Ninh Binh is an area, not just a city

Most visitors aren’t coming for Ninh Binh city itself. They stay around Tam Coc or Trang An, where the scenery and attractions are. Tam Coc gives you a small town with restaurants and massage places; Trang An can mean a more isolated homestay but a better proximity to the main draws. Choose according to how much independence you want in the evening.

I was there in January. The weather was decent on my visit, but many places were half-empty and the atmosphere was subdued. A summer resort in winter, a little. That’s not necessarily a negative.

Boats and pagodas first

The Trang An sampans take you through the limestone landscape, into caves and past temples. Different routes have different balances of caves, stops and time on the water. Look at that choice before booking a ticket.

Bai Dinh was my other priority: a large complex of impressive temples and halls. If you only have a day, these two would be my starting point. With another day, add a viewpoint and some wandering around Tam Coc.

Two ways to get around

A bicycle works well for exploring near your stay. Ask in advance whether one is available. I left the scooter riding to people more willing to experience local traffic.

For farther stops, I booked the first car ride through Grab, then arranged the remaining trips with the driver. Agree the route, waiting time and total price before setting out. A good driver arrangement saves you repeatedly trying to find your next ride, which will be challenging out in the country.

Ninh Binh country is worth a couple of days. I wouldn’t force it into a short Vietnam itinerary at the expense of more prominent draws, but it makes a pleasant change from the cities.

These photographs and tips are a small selection from my more comprehensive Ninh Binh guide. I’m developing guides from my visits, with fuller recommendations on where to stay, eat and drink, what’s worth your time, what to avoid, and how to put a visit together. Keep an eye out for those - I’ll let you know when they come out.

I’ll share photographs and a few useful notes from another stop each Sunday morning.

Pick your caves

Phong Nha is cave country. The town is largely one main street of restaurants, massage places and tour offices, with the caves providing the reason to visit.

Phong Nha Cave is accessible though a classic boat experience; Paradise Cave is the more imposing walk through a huge interior. I visited in cool January weather, so I skipped Dark Cave’s more summery water-based entertainment. You don’t have to check into every cave on the map.

The useful logistics

At the Phong Nha boat station, the boat is charged as a whole, rather than per passenger. Finding other visitors at the counter to share the ride with is essential. Don’t pay for a boat by yourself.

For caves farther from town, arrange the return journey before your Grab driver leaves. Finding a ride in town and finding one outside a remote cave are not the same problems. Take a layer for the cooler cave interiors.

Add a hike, or stop at two days

I also did a full-day Tu Lan Experience with Oxalis. Phong Nha is their HQ, their home base. For me, it was more about the hike and the surrounding landscape than the particular caves. Choose the trip by what you want to do, rather than by how many cave names it promises.

I’d give Phong Nha two days if caves and hiking appeal. If you’re deciding between here and Ninh Binh and want more variety, I’d choose Ninh Binh.

These photographs and tips are a small selection from my more comprehensive Phong Nha guide. I’m developing guides from my visits, with fuller recommendations on where to stay, eat and drink, what’s worth your time, what to avoid, and how to put a visit together. Keep an eye out for those - I’ll let you know when they come out.

I’ll share photographs and a few useful notes from another stop each Sunday morning.

The scenery is the main attraction

Ha Long Bay and the neighboring bays have different names and are included in varying routes, but the main attraction is much the same: steep karst islands rising out of the water. Floating through them is beautiful. The onboard entertainment is optional and only worthwhile if it’s your cup of tea.

I did the usual overnight trip from Hanoi. That felt like enough time to experience the boat and the landscape without overstaying.

A little group enthusiasm goes a long way

Kayaking, a beach or cave stop, morning tai chi, spring-roll making, squid fishing. The program on my boat had something happening seemingly every hour. It felt a bit like band camp, or a company teambuilding with better scenery.

Getting off the boat gives you some variety, the onboard jacuzzi is worth a dip, but the cooking class was less compelling. Pick the group activities you want to do; sitting on your balcony with a cold glass of wine is also an activity.

Choose the boat, not just the itinerary

Most tours I looked at followed a similar route. The cabin and facilities made more of a difference than the list of included activities. Look carefully at photographs of the actual boat and room you’re booking.

I used La Casta and can recommend them. Compare booking with the boat operator directly against agency offers that include the Hanoi transfers - the boat is the main event. Drinks onboard were expensive, so bring your own bevvie and enjoy it on your balcony.

January gave me some gloomy weather as well as sunshine, but it was still worthwhile. Note that many boats share the same stops, so go in expecting that, and the scenery can do its job.

These photographs and tips are a small selection from my more comprehensive Ha Long Bay guide. I’m developing guides from my visits, with fuller recommendations on where to stay, eat and drink, what’s worth your time, what to avoid, and how to put a visit together. Keep an eye out for those - I’ll let you know when they come out.

I’ll share photographs and a few useful notes from another stop each Sunday morning.

The Old Quarter is the heart of Hanoi. It makes you walk in the road because the sidewalks are full of parked scooters. You then get to negotiate with the moving ones in a very specific and learned way. Add tiny food joints, spas, shops selling everything, and roughly as many tourists as locals. Welcome to Hanoi.

To me, Hanoi is to Saigon what Beijing is to Shanghai, a bit. More formal and traditional, the center of political power and historic authority, with more of the country’s heritage on display. Saigon is more modern and cosmopolitan. Hanoi is very much the old North.

Walk beyond the Old Quarter

Stay only in the Old Quarter and you’ll form a very specific, and incorrect, idea of how the whole city works. It’s a mix of a Moroccan medina and Japanese-style ultra-claustrophobic urbanism, with tasty sit-downs on street corners for an unpretentious bowl of bún chả (one of the top local specialties, alongside pho).

