Pause and Wander

Dates: December 11–13, 2025

Places: Cat Ba Island, Hanoi, Ninh Binh – Vietnam

It was our last morning on Cat Ba, and the island felt like it knew we were leaving. We squeezed in one final, perfect start to the day before packing up and pointing ourselves back toward Hanoi, where the pace, the people, and the shape of our days were about to shift again. What followed was a stretch of travel that braided together indulgence and exhaustion, polished highlights and quiet surprises, all anchored by the simple fact that we were still moving through it as a family.

We started the morning the right way, with saunas and swimming, the kind of beginning that immediately recalibrates your sense of what a normal day could be. It felt indulgent and grounding at the same time, and we lingered just long enough to convince ourselves that this should be mandatory back home. Eventually, reality nudged us forward. We packed up, hopped on scooters one last time, returned them in town, grabbed a quick bite, and lined ourselves up for the journey back to Hanoi.

Instead of taking the ferry, we left Cat Ba by gondola, which lifted us high above the island and the mainland beyond. The enormous capsule climbed steadily until we were suspended 214.8 meters in the air, with a full 360° view of limestone hills, water, and coastline unfolding in every direction. Kyle was visibly anxious, and our gentle ribbing did nothing to calm him, but the whole thing was undeniably memorable. It felt like a slightly absurd, slightly thrilling way to close out our time on the island.

Two cars met us on the other side for the long drive back. Both drivers made the ride more eventful than necessary. One was glued to his phone, scrolling through social media until it became uncomfortable enough that Maxell asked him to pay attention to the road. The other drove an electric car that lurched endlessly between accelerating and decelerating on an otherwise straight road, slowly inviting motion sickness into the van. Despite all that, everyone made it back to Hanoi, mostly intact.

Clark and Kyle peeled off to settle into their new hotel, the Capella Hanoi, which they had been eagerly anticipating. Missi and the four of us wandered through the Old Quarter instead, looking for something small to eat before dinner. We landed at MET Vietnamese No. 4, a local chain serving traditional northern-style food. It was a simple spot, nothing fancy, just well-executed dishes that were perfect for sharing. It hit exactly the right note.

That evening brought one of the quiet surprises of the trip. We met back up with Clark and Kyle and headed to the Thang Long Water Puppet Theatre. Most of us went in with low expectations, fully prepared to write it off as a touristy novelty. It was touristy, and it was a little silly, but it was also genuinely wonderful. Six live musicians sat just off to the side, providing music and sound effects throughout the performance. The puppets, manipulated from behind a screen over water, somehow conveyed humor, emotion, and timing in ways that were not expected. Traditional folk stories unfolded in miniature scenes, playful and rhythmic, brought to life by drums, flutes, and the distinctive, bending tones of the đàn bầu, a single-stringed Vietnamese instrument capable of surprising expressiveness. What we assumed would be a shrug-worthy outing turned into one of our favorite cultural experiences of the trip.

Dinner followed at Luk Lak, a Michelin-mentioned restaurant Kyle had discovered. The space struck a balance between modern design and traditional Vietnamese touches, while the food leaned in the opposite direction, classic dishes elevated with careful presentation and thoughtful ingredients. We ordered widely and happily. Prawn spring rolls, a lychee green salad, and plenty to share, but the standout was the ragworm fritters. They were described as the highest quality seasonal ragworm prepared in the best ragworm style, which felt impossible to ignore. They were excellent. We highly recommend ordering them enthusiastically and never once asking Google what a ragworm is.

The night wound down back at Clark and Kyle’s room, which fully committed to its 1920s-inspired glamour. It felt like stepping into a different era, all Art Deco details and polished indulgence. We played a few games, had a few drinks, and let the day taper off naturally. Our new Airbnb was just around the corner. It was far more practical than glamorous, but the mattresses were comfortable, and after a day like that, comfort was all that mattered.

The next morning arrived far too early—long days tend to do that. Anyone under 12 protested loudly, and the adults sympathized. Still, by 6:45 we were loaded into a large comfy van, heading south towards Ninh Binh. Clark’s hotel had given them a breakfast bag meant for 2 people that somehow fed all 7 of us, and Kyle surprised Maxell with a latte, which immediately earned him even more goodwill as a travel companion.

The early start paid off. We stayed just ahead of the tour buses, never alone but always slightly less crowded. That thin margin made a difference. We booked our tour through Hanoi Backstreet Tours, the same one we used for the motorbike food tour, and Huy was our guide again.  Having a familiar face raised the baseline of the day. The experience itself felt long and worthwhile, but just barely. Ninh Binh was beautiful, but much of it felt polished and packaged, a version of itself designed for consumption. Still, we were together, and that counted.

We began at Hoa Lu, the ancient capital, where waves of schoolchildren poured off buses and filled the grounds. Arya and Finlee couldn’t help but comment on the sheer number of kids. The stop was brief, a bit of historical framing before moving on.

