2022 was a weird year. After a major halt in my recovery from the pandemic, owing to an ankle ligament tear which left me barren on my bed for a few months, and a few more of them in my home, an epiphany sparked within me: of how much I took for granted the elementary convenience of floating here and there in the world. Stuck between the bed and the bathroom, no thanks to work and other commitments, I started missing the sofa, walks in the park, cooking, and the freedom of bathing while standing, amongst other countless things.

A few episodic lapses of reason made me conscious of the consistent efforts it would take to keep myself content with life. My trip to Vietnam with my father would be the first offspring from this understanding. When I started exploring options to for foreign travel near India, I discussed my ideas with him. He expressed his desire to visit Vietnam someday, so we decided to go to the country together. It was the first time I planned and orchestrated mostly everything on my own. Far beyond being a cluster of respelendent experiences with natural beauty, nightlife, art & history, the country would metamorphose into an exercise in progression of self-independence and empathy, as well as balancing responsibilities.

After meticulous planning, I decided on covering three cities across the eleven days we were there. Based on flight ticket prices on our preferred travel dates, I decided for the route to be Delhi – Hanoi – Ho Chi Minh – Da Nang – Delhi, utilising SkyScanner to filter out decent hotels and flight prices.

Hanoi

Day 1

On New Year’s night of 2023, my father and I caught an overnight direct flight to Hanoi, where we would spend our next 3 days. Probably due to the early hours, the Hanoi airport so desolate it felt like we had landed on the moon. At 4:30 in the morning, we could easily count the number of people on our fingers – a handful of serious-looking immigration officers, tired SIM card vendors, taxi drivers posing as Grab drivers, and tired folk sleeping on the benches. Our arrival time meant we would have to wait the next 7 hours or so before being able to check-in to the hotel, but we were mentally prepared for it. 

We decided to grab our SIM cards right at the airport itself. Sure, you can find them slightly cheaper elsewhere, but given the time, we thought it was more convenient to get them right then and there. We then immediately called our hotel to check if we could wait inside their lobby. Luckily, they were more than okay with it, so I downloaded Grab and booked a cab. We rode past a massive bridge, and passed through various neighbourhoods which emanated a familiarity akin to our homeland – glowing billboards contrasting the night, luxurious sprawling houses, quickly followed by neighbourhoods containing mostly weathered structures that had their own tales to tell, and so on. The roads here were much better though.

Just before we reached our destination, the buildings became brighter and more frequent. We could tell we’ve arrived in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Its brightness was a sweet contradiction to the pre-dawn, and it wore French architecture’s muted flamboyance over its Vietnamese heart.

Cheap accommodation was our primary criteria while searching for hotels. But I soon realised that comfort and convenience goes a long way in having a good experience, especially if you have the means to afford it. The cab driver dropped us off outside a narrow street in which our hotel was nestled. Amongst the sea of buildings on either side, it could be easily overlooked, and when we finally did find it, it was locked. A small wave of anxiety undulated across me in that moment, but I pulled myself together and gave the hotel manager a call, and he swiftly opened the door – no, the hotel – for us.

The lobby was barely discernible. Its sky blue walls started from the door and ended abruptly at the lift quite quickly. Two oversized white chairs were placed at the left of the entrance facing a temple place for praying right opposite. Beyond these was the receptionist area and a dark blue sofa, faced each other, making a path through them to the elevator. A young man, who we assumed was one of the employees, was sleeping, or at least was trying to sleep again, on the sofa, having been woken up by our introduction. But the modest setting had nothing on the staff. The hotel manager greeted us with genuine warmth. He gave us the hotel wifi and we tried to catch some sleep on the royal white chairs, as there were no rooms available. I had little hope that I would fall asleep, and I indeed didn’t, so feeling a little restless, I decided to walk outside a bit. It was around 6:30 AM by now, and I was hoping there would be at least a few people now out and about on the streets. 

I stepped outside, walked up the street, and took a right. The whole world was in motion by this early in the morning – bustling seafood sellers, fragrant pho shops, and small banh mi stalls had all come to life as if from a sudden, urgent dream. It was colder than I anticipated – so after a while when my fatigue caught up with me, I headed back. My father was also wide awake by then, and decided to step out along with me. I searched on Google Maps to find places to visit nearby and found Hoan Kiem lake as the closest and most intriguing.

Hoàn Kiếm Lake | The Temple of the Jade Mountain | Turtle Tower

Surprisingly, it was a really short walk from the hotel. We passed a long road, to find the view of the lake suddenly dawn upon us on the other side. Its huge, shimmering green expanse seemed to dissolve in the city skyline in the distance I spotted 3 noticeable structures inside it – a scarlet bridge connecting a poised & intricate temple to the mainland right in front of us, and a multi-windowed structure with the edges of its roof flowing upwards, like a Haryanvi wrestler’s moustache. It reminded me of the many forts scattered throughout India.