Walk into the French Quarter and the picture changes completely: wide streets, fancy boutiques, smartly dressed people, the Opera House and embassies replacing the microeateries and dollar stores. See both. And give yourself a lake walk between the street explorations.

Start with a food tour

This is the first thing I’d book. They are usually led by students who are eager to speak English and share insights. Mine was led by Daniel, a young guide with excellent English and good local knowledge. We visited modest (but Michelin-recognized) places serving the sort of food you come to Hanoi for.

I wouldn’t spend a ton of time comparing food-tour descriptions. Most cover a good selection of modest, delicious places. Take one, try everything they offer, ask questions, then go back for whatever you liked.

And yes, Train Street

Café tables beside the tracks, everyone with a phone ready, then the train. Quite an effective way to interrupt a drink. Do it in the evening.

Two useful arrival tips

The left-most regular tourist immigration queue is beside the diplomatic checkpoints. When those are idle, as they usually are, they take people from that queue. It’s worth checking how the desks operate, rather than automatically joining the shortest line. It worked on my visit; it’s not a promise about yours.

If you can manage without mobile data until you reach town, I’d compare packages at an official Viettel shop rather than automatically buying the airport offer. Bring your passport as they need to register you. Download an offline map of central Hanoi before travelling so you can at least consult it without data, but note Google Maps doesn’t provide walking directions offline, you can only see your location and your goal.

Leave room for a drink

There are some great small cocktail bars here, too. You can eat at a stall and follow it with a very well-made drink. You’re likely to pay more for a cocktail than you will for your whole meal.

These photographs and tips are a small selection from my more comprehensive Hanoi guide. I’m developing guides from my visits, with fuller recommendations on where to stay, eat and drink, what’s worth your time, what to avoid, and how to put a visit together. Keep and eye out for those - I’ll let you know when they come out.

In the future weeks, I’ll share photographs and a few useful notes from another stop each Sunday morning.

Had a full day in the Rhodopes today*.

First, I nearly died*.

Then, I connected with the Mountain like never before.

Let’s get into it in that same chronological sequence.

I hiked the Devil’s Path near Borino – one of the most notable Bulgarian trails, famous (some might say infamous?) for its extreme views, alternations of ascent and descent (mostly on ladders), and the ever-present sense that one can slip and fly to his or her doom in the roaring waters below the gorge, easy as pie. The Path itself is safe enough – I hear it’s been recently reinforced, and even though there are patchy spots safety-wise, if you go slow and are careful, you’re good. You reach the end of that river gorge path about an hour and a half after setting off from the parking lot, and then you continue onto the so-called Small/Big Loop (the two diverge later on). The loop trail starts with a steep ascent (400 m altitude) where it gets dodgy quickly. A ladder is missing steps, its rails that seem nailed aren’t, and paths get narrower and steeper – with the promise of a doom flight sparkling significantly with higher probability with each step up. After a few concerning episodes, you reach a gorgeous shelter at the top, take a breather faced with the most beautiful views you can imagine, and then continue towards the descent back town, in a loop. What goes up must come down, they say, and in this case, this is you giving up all that hard-earned ascent meters for free as you descend sprightly, trying to preserve your knees more than anything else. You are finally back down at river level, and the only thing separating you from rejoining your incoming path and completing the loop is a small bridge.

Except that the bridge isn’t there.

After a few moments of staring at the rushing white waters in utter confusion (“how can something that is on a map not be there??”) you call the local dude that approached you at the origin parking lot and kindly try to relay some unintelligible instructions, which apparently included the minor point that your planned route is unpassable. The dude tells you that this bridge has been missing for three years now and to go back up and “try to follow the river from above west until the path below crosses the river to your side, and you can go down onto it.”

The only problem with that is that you’re standing on a 60-70-degree vertical slope, with the forest mixing frequently with rock formations. I proceed to move sideways, in parallel to the river, with no path, circumventing trees, rocks, and ravines. My speed is 3 meters per minute – each step is now researched, planned, and executed with care. I reach a point where the only way forward is descending a rock, full mountain climber mode. I decide that priority one is holding onto something solid with all four of my limbs – that way if one limb gives way (soft soil below the feet or dead wood in hand), the other three will save me. Honestly, if I can enlist my fifth limb (sorry, children!) in this slope-sticking exercise, I’d gladly do it! However, I’m also holding hiking sticks, which already partly compromise this formula, as they mostly occupy one limb already (a fleeting thought of the “let’s leave them here and save our ass!” variety is swiftly killed by overwhelming frugality).

I get to the Moment. Arm 1 holds a tree branch. Arm 2 is just leaning towards the slope, holding the hiking sticks. Legs 1 and 2 are barely rooted onto loose soil on top of vertical rock. The whole thing is happening on the steepest hill – I face a 5-meter drop below. I move, and the tree branch breaks off in my hand (turns out it’s rotten – those are your primary disaster facilitators in this type of situation).

All my body’s cells reach out to cling to the slope. I slide down a meter or so in panic and nearly go over the ledge, but my descent is stopped by an aggregation of scraping holds of limbs in unimaginable instinctive grabs. I breathe. I can’t believe it! I was THIS close!

But I’ve survived. After taking a minute, I continue down in the same precarious way, even more slowly and carefully, with the sense and lesson of having played my one free get-out-of-jail card. After an hour, I reach the bottom and rejoin the civilized path, scraped, scared, and drained.

Fast-forward to lunch – it’s at a bistro near Gyovren, on the way back to Devin. The bistro is on a hill and presents a beautiful view of the road underneath and a mountain across. There are no other customers, and the only staff member is a waitress who just might be the cook too. I order food and a beer (if I ever needed one!). The beer arrives first, as it should, and she disappears for a while.

I take a sip.

