Our last day in Ninh Binh reinforced something we had already begun to realize during our visit to Tuyệt Tịnh Cốc: it is often not the planned highlights that stay with you, but the small, unexpected moments along the way.
A Grey Start to Our Final Day
That morning, we finally did what the area is most famous for—a boat tour through Tràng An Scenic Landscape Complex.
We arrived early, hoping to get on the water before the waterways became crowded with boats later in the day.
The docks were still relatively quiet, with only a handful of groups gathering and waiting for departures.
It was an overcast morning, and the air felt noticeably cold on the water. Once we set off, we were grateful for the extra warmth provided by the safety vests.
We chose Route 3, which was supposed to include three caves and three spiritual sites, though it didn’t quite work out that way in practice. The first stop—Đền Trình temple—was skipped entirely for reasons we never understood. Instead, the tour began with its strongest highlight.
Practical Tips
- Tràng An boat tours depart from the Tràng An Scenic Landscape Complex.
- The ticket office is located on the opposite side of the main road from the boat dock.
- As of January 2026, tickets cost 300,000 VND per person and follow three fixed routes of varying length.
- After purchasing tickets, you walk through a tunnel under the road to reach the boarding area.
- Boat rowers usually do not speak English, so communication is very limited.
Hang Đột: The Longest Cave on the Route
The first cave, Hang Đột, immediately set the tone. At about one kilometre long, it was also the most impressive.
The entrance sat right beside Đền Trình temple—a dark opening in the cliff face.
We passed under overhanging branches before the boat slipped into the cave mouth, and the daylight fell away almost immediately, as if we were being swallowed by the rock itself.
It felt like a world with its own sense of scale and time.
The passage stretched long and deep, and as the boat moved forward, any sense of the surface gradually disappeared. The sound of water, the echo of voices, and the soft scrape of the oar against rock all faded, absorbed by the stone around us. It wasn’t just dark—it felt subterranean, like travelling through the mountain itself.
At times, the ceiling dropped so low we had to duck to avoid stalactites hanging like frozen teeth. Then, without warning, the space opened into vast chambers where stone columns rose like the pipes of a cathedral organ. Scattered lights caught the formations in uneven bursts, revealing colours and shapes that shifted with every movement of the boat.
Our rower guided us with calm precision through the narrow passages and wider halls. It felt like one continuous journey through darkness, stone, and echo, rather than a series of separate spaces.
When we finally emerged, the light at the exit was flat and bright, almost disorienting after the deep underground.
Shorter Passages and a First Temple Stop
The second cave, Hang Vàng, was much shorter and more tunnel-like. After the scale and drama of Hang Đột, it felt almost like a transitional passage—less impressive, but still part of the flow of the journey.
Beyond it, the landscape opened up as we reached our first stop: Suối Tiên Temple.
The site was larger than we expected, spread across a series of small islands connected by bridges.
From the landing point, we disembarked and followed a long walkway through the complex, which unfolded gradually as we walked.
It ended at a stone bridge crossing over the water, where wide steps descended to the river below. A few boats were moored there, waiting for their passengers to return, adding to the stillness of the moment.
At the entrance, two stone turtles stood carrying steles on their backs—a motif familiar to us from our earlier visit to the Temple of Literature in Hanoi.
We couldn’t read the inscriptions, but the symbolism was clear enough to recognise.
Back on the water, the route continued into a more open stretch past Núi Địa Linh, a mountain rising directly from the river, reminiscent of the limestone formations of Lan Ha Bay.
As we moved into the open channel, we took turns helping with the paddles. Unlike Valery’s earlier experience at Van Long, these weren’t fixed to the boat, making it easy to row as we drifted onward.
The Final Stop and a Cut Short Visit
The boat moved through winding channels into the final cave. We expected to return to open water, but instead came out directly into a temple complex Hành Cung Vũ Lâm.
Shrines lined the shore, and a pavilion stood in the middle of the river, surrounded by still water and limestone cliffs.
This area carried strong historical significance, linked to the Vietnamese resistance against the Second Mongol invasion in the 13th century. The waterways of Tràng An once served as a natural stronghold. Here, the Vietnamese emperor and his troops established a defensive base, as Mongol cavalry could not navigate the flooded landscape of rivers and lakes.
Among those associated with this history was the scholar Trương Hán Siêu, a contemporary of the period who later documented these events.
Unlike the martial figures typically represented in these shrines, he is depicted with a brush and a book in hand, and a warm, gentle smile that feels more human than the usual solemn expressions of other figures.
The site itself was larger than the previous stop, with multiple temples to explore and paths extending further into the complex. Walkways were lined with stone turtles and steles, each one slightly different, and from what we could see, there were additional trails worth exploring.