The cold fog surrounding the city coalesced into a surreal view of the temple. Called the Temple of the Jade Emperor, the temple and its surrounding complex gave homage to some of Vietnam’s important legends and leaders. I noticed various fruits, packaged food, beers, and other miscellaneous items placed at the altars. At one of the shrines, an old woman offered her prayers in melancholy, sobbing while whispering to the idols. I deduced that this temple clearly meant a lot to the citizens. I exited the main complex and noticed a small room passing through a wooden door. In the exhibition room were two embalmed bodies of the turtles who used to live in the lake. A quick glance at the information bullets besides these bodies on display made me realise that these turtles are a legend in themselves across Vietnam, and in fact, the tower I saw earlier at the other end of the lake was called “Turtle Tower”.

The lake, temple, tower and especially the turtles, hold crucial cultural standing in Vietnam’s lore. As per an ancient Vietnamese legend, Emperor Le Loi played a crucial role in the country’s fight for independence against the Chinese Ming Dynasty in the 15th century. The Vietnamese nobleman was fishing in the lake when he was offered the sword by a golden turtle that emerged from the waters. After the nation’s victory in battle, the now-Emperor came back to the lake and returned the sword to the turtle in gratitude. The turtle took the sword and disappeared into the depths of the lake Since then, Hoan Kiem Lake has been associated with this legendary event, and the turtle is revered as a symbol of luck, wisdom, and power.

From a scientific lens, the lake is home to a species of softshell turtles called “Hoan Kiem turtles” or “Yangtze giant softshell turtles”, which are considered extremely rare and critically endangered, with only a few remaining individuals in the world. They are believed to be the descendants of the legendary turtle associated with Emperor Le Loi. The Turtle Tower is said to represent the spot from where the turtle emerged from the lake to reclaim the sword. The temple on the islet was probably built in the 18th century, and pays homage to various legends and leaders of the Vietnamese. I could not understand though, if the temple and the tower were inter-connected.

I stepped out of the room, and took a right to go around the temple, when I noticed a tiny but beautiful garden taking solace at one corner of the temple. It was one of the most colourful natural visuals I had seen. The gardener must be an artist. At the front of the temple, facing the lake, were two huge bonsai trees which were ecosystems in themselves. I hadn’t even seen such large bonsais in my trip to Japan. But I would later realise huge bonsais like these are a common occurrence across Vietnam. We sat down at a cafe nearby, where I had egg coffee for the first time. Its reputation did precede it indeed. It tasted like it was made of sweet and dense coffee clouds.

Hỏa Lò Prison | “There’s always a McDonald’s” | Beer Street

Like many of his age group across the world, my father sought for food from his homeland, after what I can imagine must be a difficult 12 hours for him. My style contradicts his, of course, especially on the first day of the trip, but it was not an issue with me. I found us an Indian place not too far from the lake. My father had some paranthas while I worked on an urgent task from work. I have always felt it to be too heavy on an individual to be too connected wherever they go, but I digress. After a brief chat in Hindi with the restaurant owner, my father was ready to conquer this trip. So we decided to head back to the hotel to rest. We had traversed a whole tourist spot, had coffee, ate at a restaurant, and it was still before our check-in time. We spread like butter on the grand white chairs in the hotel lobby this time, clearly not caring anymore about the other guests passing by.

The one hour which followed was long and distorted, but we finally got access to our room. We had opted for a window-less room to save some money, and that sort of instantly pinched me when I entered the room. The room was small but clean – and as with all other hotels in the country, a tv showing mostly Vietnamese channels, and a few English ones. It would be worth mentioning here that, aside from the usual minor embellishments in PhotoShop, the hotel’s description was not misleading. Rather, it was our own overestimation of our comfort requirements that led to this minor inconvenience. Papa fell asleep immediately, but I found my mind too active for my body.

Having already pre-mediated on it during that one hour in the lobby, we headed straight to the Hoa Lao Prison relic. This prison played a vital role in the Vietnamese struggle for freedom from the French, and for probably what is centuries, people have been plagued with unfavourable planets & stars here. My father’s energy was quite tangential to the place though; he seemed both excited and cool. The French used to torture Vietnamese freedom fighters and political prisoners in this prison, and were brutal in their approach. Divided in two sections in the grey solemn walls of the prison, the prisoners used to be tied in a row by their ankles to a single rod in one big hall with a single shitter. Many a times they were made to excrete in their positions. Flamboyant dissidents would find themselves chained in one of the solitary confinement cells. Apart from execution via guillotines, the French used to use various torture devices as well, like an apparatus which used to be fixated on a prisoner’s neck resembling a small four-step stair, and even boxing gloves.