Suddenly everything quiets down. I’ve never heard such silence – not even in a bed at night. I hear a soft rumbling behind me, I turn towards my side’s mountain and see a wind rustling pine trees. I get a whiff of pine needles, warm in the sunny September mid-afternoon. Everything quiets down again. Dead quiet.

I’m alone with the Mountain, fully immersed. I’ve never sensed the Mountain this close.

We are one. I am Home.

I know what you’re thinking. I only had the Second Thing because the First Thing happened first.

Who cares.

*First, this didn’t happen today, but a few weeks ago; second, I estimate the chance of a serious injury to be solidly higher than death in that situation - but why ruin a good story with a weak, intellectualized opening!

· Q: Is the region’s (street) food as awesome as it’s touted to be? Expectations are sky high but I’m generally quite self-constrained with carbs - I’m curious if high doses of noodles will agree with me. Was Bourdain right to rate Vietnamese street food above all others? Or will I get the stomach bug randomly just to create the wrong impression that street food there is what people suspect it is supposed to be?

· A: Long story short: Yes, it is just as awesome as it’s touted to be. Long-simmering broths are the main magic factor, but the combination of noodles, protein and LOTS of herbs works very well too. While all three countries do noodle bowls, though, Interestingly, I found this to be true mostly of Vietnam. That is the place where street food infallibly is cheaper and TASTIER than restaurant food – and I never had any stomach issues with it in my thirty-five days in Nam! While I did run into two street food stomach-related incidents in my two weeks (each) in Cambodia and Laos. The Vietnam street food safety and supremacy is extremely counterintuitive to everything we’ve been taught, so it requires a very conscious struggle to overcome all the wrong preconceptions!

· Q: Is there any residual hostility towards Westerners, particularly American-looking-and-sounding ones like yours truly, in Vietnam? I mean, the war was just fifty-odd years ago – there are plenty of people still alive who’ve experienced first-hand the horrors of battles and bombing. How do you forget that and move on, ever…?

· A: On the surface, from numerous conversations – not at all. When I asked a taxi driver directly this question, he told me that Vietnamese people prefer to look forward and have all as a nation learned that only peace sustains and improves life and families. Was it a memorized or self-rationalized line, or a true insight into how the national psyche has overcome this trauma?

· Q: How will my pale skin and European disposition manage the transition from North to Central to South Vietnam, with some jumps in between, with temperatures shifting from 12 to 35 degrees Celsius and the corresponding amplitudes in sunshine and humidity?

· A: Amazingly, I suffered zero redness and burns. Was it my discipline in applying sunscreen (which I was VERY diligent about)? Or was it some weakness of the sun or a variety of landscapes, providing intermittent shade? I don’t know.

· Q: Are Cambodia and Laos and their people just softer, even friendlier versions of Vietnam’s, or are they very different, standout cultures? I’m expecting distinct vibes and sprinkles of Thai and Chinese influences.

· A: The Cambodians and the Lao are very different from the Vietnamese, alright, but in ways quite different than what I imagined before I set off on my journey. The Cambodians are much more open than the Vietnamese to Westerners, much more willing to engage, and emotionally responsive (talking back, smiling, arguing, etc). Very much like the Thai (the Cambodians may not like this comparison, as they are currently at war with the Thai, but it’s true). The Lao are the complete opposite – so shy and reserved that you could easily mistake this for unfriendliness. You will not elicit emotion, responsiveness or engagement from most of them, but you will learn that this is just how their culture is, and that it by no means signifies ill will and a negative predisposition.

· Q: Will I occasionally be subjected to a barrage of aggressive selling or (relatively) innocent scamming, like I’ve experienced in the Marrakesh Medina or on the Zanzibar beaches? I really hope not, it’s possibly my least favorite thing in the travel universe.

· A: When it comes to aggressive selling - not really. There are enough people trying to sell you stuff - mainly ladies selling you massages and dudes selling you ricksha rides or shoeshines (by the way, I’m wearing sneakers – how the hell do you shine sneakers!? Is that a thing?). In Vietnam, just one firm, polite “no” completely stops the process. In Cambodia you will often need two ‘no’s, and in Laos you will never need to fend off any aggressive selling – it just does not happen, even in the most obvious places like street markets.

When it comes to scamming – I just decided that I’m not going to buy anything that someone on the street approaches me with. It’s a simple, but sure-fire way to avoid scamming.

· Q: Will I be able to occasionally peel a layer of the onion, to discover more about what locals value, what they’re really like beyond the tourist-facing façade, and what their real feelings towards the likes of me are? In Japan I scratched this surface once in a few karaoke bars in Kinosaki Onsen but didn’t get to the important layers. I’m curious – and willing – to give it a try.

· A: With the Vietnamese it’s difficult, as the culture is quite closed. Similarly to the Japanese, your best bet it to meet someone Vietnamese relaxing, partying, having a few drinks and willing to open up. With the Cambodians it’s much easier – you just have to get into the right conversation. With the Lao, I feel it’s nearly impossible.

· Q: Will I even want to do that in reality, though, as the fatigue of travel and the comforts of solitude and self-sufficiency set in over time?

· A: Yes, I never stopped wanting to delve deeper into what makes locals tick and makes them happy, excited or angry. It’s a very normal tourist curiosity.

· Q: Can I go through the entire trip avoiding in my writing and social posting the use of travel influencer cliches? If you see me posting stuff like “I’m super excited for the next chapter of my journey…” please send me a cease-and-desist bitch-slap emoji of some sort.

· A: You tell me?

9. Japanese - we know how they are. Quiet, discrete, disciplined. The perfect traveler.

8. Germans - also quite cool. In typical fashion, very direct and straightforward, so not the best to joke around with but great for exchanging information and honest opinions.

