My Vietnam Trip
I didn't realize I had a dream about Vietnam until I actually went there. The moment I arrived in Hanoi, the air felt alive—buzzing with motorbike horns, street vendors calling out, and the scent of phở wafting from every corner. It was chaotic, vibrant, and instantly welcoming, like the country was pulling me into its rhythm.
My trip started in Hanoi’s Old Quarter, where narrow streets twist like a maze, each turn revealing something new: a woman balancing baskets of fruit on her shoulder, kids playing in alleyways, or tiny shops selling silk lanterns that glowed at night. I stayed in a cozy guesthouse with a balcony overlooking the chaos. Mornings began with strong Vietnamese coffee—thick, sweet, and served with condensed milk. It was the perfect fuel for days spent wandering. I visited Hoan Kiem Lake, where locals practiced tai chi at dawn, and the Temple of Literature, a serene spot that felt like stepping back centuries. Hanoi taught me to embrace the hustle; there’s a strange calm in its constant motion.
Slow drip, creamy cascade, rich aroma, bold fusion, cultural ritual.
From Hanoi, I took an overnight train to Sapa, a mountain town in the north. The train ride was an adventure—rocking gently through the dark, with rice fields barely visible out the window. Sapa was a different world: cool, misty air, terraced hills, and villages where H’mong and Dao people welcomed me with warm smiles. I trekked through muddy trails to Cat Cat Village, guided by a local woman named Mai who shared stories of her life. The views were unreal—green valleys stretching forever, dotted with water buffalo. I bought a handwoven scarf from a market, feeling a little guilty haggling but charmed by the vendor’s laughter. Sapa felt like a place where time slows down, where nature and culture weave together effortlessly.
Shopping in Vietnam
Next, I headed south to Hoi An, a coastal town that’s like a postcard come to life. Its ancient streets are lined with yellow-walled buildings, draped in bougainvillea and lit by thousands of colorful lanterns at night. I rented a bicycle and pedaled through rice paddies, passing farmers in conical hats. Hoi An’s food stole my heart—cao lầu noodles with crispy pork and banh mi so fresh I still dream about it.
I took a cooking class, learning to make spring rolls, though mine were a bit wobbly compared to the chef’s. At night, I floated a paper lantern on the Thu Bon River, making a wish as it drifted away. Hoi An felt magical, like a place where stories are born.
Ho Chi Minh
My final stop was Ho Chi Minh City, a whirlwind of energy. The markets—like Ben Thanh—were a sensory overload: piles of spices, knockoff sunglasses, and vendors offering steaming bowls of bun bo hue. I visited the War Remnants Museum, which hit hard with its raw look at Vietnam’s past. It was heavy but important, a reminder of resilience. I ended my trip sipping coconut water on a rooftop, watching the city’s lights flicker against the Saigon River.