One of the exits led you out of the dark halls into a small “verandah museum”, walled like caricatured dominoes, of the prison’s significance during the war with the Americans and South Vietnam. Many American POW’s, mostly pilots of B-52 airplanes, were imprisoned here. Curiously, this prison, though, would later be called the “Hanoi Hilton”, because of the kindness with which they were treated. The museum also illustrated how the people of Hanoi and nearby regions created bomb shelters throughout the city to save as many civilians as possible from the air raids. Around 90,000 mass bomb shelters were built and citizens had access to three options at all times – one at the workplace, one at home, and one at the street. The museum also paid tributes to the courage and resilience of the civilians. Weighing the situation at hand; an army of a global superpower throwing surprise raids and the army of the country fighting a David v/s Goliath battle, the civilians trained themselves to use the anti-aircraft guns, and also became carriers of intelligence and resources for the army.

After checking out an old Church, we headed towards the area near Hoan Kiem lake, my feet aching. We decided we would take the longer route through the unexplored side of the lake, and head back to the hotel from there. The footpaths teemed with small, blue stools where people drank, dined and conversed. I really liked how close knit it all was; it – permeated a bit into me as well. We saw a McDonald’s, and as if it was a homely artefact from India, we headed towards its embrace. Though within the cocoon of a ubiquitous global franchise fast food restaurant, you find something new in each country; sauces, menu, serving size, the way the it is served, and so on. Orders were taken from digital interfaces, and the sauces were available in a squeezer bottle instead of pouches.

We walked back to the hotel, buying a pair of first-copy crocs and adidas on the way. The shopkeepers were mostly pleasant to interact with, save a select few. Papa had his whiskey and I had some beers, and we headed out to find Hoang’s Vietnamese, a restaurant I had marked for having some Phở, one of the staple dishes of Vietnam. Phở is a famous soup dish served in the myriad establishments across Vietnam – be it stalls, restaurants, hotels, homes. The only other dish which matches its popularity is bánh mì.

But instead, we got mesmerized by a street we were crossing. The street was filled to the brim with people drinking, eating, smoking and laughing on a sea of blue stools and plastic tables. Lined with restaurants, stalls, & bars on both sides, the street did not seem to have an end; it felt like I was in a party tesseract, just a few metres away from the tranquil street of our hotel at the late last hour before midnight. So we changed our plans, and though the food was average, okayish, the street was so vibrant I never really minded.

Day 2

Hạ Long Bay

Unfamiliar places and important tomorrows drive my sleep away almost effortlessly, and this situation also holds true even if I have not slept in the days prior, as I discovered during my first few days in Vietnam. And so I went to Hạ Long Bay next day, having barely slept in 48 hours. I caught half hour of sleep in the bus, and felt better by the time we stepped foot into the luxury boat to visit the bay. Translated to “Descending dragon bay” in english, Hạ Long Bay’s emerald waters were riddled with limestone islands of varying sizes, housing rainforests on their backs. In the mystery and shade of surreal January fog, the bay exuded a feeling of fantastical mystery, like I was a detective in the world of Spirited Away. 

After indulging us with some good food and sparing us some time to soak in the ethereal vistas, the boat stopped at the island which housed the Sung Sot(Surprise) Cave; a massive grotto nestled within the heart of a mountain, rivalling the size of a football stadium. The magnanimous space was filled with stalactites of myriad shapes, formations, and sizes; you could see a lion in some, or a couple kissing in other. Above, the wavy ceiling took after the image of a beach once littered with sea shells, their leftover impressions now etched on its surface. The sunlight cast hues of blue onto the rippled texture above, and courted the warm orange canvas of the grotto, making it glow. It was a long walk around this cave, with some areas even reaching deeper into the ground. You could see, and even feel by the moisture, that water flew through the cave. A puddle of water right below a phallic stalactite in one corner, and spots in the ceiling were evidence.

Our boat then set off for Hang Luon Cave, an open cave hewn beneath the surface of one of the many islets in Hạ Long Bay. Tourists had the option to choose a smaller boat or a kayak to reach there, and we chose the boat. The entryway cave, nestled between the green waters and the stalactites dangling at the islets scrotum, gave way to an circular cove surrounded by gigantic ben-shaped; they reminded me of the extraterrestrial vessels in the movie “Arrival”, directed by Dennis Villenevue.

As we approached the heart of the cove, we noticed monkeys climbing down the inner walls of the islet mountains, eagerly snatching the bananas and other food items being furled towards them. They all hung out on the branches of the foliage sprawling the walls, some alone, others with their offsprings. Upon reaching the main boat, I headed to the deck on the top, spread out my legs on the beach chair, and gazed upwards at the sky. My thoughts became flurry travellers then, passing through my head like the clouds traversing the sky. I both cherish and envy this feeling; I don’t get to do this enough – just looking at the sky, catching the clouds passing by. I must’ve been there for half an hour. I don’t remember precisely; I’d lost track of time. 