7. English - this is the bunch to have fun with. Some keep to themselves, but most are of the young, partying variety and lean heavily on the ‘beer drinking and socializing’ aspect of travel without causing any problems (nothing in common with the football fan crowd). ALL times I had a couple of beers too many, it was in the company of English.

6. Aussies - as I’ve mentioned, they all look like they just stepped off a beach and typically sport hilarious-looking mullets and ‘staches but still are generally solid and dependable for good company.

5. Americans - this ranking spot is the average between super cool, smart, indie travelers (the best people you can meet when traveling are this sort of Americans!) and super pretentious New England or California Freddie Mileses (the role Philip Seymour Hoffman played in The Talented Mr. Ripley) - saying things like “all my favorite drinks are brown” and casually tossing the word “quaint” when comparing locations.

4. Russians - this one may surprise you as higher than expected but they follow their own rhythm and are busy enough trying to interact with locals without speaking a lick of English. You would rarely see them make big noise or act out inappropriately - in more cases they’d just be seeking out the closest restaurant with cheap booze to quietly immerse themselves in alcohol.

3. French - maybe because visitors from France lean heavily on the mature side (insert ‘came to inspect if the colonies are as they remember them’ joke), they act completely clueless in traffic. Walking in the middle of busy roads, blocking passageways with their photography - all boomer behavior is on full display with the French in SE Asia. Another thing that made a negative impression was that they are the only people who don’t say ‘hi’ in the mountains on hikes (that includes mostly young French, so it’s not a boomer issue). And yes, they still don’t speak any meaningful English.

2. Chinese / Koreans - typically moving in large, boomer-only groups. Their signature style is a complete lack of discretion, boundaries and sophistication. Loud speak at temples. Occupying all angles for photo taking - frequently just barging into your shot. Watching phone video with full sound on, in quiet vehicles and rooms. Props and viewpoints monopolization. Ignoring queues. Setting up picnics in the middle of hotel parking lots. Playing loud music from own devices while there’s “official” music. I could go on and on.

1. And with that, we reach our “winners”. The one redeeming factor for the Chinese / Koreans is that whenever they are forced to interact with another tourist, eg. a Westerner maddened by their obnoxious tactics, they swiftly back off. Their behavior is clearly not intending to offend, it’s just how they are used to doing things, I guess. Enter the Indians - take everything described above about the Chinese / Koreans’ tourist type and behaviors and add a healthy dose of confrontationalism. When engaged about cutting queues (a default behavior, not an exception), they will counterattack and escalate, not back off. A true nightmare to deal with, if you mix paths. One more thing that makes a bad impression is that their groups are often divided into males and females - with the ladies clearly playing a supporting role only. My favorite anecdote involving Indian tourists was on my Ha Long Bay Cruise. An Indian group of what looked like several friendly couples boarded the ship. Five-six 40-50-years-old guys with matching Hawaiian shirts, a dress code for them only. A different number (for some reason) of women, same age, in beautiful saris. The guys quickly disengaged from whatever all other ship passengers were doing. Did not participate in any activities. Sat in the back of the room and talked and laughed loudly while everyone else was listening to instructions from the crew. Interacted with their women for a total of one minute, just to hand off some stuff to be brought back into rooms. Boarded at noon and until 4 pm had five large G&Ts each, then proceeded to pass out on the loungers on the upper deck and skipped dinner.

If you want to eat a bowl of tender noodles and protein in a broth as rich and flavorful as the plasma that created Life Itself for THREE dollars, instead of paying 35 euros for a plate of grated mystery cheese and dry pasta bought from Esselunga on an important and statusful Positano terrace.

If you want to be greeted by scores of kids smiling, high-fiving you, and shouting shyly but insistently “HELLO!” to you as you roam the nation, instead of being judgmentally stared at by bitter boomers in sparsely populated ghost villages in the European countryside (think Samuel L. Jackson’s character in Django Unchained).

If you want to get immersed in the mission-driven optimism of a huge, vibrant nation on the economical up and up, with the energy, power, and social immersion only young people can bring (half of Vietnam’s population is under 30) - letting go and floating in the river of scooters, honks, bustling kitchens, partying teens, and enthralled tourists.

If you want to be greeted on buses with a free water and a bag to take your shoes off in, instead of with a silent curse from an employee fed up with having to work for a living.

If you want to get massaged for 10-15 dollars (four hands, hot stone, Lao, Khmer, you name it!) and sleep in a five-star hotel with a rooftop infinity pool for 60 dollars, instead of paying 150 euros to sleep in someone’s attic in Copenhagen.

If you want to be greeted with a smile and served immediately in restaurants, with staff catching your signal whenever you raise your eyes, instead of paying 50 euro to buy frowns, rudeness, and mediocre chow in Paris.

If you want to spend January and February in 25-30 degree weather and get a tan, instead of jumping freezing rain puddles on broken pavement back home.

If you want to find mountains, bays, sandy beaches, sprawling megacities, and jungle canals all within a few hours’ drive.

If you want to go up in hot air balloons or paramotors; go tubing, diving, and snorkeling; drive buggies and ATVs; or just chill in hammocks, on boat decks, and on park-like promenades.

If you want to mingle with humble people whose tragic experience has taught them to treasure the lack of conflict and be super friendly, accepting, and open, instead of with people who down a couple of pints and go looking for trouble in Benidorm or force upon you their never-ending theories on Why Everything is Fucked (but it’s not their fault).

Go now. Don’t wait. Chances are it will get less authentic or more expensive or more crowded or all of the above before long.

P.s. I leave you with this episode of Tony’s show, which I feel captures very well the essence of Vietnam (never mind the famous cameo, but I do appreciate the guest’s appreciation of the simple pleasures of the region). Tony’s obsession with and affinity for Vietnam was one of the reasons I chose to visit. I urge you to watch it and get inspired if my words above haven’t been enough.

