The Beginning

About eight years ago, Casey Neistat posted a video about him and his son going to Vietnam. The video convinced me I needed to go, but I put it off for a while. A long time, in fact.

This year, though, after realizing I was feeling stir crazy, I announced to my friends, back in February, that I wanted to go to Vietnam in March. They all told me that it was insane, that I should give myself some more time to plan. I resisted at first, but ultimately was swayed by their arguments. I decided to push my itinerary back to November.

I was also in conversation with some friends who run Chloé Cà Phê in Sacramento. They said that, provided my timeline matched with their business trip in November, I could join them to their partner coffee farms located Vietnamese highlands. I was ecstatic. November became the month that I had lodged in my mind. I was definitely going.

That same February, however, I met someone at a small little film event that was hosted at Chloé. Her name is Minh Anh; she is from Vietnam.

We became fast friends. She told me that she was heading back to see her friends, family, and boyfriend in May and would stay in Saigon until the first week of August. I told her that I was going to go to Vietnam in November. She thought that was pretty cool.

One day, while we were grabbing some sort of drink or food (I can’t remember where or what), she suggested that maybe instead of me going in November, I should head out that summer. I could visit her and see what her life was like where she grew up. It was a tempting offer. I turned the offer down, pulled by the siren song of the coffee plantations in November.

Minh Anh thought that was rather silly and continued to encourage me to go that summer. I deflected, saying how much my obsession with coffee kept me anchored to my November decision. She didn’t let up.

Finally, I decided to issue an ultimatum to curb her persistence. “If you can find me a ticket for under $900, I’ll go,” I said, half joking, half serious. I was keenly aware that cheap, last-minute tickets were hard to find. I didn’t put too much thought into the flippant response.

“Okay,” Minh Anh replied.

It wasn’t but a week later that I was suddenly sent a flurry of links for a China Airlines flight from San Francisco to Ho Chi Minh City for a grand total of $924.

I remember feeling like I could get her on a technicality for going over by $24, but the spirit of the promise was that it needed to be cheap-ish. She had found tickets, so I purchased them. I still had plans to go in November, though, I’d simply go twice.

Later in May, I dropped Minh Anh off at SFO for her flight. I realized that within a few months, I’d be doing the same thing. Surreal.

Saigon

The actual trip started on Friday night, August 2nd. My flight was at 1:20am on Saturday. I had that destructive mixture of anxiety, excitement, exhaustion, and a bit more anxiety as my best friend drove me to the airport. After a rather tedious wait, since I got through check-in and security so fast, I boarded the plane, triple-checking that I still had my visa and passport.

I had been given advice by Jenny, the general manager at Chloé, to keep myself awake for the first half of the journey and then sleep the second half. That way, I could adjust to the local time in Saigon, she said.

What a brutal flight it turned out to be. I’ll not bore you with the sleeplessness and the general discomfort of the trip, but needless to say, I was very relieved to land.

Tired and (just a bit) pissy, I deplaned to be met with the shouts of SIM card salespeople. I knew that these weren’t the best deals, but they were quick and got me a data connection fast. I knew to ask for Viettel, the best provider in the country, but ended up with Vietamobile. This provider is, arguably, maybe even empirically, the worst. It cost me $20, but I didn’t have the energy to go back and complain. It worked for the trip. That is all that matters.

I had to stand in line at immigration for about an hour and got through without too much hassle. I collected my bags and stepped outside.

I knew that the humidity was going to be intense, but nothing really could have prepared me for the physicality of the air settling on me. Within seconds, I was sweating.

Tired, cranky, and now sweating profusely, I was met by the aggressive taxi drivers. They took my phone, talked fast, all trying to to convince me that they were the cheapest option to get to my hostel. I was even corralled into a vehicle before I finally told myself to get out and walk away quickly.

I called Minh Anh, overwhelmed, but then finally calmed down while on the call. With a clear head, I called a Grab (the Uber of Vietnam) driver who took me to my lodging. I realized the taxi drivers were trying to get me to spend triple the amount the gentleman who drove me to the hostel actually charged me.

Arriving at the hostel, I opted for an early check-in; I did not care at all about the extra cost. It was literally immaterial to me. They could have charged me an extra $100 and I would’ve accepted the fee. I just wanted to shower and put my feet up, to lie down horizontally, even if for 15 minutes.

I finally got into my room and organized myself. I freshened up, then told Minh Anh and her boyfriend, Minh, that I was good to go. They said they’d be over in a bit.