We then headed to Ti Top island. At the heart of Ha Long Bay, the island was named after Gherman Titov, a renowned Russian cosmonaut, who was the second person to orbit the Earth after Yuri Gargarin, and the first to vomit in space. Moreover, he was the first to take a photograph of Earth from space, and holds the record for the youngest astronaut to be in space.

The island’s ingress was marked by a small beach edged over by a hill which resembled the arched back of a shrieking cat. A flight of 500 steps takes you to the top of the hill, offering a panoramic view of Ha Long Bay. The trek is arduous. Stairs make trekking tougher, in my opinion. Nevertheless, the experience was exhilarating and maddeningly beautiful. The emerald waters cozied up in thick, fluffy fog, twisting and turning in their sleep, reflecting sunlight each time they turned over. Boats; big and small, were sprinkled on the water in my field of vision, leaving white, foamy streaks in the water. I gazed out to the sea, and a myriad of islets stretched till the horizon.

When I trekked down, I couldn’t resist paying a visit to the beach for a couple of minutes, even though the tour operator clearly mentioned to visit only one of the beach and the hill, in the interest of time. Played my “calculated risk” close to the line and helped the whole group achieve delay of 10 minutes, an occurrence my friends are quite used to. On our journey back to the mainland, the tour operator pointed us towards a bewildered sight: a empty village perched on the sea, perched to a wall of islet rock. Most of the villagers had been shifted to the mainland by the government due to concerns to their lives.

As the evening settled, the sea hummed a strange music; the bass and drums of the waves gave a beat to the faraway slow marching notes of the mainland harbour. Dusk seeped into the sky by the time we reached. Barring the one stop at the public bathroom, the bus drove straight to Hanoi. We rested in our room for a while, and then dragged ourselves out to have the Phở we missed out on last night. 

Day 3

Bai Dinh Pagoda

The next day we headed southwards, to Ninh Binh province. Looking out of the bus window on the highway there, I caught sight of farmers working in rice fields, their silhouettes adorned with the iconic conical hat. The tour headed first to Bai Dinh pagoda, a massive pagoda complex stretching more than 500 hectares. The old complex, made in 11th century, stood in juxtaposition to the new one, built in the 2000’s. It was a long way from the entry to the first of the temples in the new complex, so cabbie cars carried people to and forth. As I walked across the new complex’s sprawling open halls, thousands of white statues of Buddhist monks lined up on one side, in different positions; some wearing smiles, some laughing, some frowning, and almost all of them clasping a sacred “mudra” with their hands.

These columns made their way to an ancient bell tower, a huge bell hovering in its center over a drum of similar, colossal size. When the bell tolls, the drum creates a ripple effect which amplifies the effect. The guide proudly proclaimed that when the bell is rung, it can be heard till 10 kms away. Looking at the size of the structure, I could believe in his words. No wonder it was utilized only on special occasions. The tower was guarded by small statues of “Qilins” in all directions – single-horned mythical creatures in East Asian culture, akin to unicorns in Western reference. We walked a bit towards the west of the tower, slowly observing how the complex opened up to two tall stories of vast gardens, with temples at their heart. In the temples resided the Lady Buddha and the Buddha himself.

It’s a bit ignorant of me, but this was the first time I had heard the mention of Lady Buddha. Her legend deviated slightly from Buddha’s. Miaoshan, as she is also known, was a princess who devoted her life to meditation and enlightenment after witnessing the state of constant suffering in the world. She embodied the compassionate form of the Goddess Guanyin revered throughout Asia. The guide recounted the story of her selflessness: she sacrificed her eye and hand to save her father. When the Gods learned about this act of benevolence, they gave her a thousand eyes and eleven heads. What wikipedia says about the Goddess, who was a result of syncretism of Avalokiteśvara in East Asia, sort of resonates with what he said, although I’d like to add that there are various stories of Guanyin throughout Asia.

The following excerpt is from Wikipedia:

“The legend of Miaoshan usually ends with Miaozhuang Wang, Miaoshan’s father, falling ill with jaundice. No physician was able to cure him. Then a monk appeared saying that the jaundice could be cured by making a medicine out of the arm and eye of one without anger. The monk further suggested that such a person could be found on Fragrant Mountain. When asked, Miaoshan willingly offered up her eyes and arms. Miaozhuang Wang was cured of his illness and went to the Fragrant Mountain to give thanks to the person. When he discovered that his own daughter had made the sacrifice, he begged for forgiveness. The story concludes with Miaoshan being transformed into the Thousand Armed Guanyin, and the king, queen and her two sisters building a temple on the mountain for her. She began her journey to a pure land and was about to cross over into heaven when she heard a cry of suffering from the world below. She turned around and saw the massive suffering endured by the people of the world. Filled with compassion, she returned to Earth, vowing never to leave till such time as all suffering has ended.”

