Soumya Ranjan’s Trip to Hanoi with Friends: Thrillophilia Review
My friend Rohan and I, along with our wives and his sister Namrata, decided to go to Vietnam. We didn't want it to be just about seeing the sights. We wanted to make memories and have those spontaneous moments that you talk about for years. Thrillophilia took care of the planning, but what made the trip so special was the place and the company.
The ride from Noi Bai Airport to the city was our first taste of Hanoi. Our driver welcomed us with a smile and said, "You won't want to go home." At first, we laughed politely, but as the days went by, what he said started to make sense. There were scooters all over the streets, and colonial-era balconies looked down on busy markets. But there were also quiet places where time seemed to slow down. We walked around Hoan Kiem Lake together that first night, stopping every now and then to take pictures on the bright red Huc Bridge. The lights of the city bouncing off the water, the sound of Vietnamese conversations, and the occasional street performer made us feel like we were on a movie set.
The next day, we went into the cultural heart of Hanoi. Hoa Lo Prison was eerie and devastating; it told stories of strength and struggle. Namrata, who is usually the happiest of us, got quiet there. Later, at the Temple of Literature, her mood changed again. She was happy to see the old courtyards and the fine details. She said, "It feels like I'm in a poem." We all laughed, but we all knew what she meant. That mix of heaviness and wonder stayed with us.
I have a lot of great memories from Bat Trang Ceramic Village. We only meant to see the place, but it completely drew us in. The girls, Jayashree, Nirupama, and Namrata, quickly got to work on the pottery wheel, their hands covered in clay. They laughed as their vases fell apart and then came back together. Rohan and I acted like we weren't interested, but we ended up joining in, by the end, enjoying like kids, playing with clay and daring each other to make the ugliest piece. Later, the women went into the ceramic shops and ran their fingers over cups and plates, comparing glazes and patterns. We sat outside, covered in dried clay, and joked about starting our own "failed potter's club."
Ninh Binh was a surreal experience non of us will forget. Time slowed down as we sat in a small wooden boat and floated through Tam Coc. It felt like we were in a painting as we heard her oar dip into the water and saw the river wind its way through golden rice fields and jagged limestone cliffs. Rohan leaned over and said, "This is crazy, man." "Too good to be true." He was right. Kids waved from the banks, buffalo grazed slowly, and the smell of wet grass came and went with the wind.
Later, while riding my bike through the countryside, I felt a strange sense of peace. We went by simple homes, women drying herbs in the sun, and small ponds where ducks quacked loudly. We were sweating a lot when we got to Bich Dong Pagoda, which was built on a limestone mountain, but we were also strangely excited. Nirupama, who usually doesn't believe in religious sites, was amazed by serene ambience. "I've got goosebumps," she whispered.
And then there was Halong Bay, which I had been looking forward to the most, it was also our anniversary eve. Getting on the cruise felt like stepping into a postcard. The boat moved through the green water, and limestone pillars rose all around us, casting long, dramatic shadows. We five sat quietly on the deck, drinking tea and letting the wind carry our thoughts away.
The seafood dinner was great, but what made it so special was that Namrata learnt how to make Vietnamese food in class and teased Rohan by saying, "From now on, you'll have banh xeo for breakfast instead of paratha." We laughed so hard that our stomachs hurt. We went kayaking later, paddling into secret coves and under limestone arches. The caves echoed our voices, and the water was cool. For a while, it felt like we were explorers finding something new. Jayashree and I celebrated our anniversary that night on the cruise. Thrillophilia surprised us with a cake which was such a sweet gesture which elevated our experience. We cut it while the bay was calm and endless around us, with fairy lights glowing softly. It was one of those rare times when you feel incredibly loved and blessed in life.
The calmness of Halong changed again at Ba Na Hills in Da Nang. It was scary and exciting to ride the cable car. Namrata held on to her seat tightly and kept saying, "Why did I agree to this?" But when the clouds cleared and we could see the Golden Bridge, those huge stone hands lifting a golden path, we all went quiet again. We took a hundred pictures, but none of them could really show how it felt to be there.
We then had a great time at Sun World Theme Park. We screamed on the rides, ate a lot of snacks, and talked about how it was like our old college trips. Walking around Hoi An at night felt like going back in time. The lanterns lit up the river and made it look like jewels were floating in the water. We walked through small streets, bargained at stalls, and ate street food until we couldn't eat any more. That night, we all agreed that Vietnam had fed our souls as well as our stomachs.
It was harder than I thought it would be to get on the plane home after the trip, leaving behind days that had been so full and alive. Thrillophilia set the stage, but what we took home were the laughs, the quiet moments, the awe, and the bonds that grew stronger through shared experiences.
These places, Hanoi, Ninh Binh, Halong, Ba Na Hills, and Hoi An, were more than just places to visit. They became a patchwork of memories sewn into our hearts. I can still hear the oars hitting the water in Tam Coc, smell the clay from Bat Trang, and see the lanterns in Hoi An when I close my eyes. And the airport guide was right: a part of us didn't want to come back.
Read More: Thrillophilia Vietnam Reviews