This is a two-part post about my impressions of Vietnam so far. Let’s end with….

The good:

• The food is delicious, simple, and cheap. Curiously, more often than not - the cheaper - the tastier - my best meals so far were in the EUR 1-3 range at street food stalls with plastic chairs or at local bistros with crowded tables, while often when I sat down in “proper” restaurants with English translations and visuals of the food, I not only paid quite a bit more (typically in the EUR 10-20 range) but had sub-par or average taste experiences. Is the Vietnamese street food and all the noodle dishes becoming a bit overhyped, though? Perhaps. It’s not orgasm in a bowl, it’s just something well-flavored and tasty to satisfy your hunger. It has its place in your diet, much like a salad or a steak have their place too, for other occasions and reasons.

• Now this is going to sound weird, but I appreciate the sort of cleanliness that exists in Vietnam. Don’t get me wrong, there are heaps of trash in too many places and lots of practices of dubious hygienic quality, but I didn’t come across any spots of rotting trash, smells, inappropriate treatment of street food, or any of that. People also seemed to take care of their own hygiene enough. The “shoes off” policy similar to Japan’s, when entering a home or a temple, helps. I was amazed to learn that Hanoi City started requiring separated trash collection from businesses, eg. restaurants, as of 2026.

• The Vietnamese. Generally very cool and modest people. They remind me more of the Japanese, than of the Chinese - humble, respectful, wise, down-to-earth, quite reserved, and seemingly lacking confidence to socialize with Westerners, but still friendly, polite, and helpful. They are what the Portuguese are to the Spaniards (in this case - the Spaniards being the Chinese). The kids are particularly wonderful - they often shout “Hello!” to Westerners or even high-five them.

• What convinced me the most that the Vietnamese were cool people was how they respond to conflict. On the few occasions where I witnessed - or was involved in - negativity (deservedly) directed at locals - always due to bad service on their end - I saw them disengage and retreat like turtles in their shells, seemingly overcome with stoic shame and self-deprecation. What an amazing reaction to fucking up! I’d argue it’s better than apologizing or compensating because it shows genuine modesty and self-disappointment with messing up. Because of this, I felt bad about my one semi-negative reaction to a local the whole day after and have resigned to consciously avoid reacting negatively afterwards even when circumstances warranted it.

• Hydration. Drinking water is plenty available - bottles of water are stocked and restocked at hotel rooms, lots of drinking fountains can be stumbled upon in city and hiking areas, and cheap and accessible water bottles are found for purchase everywhere. Gotta respect people who look after hydration.

• Toilets. Public toilets are clean and plentiful - and nearly always free. Irrespective if toilets are public or private, they nearly always feature a hose that you can use both to spray your ass to clean it after number two, and to spray the toilet bowl if after said number two you’ve left a mess that cannot be flushed out (toilet brushes subsequently don’t exist). I do have a gripe with the toilet paper, though, it’s quite ephemeral for me - feels like it is produced to dissolve in water (kudos actually if that’s the case!)

This is a two-part post about my impressions of Vietnam so far. Let’s start with….

The bad:

• The Vietnamese’s taste in Western music - this was revealed as early as in my first taxi from the airport to my Hanoi downtown hotel when I was subjected to a thematic disco medley of 80’s and 90s covers (not even the originals, mind you!) Including, offensively, Coco Jambo - I mean, who in their right mind would even consider this a disco banger!? At best, it’s post-disco nuisance!

• While we’re on the topic of music - Vietnamese music sucks also. It’s as if Karlovy Vary estrada got frozen in 1982 and then fell and hit its head hard. That doesn’t prevent people from blasting karaoke sessions for hours, spraying angelic tunes throughout the whole neighborhood. It was my honor and my privilege to find myself next to the house with the Loudest Speaker System in the Mekong Delta™ in Ben Tre and to have my thoughts replaced by the mooing of care- and boundary-free locals for seemingly-endless weekend afternoons. The highlight of these stress-relief sessions are weddings, where you can bear witness to 15 daily hours of mind-numbing, skull-fucking karaoke for three days straight, interrupted only by applaudable respect for the 10 pm to 7 am quiet hours. But rest assured, at 7.01 am, DJ Avietnamicii is back on the mic. I was told this is the way locals purge all stress and negativity and offset hard work. It certainly works for them, and it certainly doesn’t work for me as an undesired participant.

• Too many white people. When I go somewhere exotic, I like to at least have the illusion that I’m the only gringo who’s been divinely enlightened to discover said paradise. Presumably - and visually - most of the white people are Aussies. You’ll easily recognize them, as they all look like they just stepped off a beach, and those under 30 sport either a ridiculous mullet, a ridiculous moustache, or both. Imagine Rudi Völler if someone blowtorched the hair around his ears. Some French too - you can also tell them apart, though I can’t articulate how, exactly, except that they seem completely oblivious to traffic and lean on the elderly side. Having said all that, white tourists in Vietnam are tolerable, easy to circumvent and, with the exception of the occasional over-excited bunch of American youngsters, entering the world of their Instagram for real, more a part of the background than main actors.

• White people may be too numerous for my liking, but they’re nowhere as numerous, nor as terrible (tourist-behavior-wise) as the Chinese tourists! OK, I will admit it’s not always possible for me to single them out - the way to do it is to monitor for large groups of obvious tourists, interacting in sort-of-English with locals. They are inevitably and consistently too loud, too obsessive with all available vistas, props, photography tools, attractions and spots and generally obnoxious. They will completely ignore you, nor will they interact with you - they will just step into your shot, crowd you out at ticket lines and entry points, and do their best to ruin any fleeting notions of romanticism, connection with nature, relaxation or self-detachment that visit you by popping your bubble just to peer inside to see what’s happening, without even looking at you, and moving on. At some point I just decided that everyone Asian who looked like they might be a tourist and acted like a peasant was Chinese.

