Driving across Vietnam from the North to the South (or vice versa) is a special experience, taking place over several days and thousands of miles. For combating heat, exhaustion, and highway hypnosis, the driver is rewarded with stunning views of Vietnamese landscapes and intimate cultural experiences with friendly locals. However, for those pressed for time, the less-popular West to East journey offers just as much diversity within a shorter amount of time.

Thanks to Vietnam's unusual, S-shaped geography, it is possible to drive across the country in under twelve hours by taking the horizontal route. At its narrowest point, Vietnam is only 48 kilometers wide. Still, within these narrow points exists a bevy of environments and cultures; such as remote mountain villages, sunny small towns, lush farmlands, breezy coastal plains, and magnificent beaches of the Pacific Ocean.

Evening near the border. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

The other day I found myself at Quy Thoa Ecolodge, a traditional homestay located 30 kilometers from the Laotian border in Nghe An's Con Cuong District. After a feast comprised of grilled pork, morning glory, boiled chicken, and bamboo shoots, I watch the night sky fall over Nghe An province. A reflected sliver of moon shimmers in the wet rice fields, cooling the sun-baked region. I fall asleep to the comforting buzz of an electric fan and the low groans of sleep-talking water buffalo.

At dawn, I begin driving within minutes of waking up, hoping to get as far as I can before the dreaded midday heat. Yet, most of my morning is spent in white-knuckled terror as I attempt the navigate dusty, decrepit backroads while dodging sections blanketed by sand or gravel. On the summit of one particularly dangerous hill, I still remark on the tantalizing beauty of a faraway horizon. The sight fills me with enough excitement to swallow my fear and push on.

A sight seen by only a few foreigners. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Sunrise on the backroads. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Tea hills and karsts. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Roadside selfie. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Despite the remoteness of the location, you could not call this region a wilderness. Abundant tea fields can be found throughout the rolling hills. The treasured tea leaves seem to be well-maintained by calloused hands and green thumbs. An experienced farmer passes me on his motorbike, nods, and speeds over a steep mountain road without the slightest amount of hesitation. Vietnam's rough, mountainous climate produced courageous people that can drive on eroded backgrounds with such elegance.

Eventually, the road returns to asphalt and begins to flatten out again. It is not even 10 am and yet the sun is already piercing through the deep blue sky. I pause under the shadows of karst mountains to take photos of dutiful farmers working in the intense heat.

Working under blue skies. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Mountainside shade. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

For the rest of the day, I have to contend with the unyielding sun. While the roads have become flatter, there is less opportunity for shade. At one point, I have to share a shady grove with a herd of heat-stricken cattle. They watch me, perhaps amusingly, as I pour ice water down by the back of my neck and gasp in relief. Deliriously, I thank the cows for their hospitality before continuing towards the sea.

Cows near the coast. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

As I approach Nghe An's eastern coast, the sun becomes so unbearable that I tell myself I will brake at the next spot of shade. Unfortunately for me, there is none to be found. The cool pine forests and limestone karts are miles away, on the other side of the province. Here there is nothing but sun-baked farmland and a few scraggly trees. Every few minutes there is a lovely sea breeze but after hours of driving, it is not enough to cool me off.

Along the horizon, I see a dark answer to my prayers; a gigantic storm blew inland by fierce Pacific winds. I stop for a coffee at a sleepy cafe near Ha Tien and watch as the massive storm consumes the small town. The locals don't seem to mind. Even the children continue to play in the streets with their bicycles and scooters. Clearly, they are used to having the ocean throw the worst things at them.

Driving into the storm. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

Finally, in the evening I arrive at Quynh Vien Resort where I check into my bungalow at the end of a quiet beach. As I walk next to the surf, I look out into the immense Pacific. The sun is setting in the beachside forests behind me but I continue to stare at the dimming lights over the ocean. Now, my view of the horizon is accented by the green glow of distant shrimp boats.

Last night, I was falling asleep in a far-off mountainous village. Tonight, I am listening to ocean lullabies. What a day.

In the darkening twilight, I recall the legendary story of the Vietnamese people, born from Au Co, a lovely fairy from the highlands, and Lac Long Quan, a mighty dragon from the sea. According to the legend, the mythical couple eventually divorced and their children, the first generation of Vietnamese, followed them to either the mountains or the sea. After my day's ride through Nghe An and seeing how the Vietnamese people mastered living in such diverse environments, I'm further convinced of their magical heritage as the offspring of dragons and faeries.

The Vietnamese coastline at dusk. Photo by Glen MacDonald.

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