BUCKET LIST #29 | TRAVEL & ADVENTURE | ✓ TICKED
“If this is #1…
what on earth is #100 going to look like?”
ANN VARNEY | DA NANG, VIETNAM | FEBRUARY 2026
Yesterday morning, I was on the back of a real motorbike
not a scooter, a proper, full-sized motorbike,
winding up one of the most iconic mountain passes in the world, singing.
Singing.
With a Vietnamese driver called Minh, while the South China Sea glittered below us and I thought:
And I need to tell you how it all happened.
Because it started, as so many of the best things in my life do… over breakfast.
HOW IT HAPPENED
I didn’t plan this weeks in advance. I didn’t build a spreadsheet. I didn’t schedule it into a content calendar or run it past a team.
I was sitting at breakfast with a wonderful guy called Robert Currall, a fellow traveller from the UK, and I said:
“I’ve always wanted to ride the Hai Van Pass on a motorbike. Every time I think of Vietnam, that’s the image I see.”
And he just said:
“I’d definitely be up for that.”
So that morning, I booked it. Easy Rider Motorbike Tour. Done. We were going the next day.
Now. There was one small oversight.
I’d booked one-way, not realising the return journey would have taken nearly three hours by car
or an overnight stay that was very much not in the plan.
So when we met our guides at 7:30am and they kindly pointed this out, we regrouped, adapted,
and asked them to give us the loop, the waterfall, the highlights, and bring us back.
They were happy. We were happy.
Lesson: read the full itinerary. But also — improvise with grace. Life is better that way.
It’s all part of the adventure, we call LIFE!
ON THE BIKE
First thought when I saw the bike:
Oh god. Am I actually going to be able to get my leg over the back of that thing?
It was a real motorbike. I want to be very clear about this. Not a dainty little scooter. A full, proper, I-mean-business motorbike.
And my driver, Minh, was a slim guy with a core of absolute steel (we later discovered: Kung Fu.
“But when there is a fight,”
he told me, completely deadpan,
“this is my Kung Fu, I run away.”
I nearly fell off the bike laughing.) He helped me on with the patience of an absolute saint. It got better the more I did it.
Pure. Joy.
The road winds up through the mountain. And the views… I genuinely don’t have words.
So lush and green. Layers of mountain and lushness in the clear blue sky. The sea far below, shimmering, turquoise, impossible. The sun was blazing.
Everything was in colour. Real, vivid, alive colour.
We stopped multiple times for photos. I took more videos than I care to admit. And somewhere between the bends and the sea breeze and the singing… yes, Minh and I were genuinely singing together on that motorbike,
I forgot every single thing that wasn’t that road and that moment.
THE WATERFALL
We stopped at Suoi Mo Waterfall (Dream Waterfall). And the water was crystal clear. I mean
crystal.
You could see straight to the bottom. Cold. Clean. Perfect.
Now. I have a thing about jumping into water from height. A slight nervousness. A hesitation.
Rob had already gone in. He was in the water, beaming. Waiting. And I stood at the edge of that rock and had a very firm word with myself:
No. I’m doing this. I’m on a bucket list adventure. I am Ann Varney and I am doing this.
I jumped.
I came up from the water, gasping, laughing, absolutely victorious, and looked down.
My bikini top had come completely over.
Everything was on display. To the waterfall. To the trees. To Rob. To anyone else who happened to be in the vicinity of the Dream Waterfall that morning.
Normally?
Mortified.
Absolutely mortified.
Yesterday? I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.
That’s what happens when you’re in pure joy. Nothing can touch you. Not embarrassment. Not fear. Not self-consciousness. You’re just… free.
THE FULL DAY
After the waterfall, we carried on. And the day just kept giving.
We stopped at Lang Co Beach before the crowds arrived. We sat with a couple of cold beers and some food in the sunshine, looking out at that extraordinary stretch of coastline, and I thought:
this is it. This is the good life.
There was a local man there who had collected currency notes from dozens of different countries, some of them over 20 years old. He came over, laid them all out, asked if anyone had notes to swap.
I absolutely love that kind of thing. The randomness of it. The humanity of a person who just collects the world, one banknote at a time.
We passed an oyster farm, a whole lake, wooden poles wrapped in old rubber tyres, the water perfectly still. And a shrimp farm beside it. And then, a 7,000-metre underground tunnel carved straight through the base of the mountain. They’d built a ventilation structure at the top to pull air through it. We’re talking serious engineering, hidden inside a mountain, in the most stunning landscape I’ve ever seen.
And as we came back into Da Nang, I felt the heat hit me like a wall. The mountain air had been so fresh, so cool. And suddenly: the city. The noise. The warmth. And I felt this wave of
fullness.
Of complete, utter satisfaction.
THE FINALE
We ended the day at a beautiful monastery on the edge of Da Nang. And for anyone who knows me, you know that anything Buddhist, anything deeply spiritual, fills me up completely.