• The beef, wine and craft beer. Vietnamese beef is sort of like Bulgarian beef - generally tough, not too tasty, only suitable for long-time-simmering stews and such. So to get a decent steak in Vietnam you’d have to pick out an Aussie or Japanese cut which will set you back a LOT of money, by local standards (comparing to what you’d pay for another local meal). The wine is strangely expensive and a bad value - local ones seem centered around Da Lat but it was telling that in several bars in Da Lat I couldn’t find any local wine on offer - when I tried it, I understood why (avoid!). So you’re stuck with European or Aus/NZ choices which seem extremely pricey (EUR 6-10 per glass) vs the price of local beer or cocktails (furthermore, beer and cocktails are subject to typical 5-7 pm 1+1 free happy hours while wine is not!). Speaking of beer, local brands are cheap (I had a beer for as low as EUR 0.25, but typically you pay EUR 1.50) but are unexciting lagers, and the craft beer options (I sought out tasting flights in self-proclaimed craft brewery joints in all towns I visited) were nothing to shout from the rooftops about. So if you’re thirsting for booze in Nam, just resign yourself to a diet of boring, plain lagers.

• “No English”. It’s bad enough that only touristy restaurants (the ones you don’t want!) have English translations of their menu items, leaving you to show stall proprietors photos from Google Maps of what you want to eat. But what was worse for me was that I couldn’t find anyone able to carry a seamless-enough conversation - to chat about Vietnamese norms, history, values, views and to really learn. Besides a street food tour guide in Hanoi and a journalist in Ben Tre, with whom I sort of managed to have some sort of strained chats. That’s part of the reason I booked myself on another street food tour in Ho Chi Minh City in a few days.

• Essential daily operations;

• (Hopefully) temporary extraordinary demands (which inevitably come frequently, large and small - I wish you more of the ‘small’ variety!); and

• Self-care and mental rejuvenation - let’s call that ‘system maintenance’.

Those three functions are very different and should be approached distinctly, I feel.

First we have our essential daily operations. Our Resting Metabolic Rate, if we’re to look for a nutrition/fitness analogy. Doing what needs doing - work, kids, fitness, chores, education, etc. Obviously the more we can minimize the energy feeding into this, the more headspace RAM we can allocate to the other two functions, so shortcuts to alleviate bandwidth are not only useful but necessary. Transforming chores into automated routines is one - eg. making working out a mindless everyday activity that’s not a strain on the mind but a time-slotted opportunity to think about other things. Using technology to cut corners is another. Doing work faster with AI research and agents. Crunching time planning, online admin and financial tracking with apps and systems. And a third way I think is to reframe certain chores as recharging, mindfulness opportunities. Eg. embracing newsletter reading as the self-improvement tool that it is, or viewing workouts as an essential physical recharge mechanism to reinvigorate mind and body.

Then you have the second category - temporary extraordinary demands. Illnesses, accidents, and crises of any other variety. These are largely unpredictable and unplannable for, by definition, but this doesn’t mean that it’s OK for us to be overwhelmed and consumed by them. Efficiency in managing them becomes crucial - fast and bold decision making, proactiveness, staying ahead of the wave that’s crashing down on us. Recognizing when situations objectively require action vs when we overinvest ourselves, for whatever reason, becomes a survival skill. This category will often encroach on the other two and that might be alright - as long as it’s truly necessary, inevitable and temporary. But it’s very important to recognize that the other two categories require a certain, albeit more minimal, flow of energy as well, constantly, lest the whole system becomes blocked and shuts down. It’s a necessity for the system, it’s not a matter of desire or choice, and we need to recognize keeping the system running is what will give these Category Two processes the most performance and attention.

Finally, we end up with the third category - self care and mental rejuvenation. This is the commonly underestimated, unappreciated and largely ignored one. The reality is, however, that you won’t be in a position to help anyone else or to do your necessary chores if you don’t recharge in your own way. It doesn’t matter how you do it - we all have our own ways - working out, escaping into nature, alone time or socializing fun time, laughter, arts, passive entertainment at home, petting cats or reading to your kid - whatever works. I liken this to system maintenance because much like a computer much get a regular electrical charge to keep running, so will you. If you don’t, you’ll just either crash suddenly or devolve gradually into a diminished shadow of yourself. We’ve all seen those instructions on planes: put your life vest first before you assist your children or others. Consider that this instruction has been developed universally, internationally, for a top-tier crisis situation (an airplane problem). Top experts who know what they’re talking about have decided it’s always best for this type of problem to be handled that way.

Trust this to apply to your life in general, too.

If you manage to minimize the first two categories, you can move from ‘system maintenance’ mode to ‘system upgrade’ mode - improving rather than just recharging your system. With smart planning, active system structuring, and good fortune when it comes to category 2, this should be relatively easy.

I think I foresee objections. “When category 2 events come, you gotta do what’s necessary”. Or “when my kid’s sick I’ll do what needs doing”. I’m not arguing that you shouldn’t tackle category 2 events with full might and enthusiasm. I’m saying that if your home’s heating goes out at Minus 15 in January because you’ve forgotten to pay your electricity bill or if you have a nervous breakdown and crash out, you won’t be able to help your ill kid, you’ll need to spend your time and energy to fix other things. It’s not callousness to compartamentalize a bit of bandwidth for yourself in moments when others need your 100%. It’s preservation of your maximized ability to help them at your best.

Let me know if you see it differently, in the comments. (There ARE comments in this platform, right? I don’t know, I’m new to it).