Mua Cave came next. Our girls and their uncles bounded up the 500 aggressive and uneven stone steps with ease, while the rest of us took our time. The top proved crowded and slippery, tourists scrambling across smooth limestone in ways that felt ambitious. The views were impressive, particularly from atop the massive dragon carved from stone that seemed to leap across the ridge line. The descent was even trickier, and relief came in knowing everyone made it down safely.

The boat ride through Tam Coc followed, and it immediately reset the tone of the day. Every boat was rowed almost entirely by women, many of them using their feet to paddle with an ease and efficiency that made it look effortless. Shaina and Maxell were paired with an 82-year-old woman named Li, who steered with practiced calm and an obvious joy for the river. As we drifted beneath the karst mountains, she delighted in whooping and shrieking at the gap-billed storks that live along the waterway. Her high, gleeful calls echoed off the limestone cliffs and skimmed across the river’s surface, startling birds into flight and making us laugh. It was beautiful and ridiculous and unforgettable all at once.

The setting itself was spectacular, karst mountains rising out of the flat landscape, caves carved by water, a place that clearly deserves its reputation. The girls were enchanted at first, then slowly drifted into boredom as the boats formed a long, slow-moving line. Ninety minutes is a long time when you don’t yet have the life experience to appreciate how rare an environment you’re floating through.

Lunch helped reset the mood. The food was good, the weather was perfect, and sitting down restored everyone’s energy. In the afternoon we shifted to Vespas. The original plan had included vintage open-top Jeeps, but increased enforcement around safety and licensing has quietly pushed many operators away from them. The Vespa ride was gentler than expected, passing muddy off-season rice paddies surrounded by green mountains dimmed by the misty winter air. Riding with the kids on back was a highlight—they eagerly expressed their love of this new mode of transportation, confirming their growing appetite for anything with a hint of adrenaline.

One of the more unexpected stops was at a cemetery, where Huy explained a traditional two-stage burial practice still used in parts of northern Vietnam. Families first lay their loved ones to rest in a temporary grave. At least five years later, often guided by the eldest son, the remains are carefully exhumed, the bones cleaned and gathered, and then reburied in a permanent family tomb or mausoleum. Whether every detail was exact or not, the explanation carried a quiet weight and slowed the pace of the day in a way the larger sights had not.

Bich Dong Temple followed, calm and settled, fronted by a lotus pond and arched bridge. A short hike through a cave and up the mountain revealed a charming satellite temple with views of the valley. It felt less staged than other stops, a place that existed for itself first.

The ride back to Hanoi was mostly silent. People dozed. Maxell read in the front of the van. Shaina and Clark carried on a conversation in the back, keeping the social energy alive for the rest of us. We arrived tired but content.

That evening was bun cha and spring rolls with Missi, followed by swanky drinks at the Capella bar, then more swanky drinks in Clark and Kyle’s room. They surprised the girls with their Christmas gifts early: each receiving what they’d been seeking for months, a cross-stitching kit. They squealed with joy and promptly got to sewing. We lingered, laughed, and stretched the night out, knowing it was our last night together. Clark, as always, found a way to rally everyone even when energy was low.

The following day slowed down in the best way. Rain softened Hanoi’s edges and gave us permission to linger. We walked late morning to Hanoi Corner Restaurant, a small family-run place just off the Old Quarter streets. We ordered a Mekong Delta–style bánh xèo, thick and generously filled with shrimp and pork. Our server, Pyke, brought scissors and patiently showed us how to cut, wrap, roll, and dip it with rice paper, herbs, and a tangy sauce. It was crunchy, fresh, rich, and bright all at once, and easily one of those meals that sticks.

After lunch we settled into Nola Cafe, a hidden, plant-filled refuge where time seemed to stretch. Cocktails, coffee, and dice games filled the afternoon, including our staple Greedy Pig, and a new addition to our collection, Tenzi. It felt good to simply be together without an agenda.

Later, Clark and Kyle brought their bags over to stash before their airport pickup, and we squeezed in one last round of drinks at Rabbit Habit. Finding it involved multiple laps up and down the same sidewalk before spotting a narrow alley and a black door marked only by a White Rabbit—it appeared we’d stumbled upon Hanoi’s version of a speakeasy. Inside was a dimly-lit and surreal explosion of Wonderland-themed decor and expertly made cocktails. It was strange, expensive, and completely worth it.

Our farewell dinner with Missi, Clark, and Kyle was at The East, another Michelin-recognized restaurant that treated classic Vietnamese dishes with care rather than flash. We lingered as long as we reasonably could, aware the clock was ticking.

Back at the apartment, the mood shifted. The girls sensed the ending and dissolved into anxious hugs and tears. Missi had been with us for a month, hiking, racing through cities, trying unfamiliar foods, and fully earning her place on Team SharXee. Clark and Kyle brought a shorter but higher-octane rhythm, finding great bars and restaurants wherever they went and showing the girls that indulgence can be joyful when shared.

The final hugs were rough. It felt like the closing of a chapter, one of many this year seems determined to offer us. We were sad to see this part end, but also ready to keep moving, carrying the memories forward as we stepped into whatever comes next.