The first week I stayed in Saigon, I mainly hung out with Minh Anh and Minh. I got to meet Minh Anh’s family and her friends. We all got dinner and dessert. I was brutally tired throughout the entire first week. Adjusting to the heat and the time change was not a fast process. To an outsider’s perspective, it probably looked like I was in a constant fugue state, staring blankly into the distance, constantly having to be brought back to reality by calling my name. Inwardly, I was simply taking it all in.

It quickly became clear to me that I was at a loss for not speaking the language. Yes, I was learning and trying my best, but for 99.99% of the time, I needed translation. Minh Anh, bless her, was that translator while our timelines overlapped. I grew to feel like a burden, taking her attention away from her family, friends, and boyfriend. This was the last week she was with them, and yet she needed to balance it with this foreigner whom she had met only earlier that same year. Yes, I know that she had suggested this and that she was delighted to have me, but that was how I felt. I’m aware that this is a rather hard stance to take on myself. It simply was the pervasive thought that kept creeping in, leading me to be quieter and more observant than I think Minh Anh was used to.

It was very sweet of her then, one day, to ask me why I was being so quiet. I told her what I just told you. She replied that I was being ridiculous; thoughtful, but ridiculous.

I’ll admit that I was being silly. Some of it also stemmed from desiring to be able to connect better with everyone I was meeting. It is something that I enjoy doing: sharing a few casual words with strangers or asking someone about their day. Hard to do when the words at your command are feeble and utilitarian at best.

I look back fondly on that short week I got to share with my friend. I enjoyed the connections and seeing the city from her perspective. It was a treat to be there, representing a collision of Minh Anh’s two lives: the one in America, the other in Vietnam.

I arrived Sunday and she left Thursday. The rest of the trip was only me.

I ended up staying a few more days in Saigon. I visited the book street where a Parisian boy asked me what I was writing while I journaled; I choked back tears while in the War Remnants Museum; I was subjected to a shoe shine scam and lost a few dollars; I attempted my Vietnamese while ordering an orange juice (the lady cordially told me I was doing a good job and to keep going); I saw the À Ố Show at the Opera House; I rode the metro; I ate a lot of street food.

Speaking of street food, my stomach was continuously destroyed by the new environment. Thankfully, the pharmacy I visited before Minh Anh left helped set me up for success. After four doses of some bitter fluid and a couple of pills, I was able to handle most things that came my way.

But if we’re to focus on the food in Saigon alone, it was magnificent. There are choices galore and, wherever you are, there is a vendor willing to sell you anything from sinh tố (smoothies) to phở to bánh mì. Those are just the ones that most Americans know about. My personal favorite is a northern-style soup called bún chả. I had a bowl at a small, little shop in Saigon’s Japantown near where I was staying. The first bite almost brought me to tears. I was able to hold them back, but I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time while eating it.

I also got to experience a cool speakeasy known as The Enigma Mansion. Run by Tee, an eccentric and lively guy, it is a posh place with drinks made at a caliber I never thought could exist for cocktails. Everything is precision-made and second to none. It is also the place where Minh (Minh Anh’s boyfriend) ran into an old friend of his. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and yet there they were, a chance encounter because I got recommended this place and asked Minh if he’d like to join. We went back a second time in my last few days before I left. It was just as good.

Phan Thiết and Mũi Né

The city of Phan Thiết and Mũi Né are similar to Santa Cruz and Monterey, in that order. The former is a grungy place where people live and work, the latter is where people go to relax and play. I learned that the hard way.

I left Saigon and headed toward Phan Thiết via train at 6:45am. The train took a little under four hours to get to the destination. I was helped by a family man, though he did look at me with a blank stare when I tried to thank him (in Vietnamese) for his help. I don’t think I did a good job, but I did try. Who knows what I actually said?

At the train station, I was once again accosted by taxi drivers. This time, I was prepared. I had the Grab app open and showed them that their price was very high. One taxi driver agreed to drive me to my hotel for the same price on Grab, so I agreed. He took me to his car (I checked the car for the right credentials) and I arrived at my hotel on the outskirts of Mũi Né after a thirty-minute drive.

This stretch of the trip was hard for me. It had a few great moments but some very low moments. I’ll start with the low, to get them out of the way.

I was alone. Truly alone this time. There wasn’t anybody around whom I could message and meet up for food. This wasn’t a hostel either, where I could randomly meet people and we could hang out. This was a homestay, something closer to a bed and breakfast. Most people here were in groups or with family. There were no other solo travelers that I could connect with.

I had not planned correctly. I was too far from the center of Mũi Né and very far from Phan Thiết. I had to rely on Grab drivers to get me anywhere since the walkways in the area were sparse or nonexistent.

