We both groaned as the alarm went off at 5.45am – a silly time to be getting up on a supposedly relaxing cruise. But with an 11-hour independently booked excursion ahead of us, there was no alternative.
For the first time, the Lido breakfast buffet was almost empty, which meant I was able to secure Eggs Benedict while Karen opted for an omelette without the usual bun fight. We then made our way off the ship, which had docked in Da Nang.
Not using an H&A excursion added an extra layer of jeopardy to the day and certainly made disembarkation more confusing. Eventually, a representative from Travel Authentic Asia appeared and I handed over the cash owed for the trip – always a reassuring moment in a foreign port at dawn.
I’d booked this trip independently not to save money, but because H&A didn’t offer anything remotely similar. Every travel photo of Da Nang features the Golden Bridge, yet none of the ship’s excursions went anywhere near it. Fortunately, most independent tours did, and I chose one that looked like it would suit us best.
I’d seen that ten other people were booked and assumed we’d be squeezed into a minibus, so I was pleasantly surprised when we were ushered onto a large, modern, air-conditioned coach. Even better, the other ten people all seemed entirely normal: a couple of fellow Brits, four Canadians and four Americans.
I was particularly impressed that one of the Canadians knew all about Norwich, and even more pleased that they knew our new Canadian winger had got off to such a flying start.
Our guide for the day was Tong, who spoke good English and shared plenty about his life, including a few sob stories. It became clear later that this was his subtle way of laying the groundwork for a generous tip.
He spoke openly about living in a communist state and said it “wasn’t too bad” – after all, everyone had the freedom to vote for the one available party. He was fortunate (or well-judged) that none of the Americans took offence when he made digs about the war, including the 19,000 babies fathered by GIs and abandoned without money or rights, and the continuing impact of Agent Orange around Da Nang, which is still affecting babies three generations on.
Our first stop was very brief, taking in the Da Nang fishing fleet, before driving another hour to the Ba Na Hills. After the millennium, someone decided to build a cable car up the mountain and a resort on the top. To say this was successful is an understatement – it now attracts up to 30,000 visitors a day. The car park alone was Disney-World sized.
Most visitors were from elsewhere in Asia and were already deeply irritating at the entrance. Why take one photo when you can take ten? Why have one group photo when you can have every possible permutation? And why wait patiently when you can stand directly in front of someone else’s camera?
The entrance itself was enormous and took ages to walk through. Six separate escalators were required just to reach the first cable car station. The ride up took 17 minutes and holds the Guinness World Record for the longest single cable car ride.
Karen is no fan of cable cars, but this felt like a safe, Disney-style version. The scenery was stunning at first – thick forest, waterfalls, monkeys, and areas where the Viet Cong once hid – before we disappeared into cloud, which we were told was common. At least it stayed dry.
At the top we were greeted by a mass of people all trying to walk over the Golden Hand Bridge. Every photo you see online shows it deserted and serene. Reality is… somewhat different. Still, it was a sight to behold and looked even more ethereal emerging from the clouds. We posed for what photos we could.
I stood my ground when a professional photographer tried to shove me out of his shot. I asked whether he’d paid for exclusive use of the bridge. He glared back, clearly not understanding, and I deliberately didn’t move.
We then wandered to the Flower Garden and the Big Buddha, noticing a distinctly French vibe in the architecture and signage – a reminder of Vietnam’s colonial past.
Next, Tong ushered us onto another cable car which lasted just three minutes and deposited us inside a ginormous building that felt like a Las Vegas hotel on steroids. Eight escalators later, we arrived at what must be the largest buffet dining area I’ve ever seen.
The buffet offered over 100 options – mostly Vietnamese and Korean, with some Japanese and Western food. Karen and I found a few safe options and sat with the other Brits, who were from Stoke – not that that’s especially relevant.
We both agreed the fresh bread was the best thing on offer, as neither of us fancied the spicy frog legs. Karen tried a couple of desserts, including a matcha sponge, but declared them bland and tasteless, much like the ship’s desserts.
We were then given free time to wander the “French Village” on the mountain top. This was utterly bizarre: a fake French village on top of a Vietnamese mountain, somewhere between an Epcot and Harry Potter Land. We bought a Mangoholic ice cream, which was essentially mango Dole Whip and very welcome.
We walked further uphill through the village until reaching the base of a 170-step climb to a Japanese pagoda, which somehow fitted into the French theme. Karen sensibly stayed put while I climbed. The gardens and statues made the effort worthwhile.
At the top of the pagoda was a robot that rang a large bell every minute. Despite “Do Not Touch” signs in numerous languages, a group of Koreans repeatedly tried to operate it, squeezing in front of me while I was filming. I thanked them kindly for their courtesy and patience.
Reuniting with Karen, I knew exactly where she’d want to go next. Because of course, what else would you expect to find in a fake French village on a Vietnamese mountain? A Starbucks.
Karen fetched the drinks while I grabbed a table. Sadly, my tea arrived full of hot frothy milk. I took it back They insisted the tea had milk. I insisted I wanted cold milk, and only a little. Eventually, victory was mine and I got what we had ordered.
At 2pm we descended directly by cable car and began the long journey back. Stops included China Beach (nowhere near as nice as promised), a marble factory we hadn’t asked for (clearly a kickback stop), and finally the Dragon Bridge, whose dragon breathes fire at 9pm on weekends. Sadly, it was neither 9pm nor the weekend.
Everyone voted to return to the ship early rather than visit a bar, and we arrived back tired but satisfied.
At dinner, Karen bravely tried the Vietnamese honey chicken while I opted for a surprisingly good Beef Wellington. However, the meal will be forever remembered for the American woman at the next table. Slim build, enormous appetite and a brazen attitude: four appetisers, two mains, and three desserts. We watched in stunned silence as plate after plate arrived and disappeared.
We left while she was still working through her mains.
The evening’s show featured Bradley McCaw – a poor man’s Olly Day piano player with grand ambitions and unfortunate mannerisms. He thought he was on his way to the big time – we said the only place he was heading was Lanzarote. We left early, bumped into Lois and Superman, and headed to a quieter bar.
Karen was in tears laughing as she told Lois about the American diner, while Lois had us in stitches describing how she’d got stuck in her seatbelt on their excursion today and had to slide out underneath it to win a bet.
By 11pm we were back in our cupboard, having had another good – and entirely unexpected – day in Vietnam. We’ve enjoyed Vietnam, but both remain convinced that visiting by cruise is quite possibly the best way to do it.