It felt like a place that deserved more time—but we didn’t get it.
Our rower told us we were late and urged us to hurry. We didn’t protest, unsure if there were still other stops ahead on the route—but we regretted not having more time to properly explore the place. Soon we were back in the boat.
On the way, we passed what is known as Skull Island, complete with a small village—a remnant of a film set.
We expected to stop there, but the boat continued past it without slowing.
As the dock came into view, it became clear that the tour was simply ending.
Only then did we realize that this had been the final stop, and that the tour was finishing well ahead of the advertised three hours, after taking just over two. By that point, it was too late to question it or ask for more time.
The frustration came all at once—not only because the tour had ended early, but because we had wanted more time to explore the temple complex and had no way to return on our own.
And then, almost as if to tease us, the sun finally came out—Tràng An under blue skies, just as the boat tour was ending.
We weren’t ready to leave it at that. According to OrganicMaps, it looked possible to reach the temple area and “Skull Island” by land, using a network of roads and causeways. Wanting to return to the final stop and explore it properly, we set off on foot after leaving the dock.
It didn’t work out as expected—we were reminded again, as at Hoa Lư, that maps are only an approximation of the landscape here.
The first road we tried was blocked, and security turned us away. Another route led to the same result. It quickly became clear that access by land had been deliberately restricted, leaving the area accessible only through the boat tours.
With that plan closed, we considered calling a Grab back to our homestay. Instead, Valery checked the map—we were just four kilometres away, with smaller roads cutting through areas we hadn’t yet explored. After more than two hours in the boat, our legs were stiff, and the idea of walking suddenly felt appealing.
We decided to walk.
A Quiet Walk Through the Karsts
It turned out to be one of the best decisions of the day.
After a short stretch along the main road, we turned into the karsts. The landscape opened into a network of waterways, narrow paths, and causeways, with limestone cliffs rising around us.
It was quiet in a way that felt right for the place. In summer, there might have been insects and birds filling the air, but in winter only our footsteps disturbed the silence.
For a while, we had the place almost entirely to ourselves. A few scattered houses appeared along the way, but they blended naturally into the landscape rather than disrupting its stillness.
As we passed through, we decided to return later in the day—it felt like the perfect spot to watch the sunset over Tràng An.
Then the spell broke.
A long line of motorbike taxis appeared—at least thirty of them, each carrying a passenger.
The noise and exhaust filled the narrow path, abruptly replacing the calm.
Soon after, we reached an area of larger homestays and inns, with buses parked nearby.
The contrast was stark.
Finding the Perfect Lunch
After this shift from quiet paths to the busier edge of town, we were ready for lunch. The walk had carried us back into activity, and the question naturally came up—where should we eat?
Eating out was our daily rhythm in Ninh Binh. We didn’t have a kitchen, so every meal came from restaurants.
Most places served similar fried dishes, and by the end of the week we were tired of it and looking for something lighter.
We checked a few places nearby, asking specifically for fish that wasn’t fried—grilled or steamed instead. Each time, the answer was the same: they had fish, but only deep fried.
We were just about to give up when the owner of the last place we tried paused and asked if we were willing to wait about twenty minutes for grilled fish. We said yes.
A couple of minutes later, he returned with a live carp and asked if that was acceptable. It wouldn’t have been surprising if it had come straight from a nearby pond. He then invited us to the back, where he prepared it over an open fire while we sat nearby and watched.
It felt warm and personal, more like being welcomed into someone’s home than eating at a restaurant.
We had mentioned our dietary preferences—low carb, avoiding fried food—and it wasn’t an issue. Vegetables were stir-fried for us, and a green papaya salad was prepared with fruit picked straight from a tree in the yard.
The meal turned out to be one of the best we had in Ninh Binh. Our only regret was discovering the place so late.
Our Final Sunset in Tràng An
Later that evening, we came out for sunset—our last in Tràng An, and the first time the sky had fully cleared.
We misjudged the timing and arrived a little late, catching only the final light.
Valery was a bit disappointed to have missed the full sunset and only captured the last rays, but I didn’t feel the same way.
My favorite moment is just after the sun disappears—when everything softens into muted color. It’s an in-between time, when the landscape loses its sharp edges and takes on something almost like a watercolor.
Even without a perfect sunset, it felt like the right way to end our time there.
Farewell to Ninh Binh
Ninh Binh revealed itself slowly, often unpredictably, never quite as we had expected.
The weather was not always perfect, and the plans were not entirely smooth—but its beauty, unfolding in small moments, stayed with us long after we left.
And just like that, our time in Ninh Binh came to an end as we headed south toward Hue.
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