The incense sticks both inside and outside the timbered temples expunged a peculiar but calming fragrance. Her golden statue, radiating in the dim setting, almost touched the high wooden ceiling. A halo of a thousand smaller hands circled behind her; the main head acting as the platform for the other ten, smaller heads. In the temple a level above this one, an even larger statue of the Buddha was adorned with concentric circles of around tiny versions of the statue, inside a leaf-shaped halo, exuding a semblance of an infinite being. After clicking some customary tourist photographs, we winded down to the exit of the pagoda, our cabbies strolling through colossal bonsais and surreal naked trees. We then headed to Trang An.

Trang An

Residing also in Ninh Binh province, Trang An is renowned for its natural beauty; limestone karst formations are shouldered by winding rivers and lush greenery. It is also referred to as the “Halong Bay on land” due to its resemblance to the Bay, though the true resemblance I found of the place was to the Skull Island in King Kong movies. I am convinced that this region inspired some parts of the landscape of the mystic island. It’s more than just about nature though; the site is also home to several ancient temples, pagodas, and archaeological sites, and therefore holds significant historical and cultural value. Just in case you don’t believe a random writer on the internet, you may place your trust in UNESCO, who have declared it a World Heritage site.

I underestimated Trang An and the beautiful experience at the boat that followed over the next couple of hours. Limestone cliffs were everywhere the eye could see. The river was shallow. Lotus sprouted at its edges. After passing the couple of first, smaller caves, we rowed past a deer feeding on the tall amber grass of a secluded islet at the foot of one of the limestone cliffs. Some patches of “grass” grew as tall as trees. Ducks were warm hosts in some places we rowed. Some caves were so narrow that we had to duck our heads to prevent a collision with the stalactites.

A courteuos local woman rowed our boat from the back. Halfway through the ride, she asked us, that if we would like to, could help her row the boat, and we happily obliged. It was a calming experience amidst the glaring limestone cliffs covering our field of vision.

Mua Caves

After spending the afternoon boating, we headed to Mua Caves. Surprisingly, a trip to Mua Caves is not really known for a visit to the caves as much as the view from the top. The trek was 500 flights of stairs circling through a mountain and forking into two paths at the top. I trekked to the path with the better conventional viewpoint. The view was massive; green-tortilla hues of limestone cliffs on my right cascaded beyond the horizon like soldiers of a rigid army. On the left, you could see lotus fields stretching out to a small city nestled sparsely, in-between a few cliffs here and there. The January fog left a warm strangeness over the scene. On the hilltop where I was, stood a marble-white statue of Lady Buddha as well, sheltered inside a square gazebo. The statue exuded an aura of reverence, as if bowing down with the seams of its garments delicately cradled within its hands.

I slept for maybe half an hour on our way back, and listened to music the rest of the time. We enjoyed some drinks at the hotel while watching a movie, ate the Haldiram’s packed food, had some Banh Mi at a nearby store, and went back to the hotel to sleep.

At the corner of the hotel street, there was a store run by a young woman, with the support of her mother. Meanwhile, the father could often be seen sitting outside, leisurely relaxing or smoking a pipe, occasionally lending a helping hand as well. In our initial encounter, the woman appeared to be rigid and brusque, but as our negotiations for the bottle of whiskey my father wanted progressed, she gradually rubbed off her strong and independent personality onto us. She engaged in continuous negotiations over bargaining with us (mostly with my father, who proved to be an adept negotiator unwilling to easily let go), her wit suave and sharp. Over the course of three days, having visited her shop frequently, we started gelling a bit. She even suggested us some places to eat, though we couldn’t pay them a visit due to shortage of time.

The next morning when we were leaving, waiting for our cab to the airport, her mother gave us a water bottle for free. She just smiled and seemed to be grateful. My heart melted and treaded a river through my body. I went back and asked her if I could click her and her shop’s photo; she appeared pleased. You know, these kinds of moments are often shared on Instagram stories or depicted in grand cola advertisements, but this was my reality—I couldn’t believe it then, and even now. It’s like something out of a movie—a genuine display of human warmth and kindness. Ideally, it shouldn’t be so extraordinary; I hope it becomes a commonplace occurrence on planet Earth soon, but for now, it remains a cherished memory of a stranger-turned-friend.

Ho Chi Minh

Day 4

We arrived at the airport right on schedule, a solid two hours before our departure time. While it wasn’t exactly my father’s preferred timeframe, he seemed willing to accept it. Being used to much more rigid security procedures and standards in India, it always tosses my mind around when I don’t see a lot of security in other countries’ airports. So of course it took me some time to orient myself over not spotting any security at the main gate. We waited in line with our trolley for quite some time, double checking everything every now and then. When we finally reached our finish line, the guy at the counter told us that we are at the wrong terminal – the domestic terminal is different, and around fifteen minutes away.