I was in quite a funk for a lot of this portion of the trip. I couldn’t talk to people, I had to eat every meal alone, and I hadn’t planned enough to enjoy some of the activities that the area offered.

It was a tough two nights. It was definitely not the best use of my time, but I did learn some lessons. I learned to plan a bit more, to try and clear my head when I feel so lost, and to remember that I am a very social creature. Solo travel is good, but I do have limits.

That being said, I had a few deeply wonderful moments to lighten the onset of the surprise mood swings.

The first and best was the Vietnamese shampoo and massage (gội đầu) experience. I’m not a fan of massages, but this was perfect. It is a simple hair wash, condition, and massage of the scalp, neck, and shoulders. It was everything I needed at the moment. I was able to relax, to let my mind go blank. After the shampoo, the lady who did the wash talked with me a bit, patiently allowing me to practice some of my Vietnamese. She also asked if I needed some dinner recommendations. Exiting her establishment, I decided to take her advice. I ended up walking along the backstreets of Mũi Né to get some phở bò kho.

The walk was good. It helped ease my mind, as walks are wont to do. While making my way down a residential portion of a street, I came across two small girls sitting at their house gate. They were sisters, one older than the other by maybe a year. Upon seeing me, they made eye contact and said “Hello” with big grins and small waves. I smiled back, returning their greeting with “xin chào.” This caused the older girl to turn to the younger with total surprise, exclaiming: “What the fuck?!”

I covered my mouth with my hands, doing all I could to not burst out into laughter.

Shortly after, two boys and their sister were kicking a ball around. They offered high fives and a chance to play. Being hungry, I turned down the offer to play. I accepted the high fives with a smile plastered on my face.

At the street vendor, I did my best to order in Vietnamese. I did “okay” in ordering a bowl, but had to rely on the translate app to make sure I could sit at one of their low-slung plastic tables. I was also able to ask politely for a bottle of water, but they did not have any. Regardless, it was delicious food.

Later that night, I stopped by a bar that was clearly designed for tourists. The drinks were expensive, the amount of alcohol poured was lacking, but it was on the beach, so I didn’t really care. It was also hosting a fire show done by a local. I stuck around for most of it before leaving early, as fatigue washed over me like a tsunami.

The other thing that was great during those days was the Fairy Stream. A clear, shallow stream that you can walk barefoot through. The stream leads to a small waterfall. The walk is the perfect time to meditate. Or it allows you to run into large families and groups with whom you end up chatting to as you make your way back to the entrance. It was a good walk and one that I liked.

The rest of the time in that area isn’t worth speaking about. Frankly, I was relieved to head to the bus stop to go to my next stop: Bảo Lộc.

Kevin’s Farm at Bảo Lộc

Minh Anh’s father introduced me to a man who asked me to call him Kevin. Kevin is a coffee farmer and, since I love coffee, Minh Anh’s father thought it would be good for me to meet him.

I had a lot of anxiety taking the bus, but it ended up all right. The translator app helped tremendously and the bus crew did look out for me. Each time the bus stopped, they’d give me a nod to let me know it was okay to get off the bus. At one point, the driver simply came up to me and repeated “WC, WC” and pointed to where the rest of the passengers were going to relieve themselves. At the final destination they simply looked at me and said “Bảo Lộc.”

During the trip, a kid tapped me on the shoulder and wordlessly offered me two wafer cookies. I was touched by the gesture. I wish that I could have been able to say more than simply “cảm ơn” because that didn’t really cover my gratitude.

I can’t say that anxiety left me during that bus ride, not until the moment I stepped off at my final destination, but it did lower as the ride went on.

Kevin picked me up on a motorbike at the station and we grabbed lunch. The city of Bảo Lộc is a mountain town that could be mistaken for being in the Pacific Northwest with its green firs, grey cloud cover, and cool breezes. I did not experience much of the city because I was whisked away to mountain country where Kevin’s place is.

The bungalow is on tiered land with the kitchen and garage on the lower plot. After a very steep incline, include equally precarious steps, the living area and bathroom are on the upper section.

Kevin is a very adventurous person. The moment I got there, we did mountain biking. I came back drenched in sweat and took a shower. The reward, though, was fresh coffee made in a phin from beans that he grew. It was delicious.

The next day, though, I was not prepared for the activity he had planned: a hike.

I underestimated exactly what this hike would entail. Since he and his two friends, his brother, “Bret”, and a neighbor, “Mr. Dong”, were doing this in sandals, I thought nothing of it.

I was also told to bring socks. I didn’t know why. I only knew it was wise to listen to him.

Well, I ended up hiking for six hours in nothing but flip-flops. I had to scale up rocks and wade through water while only wearing socks. My feet ached, but I had to keep going.

