Ha Giang Loop: 2-Day Small Group Motorbike Tour & Private Room

4.97

(219 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

We rolled up to Ha Giang city just after sunrise—bags under our eyes from the sleeper bus and that weird thrill you get before something big. The Easy Riders were already waiting outside the office, helmets in hand. Our guide, Minh, grinned and handed me a coffee that tasted smoky and sweet at the same time. I remember his laugh when I tried to pronounce “Pac Sum” (I didn’t even come close). The first few minutes on the bike felt shaky—I kept thinking about how my knees were basically hugging the engine—but once we started winding up those mountain roads, it was just cool air and bursts of pine scent everywhere.

Pac Sum Pass hit me harder than I expected. We stopped at the top for photos—everyone quiet for a second except for some distant rooster echoing down below. Minh pointed out Lung Tam village tucked into a fold of green; he said the women there still weave hemp by hand. We actually got to meet one family—tiny kitchen, steam curling off bowls of soup—and their little girl kept giggling at my hair. Lunch was rice and pork at this roadside spot near Tam Son; not fancy but so much flavor, and I swear the chili paste nearly made me cry (in a good way?). The Dong Van Karst Plateau looked unreal—gray stone teeth biting into clouds—and it’s wild how people farm every inch of those slopes.

I didn’t sleep much that night in Dong Van town—too wired from all the newness—but having a private room with an actual toilet felt like luxury after hours bouncing along those roads. Next morning was all about Ma Pi Leng Pass. It’s hard to describe how high up you feel until you’re there—the drop-offs are dizzying but you can see forever: Nho Que River snaking blue-green far below. Minh let us walk part of the Sky Path while he fixed something on his bike (he shrugged and said “Vietnamese engineering!”). There’s this moment when you look out over everything and it’s just wind and silence and your own heartbeat thumping away.

On the way back toward Ha Giang city we passed more H’mong villages—bright clothes flapping on lines, kids waving as we rattled past—and stopped for one last meal together before splitting off for our buses. It’s funny how quickly you get used to riding behind someone who knows these roads like their own backyard. Even now I can smell that mountain air if I close my eyes.