sided roads, through blind corners, or in quiet villages with children running around, our drivers would pass trucks, buses, or other tour groups with 30+ bikes at 70 to 90 km/h. By the time we would arrive at our homestay in the evening, my jaw would ache from all the clenching and my fingers were numb from death gripping the bike.

This debacle continued for three long days. Our stops included innumerable visits to techno blaring coffee stands, a short visit to a historic monument where Emma and I were left behind, and viewpoints (often obscured by fog) filled with drunk twenty-somethings aimlessly milling about trying to take selfies. On our last day, we were left stranded on the top of a mountain in a dilapidated hostel under construction with the lead guide demanding we leave a good review.

Roadside art.

This concludes my comprehensive review of QT Tours. Not convinced? Read my tripadvisor report.

S.E. Asia Part 1: The Central Committee of Crosswalks

Last October, Emma and I embarked on an amazing adventure throughout Southeast Asia. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting stories from the trip based off journal notes and photographs.

Part 1: The Central Committee of Crosswalks

The Old Quarter, Hanoi

Shivering, I waited for the bus to take us to Vancouver International airport. It was late October, pouring rain and we were soaked and freezing. While we had two massive backpacks (one with 40 pounds of climbing gear, and the other with some clothes for both Emma and I), neither of us had packed anything warm, let alone rain gear. I had to keep reminding myself that we were going to the land of shorts, sandals and sweat and that soon, I’d be missing the cold, brisk weather of the coast.

For me, this adventure was going to be an embrace of uncertainty and vulnerability. I felt nervous and a little scared to leave my routines, diet, and comfortable bed behind for over four months. We’d left Whitehorse in early September to explore BC before heading overseas and didn’t plan on being back home until early January.

The Old Quarter, Hanoi

After hours of flying, fidgeting in seats, and mindlessly watching movies on our cell phones, we arrived at the incredible metropolis of Hanoi. Walking out of the airport, nothing could have prepared me for the sights and smells of this busling, living city. The hot, sweaty air, the perpetual onslaught of moving scooters and people, the lively roadside food stands feeding crowds of people on tiny plastic stools hunched over their bowl of Bún Chả; there was no escaping this overpowering and all consuming energy.

To me, Hanoi felt like the antithesis to the facade of organized structure presented by western cities. Granted, my perspective as a tourist who could barely say xin chào/hello in vietnamese was pretty skewed, but it felt to me that the city had successfully harnessed the power of raging chaos. As long as you kept your head up and stayed aware of your surroundings, things seemed to work out.

Take crossing the street for example. No one’s stopping for you and few people are respecting road lights or marking. The roads are crammed with scooters and cars 6 unmarked lanes deep in a seemingly impenetrable wall of loud engines and perpetual honking. Yet, if you walk across the street at a confident, steady pace, traffic will flow around you like a terrifying Moses and the red sea reenactment.

Often, this chaos would extend to simpler things. When we got to our air BnB, there was a gate with a padlock and no instructions on how to open it. The keys we had didn’t work, and we had no way of reaching the host. Before we could panic, an older woman seemingly appeared out of the shadows of the adjacent alley and silently unlocked the gate before disappearing without a word or a look.

After a couple days of getting somewhat acclimatized to this new world, we traveled east to the island of Cát Bà. It took a day of being corralled by people from bus to boat to bus again before arriving at the picturesque island. Tall limestone cliffs rose up from the jungle and welcomed us to our first climbing destination. It was here we were introduced to snakes, giant spiders and traveler’s diarrhea. For over a week, one of us would drive the scooter, while the other, carrying the giant climbing bag, would hold on precariously to the back of the bike. Driving along the steep mountain roads, we’d explore the island looking for rock to climb, returning to our hostel in the evenings sore and covered in sweat and rock dust. I felt like royalty with not a care in the world, filling my days with nothing but fun.

Deep Water Soloing - Cát Bàh Island

Climbing in Fisher Valley - Cát Bàh Island

Unfortunately, this was not to last. We were about to go north and try our hand at the Hà Giang motorcycle loop and things would take a turn for the worse…

Six Photos For Now

It’s been crazy busy since my last blog post. I had an insanely jam packed summer of guiding and exploring, left the Yukon in September to do more adventuring, and now about to hop on a plane for SE Asia for even more adventures.

I miss this blog, and I miss writing fun little stories. So, in the interim, while I think about what I’ll write about when I get home in January, here’s 6 photos from the summer that I really like. No context, no stories, just some snapshots of my life. I hope you like them.