For lunch, we got to enjoy the fruits of the traps – crabs, fish, and shrimp – that they had set in the water. It also included a frog that I had pointed out, and Mr. Dong had then proceeded to catch. I was given the frog since I had spotted it. Rice, pork belly, and raw cardamom accompanied it.

On the way back, I ended up with a few leeches attached to my feet. Bret and Mr. Dong carefully removed them, then proceeded to kill the buggers with relish. I don’t blame them. While we were waiting for Kevin and Bret to come back from their short detour, I turned to Mr. Dong and, in elementary Vietnamese, told him I do not like leeches. My exact sentence was: “Tôi không thích ‘leeches.’” He grinned impishly at that.

Dinner that night, I was told I must drink like a villager. So the four of us, along with Kevin’s sister, though she was not partaking in beer, had dinner and drank our way through many cans of Bia Saigon lager.

I stumbled to bed that night, drunk but happy. Amazed I had done what I had done.

For Kevin, Bret, and Mr. Dong, it was nothing new; for me, it was something I had never dreamed of doing.

Coffee

A brief interlude to talk about coffee. The coffee in the country is excellent. Most people there will admit that it is not the best coffee in the world, but they will argue fiercely that the overall experience is second to none. I agree. The Saigonese, the Vietnamese, know that the best thing about coffee is sitting in a delightful cafe, or being on the side of the road, or staring out at the river, enjoying your cà phê with friends.

I got to attend two classes at 96B Cafe and Roastery. Both classes utterly blew my mind. The sensory workshops weren’t focused solely on coffee, but on how the human body actually experiences flavor. They showed how to break down my perception of what I’m tasting, what language to use, and how to connect to how the body is reacting to food and drink.

The second workshop was more about coffee, examining the acidity and sweetness of coffee. Another incredible workshop that made me eager to learn more. If I were to dive into what I was taught, the blog would be even longer. I’ll spare you the excruciating details, but I highly recommend you do some Googling.

Overall, I’m a convert to Vietnam’s premier bean. Note I said premier, not most popular. Able to withstand climate change more gracefully than arabica and with a flavor profile that is just as sophisticated as its more popular cousin, Liberica is a hidden gem. I call it premier because I think it is a higher quality bean than robusta; the total output of robusta is magnitudes higher than Liberia. The Liberica espresso that 96B served me was velvet in the mouth and tasted of citrus and caramel.

My mind was also changed tasting Kevin’s robusta. Having a phin drip of his own coffee was incredible. Every time I was able to drink it, it tasted chocolatey, juicy, and cherry-sweet. It felt like syrup on the tongue. I couldn’t help but ask for more.

I hope to return to Vietnam for more coffee adventures. Maybe with the fine folks at Chloé…

Anyways, to the end of the trip.

Back to Saigon

After a breakfast of a baguette and egg with chili sauce, paired with another delicious phin coffee, Kevin took me into the city to catch a sleeper bus back to Ho Chi Minh City. The bus took five hours. I am surprised to even write that I preferred the rough and tumble bus I took to Bảo Lộc. The rocking back and forth along the windy roads down to HCMC, all while being reclined or prone, gave me wicked motion sickness.

The bus’s final destination ended up being the new station built by the recently finished metro. I was so excited. Buses confuse me, but the metro, oh man, I love the metro.

A quick aside about the Ho Chi Minh City metro: it is excellent. It is clean, on time, fast, air-conditioned, and easy to use. If you’re in the city, go and use it.

Anyway, I quickly hopped onto the metro and it safely delivered me back to Ba Son Station, which was just two blocks away from my hostel.

Back in Saigon, I ended up simply resting and grabbing food with Minh for the last couple of days. It was a good ending to the trip, considering I was bone tired and still sore from the hike.

I was happy to be back in the city. It was a place I had grown to like. The noise, the energy, and the feeling of the hot air being blown away by the strong gusts that swept through the city, all of it wrapped me in welcoming arms.

Even the storm that sprang up over the last two days was simply enchanting. I’m sure they’d lose their charm if I lived there, but as a tourist, they were simply wonderful.

Leaving the country, I had a mixture of relief and intense sadness. Relief because I wanted to be able to be back around my friends and family; sadness because it was such an amazing place, and I had only scratched the surface. I left still wanting to learn the language and to come back. To experience more. To speak to locals in their tongue. To dive into the culture.

I couldn’t tell you why this country is pulling me back. I don’t think I’ll bother getting to the bottom of why, though. To quote Anthony Bourdain: “I’ll come back to Vietnam, always.”

Hẹn gặp lại, Việt Nam.