There was a ceremony happening as we arrived. The statues. The incense. The stillness in the middle of everything. I just stood there and let it wash over me. My heart was so full by this point that I could barely speak.
And then… the piece de resistance.
Minh kept pointing up at the Goddess of Mercy, Quan Yin, perched magnificently on the edge of a mountain as we came into Da Nang. And he kept saying:
“Ann. Goddess Ann. Look, she has your colour hair.”
White. The Goddess of Mercy. White hair. Looking out over the sea.
The two of us were absolutely in stitches. Minh was delighted with himself. And I thought:
honestly, if the universe is going to send me a sign, I’ll take it. I’ll absolutely take it.
(Also, our backsides were completely destroyed by this point. Hours on the back of a motorbike is not for the faint-hearted. Worth every second. Zero regrets. But I’m just saying.)
MINH
My driver. Father of two girls (12 & 1). Kung Fu practitioner. Gifted singer. Core of absolute steel. Made me feel safe every single kilometre. Absolute legend.
PHU
Rob’s driver. Older, quieter, steady. Rob said he was the perfect match for him. Sometimes the universe pairs you right.
ROBERT CURRALL
Fellow traveller. Fellow adventurer. Knew Asia, loved Vietnam, first time on the Hai Van Pass too. Like-minded, easy company, and the perfect partner in crime for a day like this.
Here’s the thing about people like me, and maybe like you.
I love what I do. I genuinely, deeply love it. The Oracle Code, the people I work with, the teaching, the building, it lights me up. And because it lights me up, I go back to the laptop. On Fridays. On Saturdays. On days that are supposed to be off.
So I had to get strict with myself. I work Sunday to Thursday. Friday and Saturday are sacred. And on those days, I have to physically get away from the laptop, because if it’s in the room, I’ll open it. Because I love it. But also because, if I’m honest, it’s a habit. A comfort. A default.
And here’s what I know for certain now, after yesterday:
I didn’t think about work once yesterday.
Not once. Not on the pass, not at the waterfall, not at the beach, not at the monastery. I was there.
Fully, completely, joyfully there.
And that version of me, the one who was singing on the back of a motorbike and laughing at a waterfall feeling a deep sense of peace and standing in a monastery with a full heart
that woman is a better teacher. A better mentor. A better leader.
Because she’s actually living what she preaches.
So here’s what I want to say to you, the one reading this on a Saturday with the laptop open, telling yourself you’ll take time off when things calm down:
You made a promise to yourself. You said you were going to arrive at those pearly gates, sliding in sideways, grinning, saying:
“What a fricken ride that was.”
You can’t say that from behind a laptop.
ONE DOWN. NINETY-NINE TO GO
I couldn’t think of a better way to begin this journey.
A full day. A full heart. New friends. An ancient mountain. A Goddess with my hair colour.
And the knowledge, deep, bone-level knowledge, that the list is real. That the adventures are coming. That 87-year-old Ann is sitting on her terrace, looking out at the sea, smiling so hard her face hurts.
Because she didn’t wait
One experience at a time. One story at a time.
Watch this space.
P.S. If you’re wondering whether the Goddess of Mercy and I are now best friends… obviously yes. She’s got my hair. It was clearly meant to be. I’ve already started planning what to wear to her next ceremony.
P.P.S. My backside has still not forgiven me. Worth it. Zero regrets. Would do it again tomorrow.
About Ann Varney
Trained with 5th generation Shamans in Peru, Rinpoche’s in Nepal, Native Americans in Outback in California, and Druids in Scotland.
Also trained with Tony Robbins, William Whitecloud, Scott Jansen, Bob Proctor, Jeffrey Allan, Donna Eden, Michael Beckwith, Anodea Judith, Peggy Dylan, Dr Joe Dispenza, and so many more spiritual teachers…
Postgraduate Degree in Psychology and is qualified in Master Hypnotherapy and Meditation. An acclaimed International Spiritual Teacher and Author of 3 books, specialising in; Shamanic Energy healing; Angelic Healing; Alchemy; Master of Sekhem/Reiki; Pranic healing; Firewalk Instructor, Educational Leader and so much more.
With a deep dive into your innermost heart, I am here to help you uncover the unique passions that define who you are and reach for what lies beyond. With more faith in yourself comes an easier manifestation of whatever goals await – let’s break through those barriers together!
I write gratitude letters to everyone else. Today I wrote one to myself. If you’re a natural giver who gives everything to others and nothing to yourself, this one’s for you.
I booked it over breakfast, nearly fell off the bike laughing, lost my bikini top at a waterfall, and ended the day at a monastery with a Goddess who has my hair. Bucket List #29, ticked. This is what happens when workaholics shut the laptop and actually live.
What if your 87-year-old self wrote you a letter, and she’d done everything on her bucket list? Ann Varney shares her 100-item declaration list and the moment she decided to stop waiting.