When you go to Vietnam, the first adjustment you’ll need to make is to the traffic. A lot of people freak out about crossing the street here with all the scooters zooming past. As I discovered as early as the first day, through my acute powers of observation, dramatically enhanced by a somewhat understandable desire for survival, managing this is no big deal if you strictly follow a few rules:

1. Before and during crossing, look BOTH ways, regardless if you are on a one-way street or crossing on a green light. Scooters may come at you from every direction, at any time. In fact, develop the skill to look in all directions at once - it’s surprisingly easy.

2. Once you start crossing, walk forward slowly and consistently, without changing pace, stopping, or heading back.

3. Look at the incoming cars and scooters to acknowledge you’ve seen them and to give yourself the illusion of protective bubbling. Leave it to them to adjust and pass you on your left or on your right - you don’t manage this for them, they will do it.

4. DO NOT go back or run forward suddenly - sharp illogical movement is the only way you can get in trouble

5. If you see white people (or, God forbid, blonde white women specifically, sorry ladies!) coming your way on scooters, abandon all trust in the above rules immediately, panic, and save yourself in any improvised way!

You will master this quickly, hopefully with limited stress and inevitable “exceptions.”

Now, when it comes to riding scooters, I’m not brave enough to do it myself. I like to have an occasional beer now and then during daytime trekking, but that’s not the reason - I just don’t want the hassle of dealing with the system.

However, I’ve made it a point to ride on many scooters early and often - the Vietnamese Uber called Grab offers you the choice of car or scooter on routes, and I opt for scooter for anything under 15 minutes. I do this to study the logic - and grace, I’m serious! - of Vietnamese traffic.

As I’ve done this over a week, I’ve come to a deep appreciation of the way traffic works here. Everyone uses all available parts of the road to find their path with elegance, and it works as if a master of Tetris is arranging it in real time. There is no slamming of brakes, and there’s zero road rage and shouting - everyone cuts each other off and zooms aggressively into spaces that should be left alone constantly, so it’s nothing extraordinary or offensive. There’s honking, yes, but it’s more of the “hey dude, be mindful, I’m close to you” variety than the Western “hey asshole, don’t do what you’re doing!!!” one. Paradoxically, when there are no rules to adhere to - and consequently to break - besides the unwritten general rule of “don’t hit anybody”, drivers and bikers go with the flow, dynamically adjusting to the constant surprises and newcomers in their lanes with the ease of experienced kung fu masters, and it all works seamlessly. When did we get it so wrong with Western driving? I feel like there’s this constant war between an obsession with safety and a total disregard for it on Western roads that makes your hair go grey much faster than the experience of a scooter in Vietnam changing into your lane 10 cm in front of your ride ever can.

Come learn how to drive properly in the masterful chaos of Indochina.

Back in the 80’s, when I was 10-ish, a bunch of Vietnamese workmen came to my home city of Sofia, and it was marvelously exotic. Vietnam was a “brotherly” socialist republic back then, and they were contracted to help with construction, as I recall, but I never personally met or spoke to any of the visitors. A part of me regrets the missed opportunity - but hey, I was just a kid back then…

Little would I have expected then that

I and the Vietnamese would cross paths again forty-odd years later, on their home turf, arguably on the other (capitalist) side of the Iron Curtain (in form, if not function).

I’m starting a trip to Indochina, which I know very little about, and I have a ton of questions. Many of them would have been resolved by a quick Google search or an AI chat query.

But why not do things the old-fashioned way and find out firsthand, through touch, taste, and sight?

Here is what I don’t know:

• Is the region’s (street) food as awesome as it’s touted to be? Expectations are sky high, but I’m generally quite self-constrained with carbs - I’m curious if high doses of noodles will agree with me. Was Bourdain right to rate Vietnamese street food above all others? Or will I get the stomach bug randomly just to create the wrong impression that street food there is what people suspect it is supposed to be?

• Is there any residual hostility towards Westerners, particularly American-looking-and-sounding ones like yours truly, in Vietnam? I mean, the war was just fifty-odd years ago – there are plenty of people still alive who’ve experienced firsthand the horrors of battles and bombing. How do you forget that and move on, ever…?

• How will my pale skin and European disposition manage the transition from North to Central to South Vietnam, with some jumps in between, with temperatures shifting from 12 to 35 degrees Celsius and the corresponding amplitudes in sunshine and humidity?

• Are Cambodia and Laos and their people just softer, even friendlier versions of Vietnam’s, or are they very different, standout cultures? I’m expecting distinct vibes and sprinkles of Thai and Chinese influences.

• Will I occasionally be subjected to a barrage of aggressive selling or (relatively) innocent scamming, like I’ve experienced in the Marrakesh Medina or on the Zanzibar beaches? I really hope not, it’s possibly my least favorite thing in the travel universe.

• Will I be able to occasionally peel a layer of the onion, to discover more about what locals value, what they’re really like beyond the tourist-facing façade, and what their real feelings towards the likes of me are? In Japan I scratched this surface once in a few karaoke bars in Kinosaki Onsen but didn’t get to the important layers. I’m curious – and willing – to give it a try.

• Will I even want to do that in reality, though, as the fatigue of travel and the comforts of solitude and self-sufficiency set in over time?

• Can I go through the entire trip avoiding in my writing and social posting the use of travel influencer cliches? If you see me posting stuff like “I’m super excited for the next chapter of my journey…” please send me a cease-and-desist bitch-slap emoji of some sort.

Can’t wait to find out! START!

Typically when I go on trips, I’ve been storing up anticipation. Whether it’s BS at work that has accumulated and needs a release or the plain old need for something new and different, I’ve always felt like I hit the ground on trips with a running start, full of energy and desire for discovery. Like a spring that you slightly wind and then it recoils forward to compensate and defy all constraints.