We were already a little over an hour away from our flight. As we rushed to the exit gate, a drizzling panic started washing over me. I freaked out more witnessing how calm my father was. The few English-speaking individuals, mostly cab drivers, advised us to wait at the bus station. We rushed with all our stuff, carrying a little over 35kgs to the bus station, and waited there in panic. I looked hastily at our belongings and wished instantly for more arms than two. After a few minutes of anxious waiting, we were finally able avail the hesitant services a of caddie driver, to whom we promised an equivalent of 100 INR. The max speed of the caddie was 30 km/h, seemingly done so to effortlessly accelerate the cocktail of hope and dread inside me. A slow burn radiated throughout the whole of my being, shivering the air around me. At one sharp turn, one of our bags fell out of the caddie. It hit the ground so hard, sparks flew and tiny tires screeched against the tar.

I’m already cursed by my neck and shoulders, and seeing no elevator from our drop till the terminal entrance, I could hear them twitch their tongues. But it was already do-or-die, so we lifted all our baggages up the flight of about 3 dozens of stairs. I felt even worse for my father, but other emotions didn’t really have much space in my mind’s mosaic at that moment, and I had so skip that thought quickly to head inside the terminal with him. When we reached the counter at the airport though, the receptionist was weirdly completely calm and composed, and quite stoically handed us our tickets within a few minutes. Considering we were only 45 minutes away from our flight’s take-off, my first immediate thought was that my country’s airport regulations are so much more robust, but it was after we passed the security check was I humbled; we double-checked on the time and realized that the flight was actually scheduled for two hours after the initial flight time. Both of us were dumbfounded and just shared a moment in silence. I checked my emails and caught a mail from the flight operators at around 5 AM that same day for a change in timings – I keep my mail notifications off, and even if they sent an SMS to my phone, there was no way I could view it.

After the intense involuntary workout, we had lunch, took off and landed in Ho Chi Minh in the evening. The city was a bustling metropolis, its extroversion setting it apart from Hanoi’s idyllic nature. I was instantly drawing Mumbai – Delhi comparisons, two Indian cities of similar dynamism. The most value-for-the-buck booking I could find was close to the airport, and the only thing we did that night was eat at a pub and head over to some rest. But once again sleep eluded me. After accumulating almost a week of sleeplessness, panic consumed me. At 4 AM in the lobby of the hotel I found myself yearning to board the next flight back to Delhi, desperate for a good night’s rest. Whenever this happens to me on my travels, I am always reminded of that one quote that live rent-free in my head from a coagulated tirade on Hindi television and bantering between friends: “Your bed and your commode are the only ones your own.” My father’s snoring only added to my frustration, rendering my attempts to sleep futile. I almost considered waking him up but instead opted to position myself in the opposite direction, at the foot of the bed. What do you know? I finally managed to sleep for a few hours. 

Day 5

Independence Museum

We skipped on the first part of tour the next day so that I could sleep in a little bit, and decided to directly head to Cu Chi Tunnels with the tour. We did manage to reach a couple of hours before the bus would start off, so we paid a visit to Independence Palace – a significant memorabilia of the tumultous conflict between North & South Vietnam from the 1950’s to the mid-70’s. The Palace was the epicenter of South Vietnamese operations during the war. It boasted a dedicated helipad, huge meeting rooms and charming banquet halls. The bunker had dedicated communications equipment, and even a car. I overheard a guide mention that the war stopped when the two North Vietnamese tanks stationed outside in the gardens broke into the palace, declaring a stale end.

After syncing up with the others on the tour – a sweet Australian teacher couple, and a Swiss man who lived in Thailand, we left for Cu Chi Tunnels, picking up a Korean mother and son duo, an Indian couple, and a Peruvian woman along the way. 

Cu Chi Tunnels

On our way, we visited a workshop which supported Agent Orange victims by supporting them with a livelihood in material crafts. The painters worked silently, lost in their craft, even as the host introduced them to us and explained the process. The artists meticulously crafted numerous paintings using a combination of delicate eggshells and iridescent seashells as base materials, dedicating themselves to a process that required extensive polishing and precision. I am not much of a spendthrift, but I splashed some money here honestly. We bought two sets of small jewelry boxes for each of my sisters, and a rendition of “The Kiss” by Gustav Klimt. Cu Chi tunnels were based a little outside of the main city. Though there were no farms to draw that distinction, you could tell the difference as the houses increased in size and scrapyards appeared here and there.

The Cu Chi tunnels were one of the most significant battlefields during the war, spread across an area of 250 kms. Contrary to popular belief, the tunnels were not a brainchild of the soldiers at war during the war with the Americans. The idea was birthed by desperate farmers under French rule who wanted to hide their resources from them. A point to note; the war was not fought with the Americans(per sé), but was instead a result of major idealogical conflict between North & South Vietnam, post liberation from the French. The former wished to make Vietnam a communist state, while the South wanted Vietnam to be a capitalist country. This is why the Americans supported the South Vietnamese in the war, and the North Vietnamese were backed by the Russians and the Chinese. Apparently, many of the VietCong were farmers, who were trained to be soldiers by the Northern faction on a trail which traversed from the North to the South, also threading through neighbouring nations of Cambodia and Laos. Called “The Ho Chi Minh Trail”, it is considered a huge turning point in the war for the North Vietnamese government, having supported the VietCong with military supply across the war, and even played a crucial role in the Indo-China war with the French in the 40’s and the 50’s.

