I traveled on an overnight sleeper train through Vietnam with 2 kids. It was the best night's sleep on my weeklong trip.

It wasn't my first time in Vietnam's capital. However, it was my first time with kids, so I was trying to cross roads flooded with zigzagging motorbikes while looking out for more than just myself. It turned out that walking at a consistent pace with confidence, one arm out to traffic, and the other hand gripping tightly to my kid's hand was the way to go. 

A bowl of phở, a Vietnamese crêpe, a banh mi sandwich, and some tourist spots later, we headed to Train Street. This 300-meter stretch of rail, which famously passes through a narrow, bustling portion of Hanoi's Old Quarter, was temporarily closed last year but open — and busy — when we arrived.

The tracks were built by the French Colonial Administration, and Train Street, I quickly learned, is not the safest place to check out with kids. Coffee, coconuts, and Cokes were being served at scruffy shops set up less than two feet from the tracks.

The moments before the train arrived got even more hectic. An older woman from one of the coffee shops ran down the tracks, yelling at people keep their distance and even rescuing a pair of sunglasses a woman had dropped seconds before the train whizzed by. 

I can understand why Vietnamese authorities have been trying to prevent tourists from visiting, and had I done a risk assessment before the visit, maybe I would have skipped out. The kids, however, enjoyed the chaos.

Less than two miles from Hanoi's Old Quarter, where we'd watched the trains pass by, we entered the white concrete station on Le Duan Street.

The building was opened in 1902, and I noticed hints of French architecture in the sloping roofs and rows of skylights. Updates have been made over the years, including the detailed facade on the exterior of the building.

Large display boards featuring train departure times could be found on both the first and second floors of the station.

Three lines operate out of the station: Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi to Hai Phong, and the Hanoi to Sapa line, the third of which we would be boarding soon.

Luckily, we had packed light and were able to lug the two wheelies and backpacks across the overpass and down the stairs. A plank was set up to make rolling bags down easier, but I still found it wobbly.

I felt lucky to no longer be dealing with strollers.

Walking past open doors, I peeked inside some of the other cabins. Some had full-size beds, while others had two sets of bunks. We had booked the latter. I paid $155 for the four of us.

Passengers have the option to book a whole room, if they're willing to pay, or just one bunk, which can be a good way to meet new travel buddies.

While the ride to Sapa is significantly shorter by bus — around four hours by bus, compared to the seven-hour train ride — many bus crashes have been reported over the years.

Later in the trip, one of my guides on a trek in Sapa mentioned seeing buses flip down the mountain when they take corners too fast. It left me with no doubt that we'd made the right decision by taking the train.

The cabin was super clean with white sheets and fluffy duvets. There was a tray with four bananas, packs of Oreos, tea bags, wet wipes, toothbrushes, and bottles of water waiting for us on the bedside table.

The kids were excited to take the top bunks, so my husband and I each claimed one of the beds on the bottom.

Laying flat, at 5'8", I fit perfectly in the bed. My husband is 6'5" and had to set up an "extension" for his legs using one of the wheelie bags. Even so, he was much more comfortable here than in any airline seat.

We stored our bags under the bunks and in overhead compartments at the foot of the top beds, above the cabin door.

The kids spent the first 20 minutes climbing up, down, and between beds. We had all dressed in comfortable clothes to avoid the process of changing in and out of PJs.

After leaving the station, we rolled through the Old Quarter. Level with the second floor of tall, narrow buildings, I could see most people's lights were already out. The tangled cables running alongside buildings looked like Rapunzel letting down her hair.

I saw a woman watching TV in her living room, a couple sitting on their balcony and sipping cups of tea, and a brightly lit fish tank glowing through a window. Most homes had freshly washed clothes hanging out to dry for the night.

The homes faded into the distance a few minutes later when we crossed a bridge. The lights were now coming from motorbikes riding on a single-lane road, in the opposite direction of the train.

The bathroom was roomier than what you would find on a plane. There was toilet paper, soap, and a clean sink. The train car got rocky during one of my trips to the toilet with the kids, so I held them steady until they were done.

The swaying motion and constant vibration of the train put us all to bed quickly. The kids were tucked safely into their bunks, and without having a kid kicking me in the face, as is usually the case as a mom of two, I slept soundly through the night. 

Our alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., and soon after, someone knocked on the door, selling coffee and tea.

During the last 30 minutes of the trip, we all peeked out the window at the changing scenery. The world here was much greener than the one we'd left behind in the Vietnamese capital.

A van was waiting for us at the train station to take us on the next leg of our journey.  

Lao Cai train station, where we disembarked, is not actually in the town of Sapa. It's located at the foot of the mountains and is used as a gateway by many tourists. It's less than 20 miles from Sapa, but the drive takes an hour.

Crammed into a van with 12 other travelers and a lot of suitcases and bumpy roads, this leg of the trip was far less comfortable than the comfy bed I had enjoyed all to myself. 

Sapa Town left much to be desired: Giant billboards, concrete buildings, and all of the friendly people trying to sell things put me off. Even Cat Cat Village, the closest trek to town, felt like a theme park marketed for tourism.

Fortunately, the surrounding mountains made it all worth the ride.

After spending our first night in a hotel, we headed to Ethos' base camp near the town center. Following a brief history lesson and an introduction to the woman who would lead us on our adventure, we were driven to the starting point.

Our 23-year-old guide My — pronounced "Me" — was a member of the Hmong tribe. She shared details about her own upbringing during the 45-minute ride.

We were dropped off at the starting point and didn't see the car — or any other travelers — until after we finished the two-day trek.

It was while wading through rivers and ducking under trees that the kids were happiest. Our guide also provided knowledge and entertainment along the way. She picked wild fern that was later cooked up in our dinner, and crafted a toy horse from another plant we passed along the way.

With low humidity and a temperature that stayed at around 65 degrees Fahrenheit throughout, it didn't feel too hot during the day.

That day's 14 miles of walking tired all of us out, but we found places to rest along the way where we could look out at the rice fields. The rice had been harvested a few weeks earlier, so the fields were now many shades of green. 

We stopped at one woman's home for lunch before continuing our trek to the house where we spent the night. There, the kids played cards with the host's children while we relaxed in tattered hammocks out front. Despite having no language in common, they all quickly became friends.

We had dinner that night around a short wooden table, with all of us seated on small plastic chairs. The kids had endless questions. Why were there no windows? Why were they cooking on a big fire indoors? Why did the family have so many "pets?"

The dishes served included slices of pork stir-fried with carrots, the wild fern that had been plucked earlier had been cooked up with garlic, boiled pumpkin in a bowl, and piles of fried spring rolls with a spicy dipping sauce. All of them had been cooked in the large wok, over the open fire in the room next door.

A few hours later, we climbed a steep staircase up to the loft. Thick blankets and pillows had been set up on the wooden floor for the four of us to rest. Two mosquito nets hung over the beds. We were all asleep within minutes.

Retelling the story of our journey the following day on a call to her grandma, my 8-year-old daughter was most excited about the pets: "Did you know that all of the pets in their house serve a purpose? The hens lay eggs for them to eat, the pigs provide meat to cook, the dogs keep them safe from danger, and the cat chases away mice?"

After four days of exploring the region, 28 miles of trekking, and a night spent on the creaky floor of our homestay, we were all happy to get back on the train for another good night's sleep. At that point, the ride back to Hanoi almost felt luxurious.