This trip’s preparation started the same way. I turbo-researched it, as I do more and more - but I outdid myself on this one. Research quickly grew to thirty-nine Word pages of places, things to do, food to eat, tips, and tricks.

And then, life happened - family trouble came along and just swept all my headspace, time, and energy away. The spring was broken into a thousand pieces and there’s no coil, recoil, or any visible physical process to note. The situation has now, let’s just say, “settled”, but is far from ideal or resolved. This generates a bit of guilt as I now leave, but I manage to parry this with the very clear and assured knowledge that I’ve gone above and beyond what should have been expected of me. I learned a few years ago that you can only help others if you fully take care of yourself first, and now is the time for me to do that.

I’m leaving for my much-planned trip stressed, not sleeping well, not with a running start but from a position of a firm grip on the starting line.

I’m hoping desperately for quick healing and know what the recipe is: enough sleep, variety and discovery, good food, interesting surroundings, fun and unexpected connections, a drink here and there, but without overdoing it, moderate physical fatigue coupled with mental rejuvenation. Steps. Rooftop bars. Oysters. Swims. Dodgy street food that hits the spot. Small challenges that you overcome. Views. Massages. Feeling the pulse of a city. A speeding boat. Steak on a stone plate. Fancy speakeasy cocktails with that big chunks of ice. Funny strangers. Sunsets.

Fingers crossed.

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I’m a great admirer of Anthony Bourdain. I love his irreverent style, his appreciation of authentic experiences and quality food, without masquerade and embellishment. His determined exploration of the exotic and openness to push all chips in. His straight-up commentary and eloquence, the way he colored ordinary pub grub rounds with keen perception of the greater context. His avoidance of pretense, mass appeal, and the expensive-for-the-sake-of-being-expensive.

Like him, I worked in a kitchen for a couple of summers - and those summers made me appreciate how gritty and demanding the kitchen job is, even when you have no idea what you’re doing so expectations are low. To this wannabe (on my end) parallel I add my 25-ish years of alcohol industry experience and the knowledge and appreciation that comes with knowing what’s inside the glass and having amazing bartenders across the world make great drinks for me. Which my company usually paid for - expanding my available range of experiences significantly.

I like being in motion. I believe that this is the natural state of man and that being in physical motion puts your mind in motion too. Travelling is the best way to do it – you visit new places, and you go through a whole lot of extra motions to adapt to them. Some might say: what about your family and close friends, isn’t it uncomfortable being away from them for long stretches? Well, for better or worse, I’ve always been independent. I grew up largely occupied with my own imagination, not too social, and having to deal with sharp changes in my situation (with the indispensable help of valued others). I feel comfortable alone, and can self-organize, self-motivate and self-energize – in fact, all those things are easier for me coming internally than from others. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy great, honest conversations with friends, amazing fun nights with mates and the baring intimacy of surrendering my heart to the girl I love. But for me, such moments are special because they are rare. So, in the everyday I grind alone, as I’m used to, comforted to know that I can always come back to my community and reconnect.

Let me tell you what I like (and don’t like), so you know what types of experiences I seek out when writing about travel, and with what mindset I take in the world around me. As I referred to already, I love great food – delicious, home-made grub is my favorite, and I go for a bigger selection of small portions rather than one-two major meals. I love set menus, and I love trusting the chefs (provided I know they play in my ballpark). I love steak and have a particular fondness for stone plates on tables which let me cook it myself to my liking. I love Italian it all its varieties, but you really must be choosy where you get your pasta and pizza. The whole world serves Italian, and you are in danger of forming an outrageously incorrect opinion about an Italian dish based on available providers. The difference between the average local pizza and Neapolitan pizza is astounding (unless you’re in New York). Same goes for Pasta Carbonara and Bolognese and the like.

I also like a drink. More of a wine man lately, but I can always go for a good cocktail, a good whiskey or a great anejo tequila. And cognac, the king of spirits and the Nightcap to Cap All Nights! I’ve lost my taste for beer, unless on a few specific occasions (after strenuous activity on a hot day) – it fills me up and makes me feel like I’m not taking care of myself. Wine is my favorite, red or white depending on the food. Red wine to me smells like death – but in the nicest possible way, if you can believe that. Like red wine is our connection to the (im)mortality of nature.

Like Tony, I’d self-describe as a sensualist. I love the tender touch of a masseuse – it relaxes me like not much else. I love spa experiences and am forever enamored with the Japanese onsen culture, where bathing is a ritualistic tradition.

I go for outrageous experiences and have embraced the “gotta try everything once” mantra. Ayahuasca changed my life, I feel – it made me aware of who I am and what I really want and need. I nearly shit my pants skydiving in Zanzibar but simultaneously remember it as the most awesome 3 minutes of that year.

I’m not much for shopping and museums where other people express their emotions through art. For me that’s a personal thing that you do for yourself, and I never learned to appreciate seeing others’ artistic expression (that’s really ironic, considering that I’m asking you to read my writing!). I don’t like big groups of tourists, and I organize all my trips myself, I don’t use an agency. Being a consummate planner, the anticipation of preparation for me is as pleasurable as the main act, if not more so.

I love sports and am a certified diver – but problems with my nose-ear canals always create issues when I dive, so I’ve learned to be very apprehensive about even trying it, unfortunately. I love hiking and the serene motion through amazing vistas and forests unknown. If I could describe the day of my dreams, it would involve a strenuous hike through amazing landscape, a spa with a view and an amazing massage, great set food menu for dinner, paired with amazing wine. And other things, but they are not the subject of this book, so let’s not go there….

I love kind and friendly people who know how to listen. I also like fun and interesting ones. I’m not too fond of all other kinds.

I hope that you’ll find in my scribbles both full of useful tips on the areas I’m navigating, and interesting observations on the world around them.