I gained some insights on the ingenuity and street-smartness of the Vietnamese people as well. The kind of traps they setup, whether on the ground or on their doors, reflected the brilliance of their war tactics. The rubber slippers they made from the tires of fallen tanks and cars of the Americans, had the bottom of their soles made in such a way that that the slippers left footprints in the opposite direction of the one the person wearing them would walk towards. Oh yes, and I did go into the tunnels. It was suffocating, slightly phobia inducing, and quite thrilling. The tunnel walls were polished over later, to make them safe for tourists. The tunnels are said to extend till a depth of 9 meters(that’s around 2-3 stories) and I ventured till half of that level. Before leaving, we were served some tapioca and tea, the former apparently being the staple diet of soldiers here. The tea was light, while the tapioca had a balanced taste.

Day 6

Mekong Delta

After another Haldiram sensation and a basket of beers, we stepped out early the next morning to visit the Mekong Delta. Our hotel was near the airport – which meant it was far from the city centre, so we had to take a cab to reach the pick up point. On our way to the Mekong Delta, we visited the Vinh Trang pagoda in the town of My Thor which lies to the west of the Mekong river. This particular pagoda housed massive white marble statues of the Sleeping Buddha and the Laughing Buddha at its northwestern corner. Standing at the center of a a gang of beautiful bonsais beside a small pond, we stood listening to the guide, following his raspy voice narrate the history of burials in Vietnamese culture, and the inculcation of Buddhism in the country. Just in that moment, my eye caught something moving in the pond. At first I thought it was a rock, which must’ve been dropped by someone as a part of some ritual, or just for fun. Then I focused carefully and noticed it was a turtle. Its slow movements as it arrived at a tiny islet and crawled over it like fresh lava froze my gaze. But nothing could prepare me for the bright mud-coloured swastika sign on the turtle’s back. A turtle with a swastika on its back – that’s something you don’t see everyday.

I explored the pagoda, offering my prayers and thanks, taking pictures of the statues, trying not to look creepy while listening to the locals whisper their prayer to the statues. The main complex comprised of a yard in the center – though most of it was canopied by plants and a delicately intertwined homage to a temple of various stone-blocks. Inside the hall of the main temple in the pagoda, I even saw a statue of a humanoid figure, proudly standing with one hand on its waist and the other carrying a flag, with mouse-like ears, and eyebrows a vivid impression of the East Asian style; spiked and dense. I meandered through the many pathways of the Pagoda littered with pale red bougainvilleas and exited to another corner of the pagoda, to a tower preceded by a couple of bird baths, in which lotuses grew abundant.

There was a joint south Indian family with us on the tour, along with a woman whose accent I caught to be British, though she seemed of South Asian descent herself. Mekong Delta sits in the lap of the Mekong river, small islets cradled inside one of the largest rivers in the world, which passes through 6 countries in East Asia. This part of the river carried a lot of sediment on its back, resulting in the brown colour of the water. The delta is large; if I remember correctly, it has 4 flat islets within it, of which, Unicorn island is the largest one. After a short boat ride, we headed to a workshop at one of the islands where fresh coconut candy was being prepared, and wine was being fermented from snakes and other members of the reptile family, like scorpions and lizards. Though I was offered, I didn’t try these spirits out of fear of upsetting my stomach on a trip to a foreign land – and also because I was really creeped out.

We then sailed to Unicorn island, where we were transferred to smaller, narrow boats which could carry only about 3-4 people at a time. The boat took us through the Thoi Son canal, a narrow body of water surrounded on either side by stark, dense vegetation. I noticed brown fruits growing at the base of this vegetation, hanging just above the surface of the water. They had a rough texture, pointed in all directions, with a shape like that of a warrior’s mace. The guide must’ve saw me looking, because the very next instant he told me those fruits are called “Sea coconuts”, and that they are inedible. I asked ChatGPT later for a scientific name; they are called Nipa Palm fruits, and are in fact edible.

We reached an open area which housed wild animals, a sort of mini-zoo. Conflict and confusion ran through my spine; I enjoyed being in the enclosure, observing and marvelling at the various species there, but also felt bad about them having to live their lives in such small spaces. Alligators lounged in their enclosures, seemingly static until a fish hovered directly above their noses, the tourists both tense and thrilled as they held the other end of the long stick. Their colossal jaws would snap shut, crushing the fish’s bones, prompting others to stir. One alligator hovered above the pond’s surface, barely noticeable. Hedgehogs were next, sleeping by the dozen against each other. I felt bad for them. They didn’t have enough space to move, I feel. Though I would’ve preferred better environments, it was still a pleasure to be in the presence of hedgehogs. Their skin did not contain much fur, giving them a naked appearance. Their ‘mane’ and the spikes at the other end of their body gave a shining contrast to their look. I would also later on find turtles, lobsters and a goddamn cobra in captivity. There was in fact, even an actual small snake which appeared on the premises, who had to face a swift demise at the hands of the workers. Lunch was satisfying with fried fish and lobsters, but after nearly a week in Vietnam, the taste to me felt bland – maybe it’s just what every Indian feels when they have not had Indian food since some time, I guess.

The tour guide then asked if anyone wanted to cycle around the island. I couldn’t resist, even though I hadn’t cycled in almost half a decade. I wobbled through concrete footbridges and narrow paths at first, but soon found my balance and was able to stroll through the small roads relatively better. The streets were lined with small shops, pastel green buildings and incomplete structures at either side of the road. Narrow footpaths were shaded by Communist flags; hanging from rooftops and poles across the street, the colour red added to the predominantly grey and green scenery. We skidded off the main road and entered small lanes, passing the occasional dogs barking from their bungalow verandahs and chickens picking cautiously in the ground. Near the end, the tour guide took us through a ‘dome’ of vegetation at the end of a narrow street, which was covered with ferns and branches from the sides, adorned with ruby spider hibiscus flowers throughout its canvas, creating a crescent “wedding” canopy. I managed to pose awkwardly in most of the photos the guide clicked of me, but he did manage a few good ones. I was so proud of him.

We then took the boat to another islet, where my father & I got a photo clicked with a Vietnamese yoke – a beam of wood balanced by baskets on either side, which the Vietnamese carry on their shoulders; another symbol of their resilience and intuitiveness. Amongst all this, I witnessed a weird clash amongst the tour members which spoke loudly about cultural differences. One of the ladies of the South Indian family introduced an elder woman of the clan to the British journalist as a doctor, echoing it twice over to make sure the journalist heard it. Even if you were not paying attention you would’ve noticed the sharp pride in her tone. The journalist was not even amused. She was baffled and outraged, but displayed it the way I always imagined British people display their anger – through curt words and sarcasm. She just said, “So? That’s good.” like she was a strict teacher evaluating an average student, or overwhelming parents giving their kids impostor syndrome.

Shortly after, I struck up a conversation with the journalist. She seemed like a reasonable woman. Her reaction was more about the unnecessary emphasis on the lady’s profession, which she found belittling. She questioned, “Other professions don’t matter? Should I bow down?” Though I would’ve thought about this a hundred times in my life, but at that very moment epiphany actually came to my door and hugged me – These were simply not the ideals she grew up with in her country. I can’t be sure, but it did seem like she had been taught (or maybe she learnt it herself) that all professions are important for the well-functioning of a society. Few Indians I have met have had such a mentality. Maybe because my crowd has been mostly engineers, MBA’s and people working in the pandemonium known as Indian corporates. She must’ve sensed I must be of the same mould as her, since she felt comfortable to share her thoughts about this ordeal with me. I genuinely believe she was right, and we had a chat about it back then. I did discuss with her the possibility of the old lady being ingrained with this mindset since she was a child. She seemed to calm down after that, and hung out with me and my father for the rest of the tour. We were then treated to some traditional songs sung live by a group of artists. The guitar with curved frets was a first to me. Its tone and sound reminded me of Ravanahatha, the popular Rajasthani folk instrument.

The journalist and I ended up having a lengthy conversation on the ride back; from the gross magnitude of food servings in the USA, and the liberal movement in San Francisco, to how the people of Vietnam perceive their own country now. She also told me about her experience in the Berlin in her college years before the Wall fell, and what the city was like back then. It was one of the highlights of my trip, having a lengthy conversation with a stranger who has lived a completely different life than mine. I too shed some light on the socio-political scenario in India for her, and the “rat race” most students have to go through.

Our drop was near one of the biggest markets in Ho Chi Minh, Ben Thanh market. As we walked towards our destination, I noticed a group of people juggling a shuttlecock with their feet, in a game known as Đá Cầu – the national sport. Having exchanged our currency at a small shop, we ventured towards the bustling market. This was the momentous night that would make every family member back in India proud of my recreational trip to a foreign land. I bought a pair of first-copy Adidas sneakers to add to my growing footwear collection, which was already augmented with cheap first-copy Crocs from Hanoi. We bought a lot of clothes for relatives, shoes for my nephew, silk for the ladies, and a Vietnamese hat, amongst other things. Exhausted, we headed back to our hotel when the market shut down.

Day 7

The War Museum | Post Office | Banh Thanh Market

The next day, we decided to cover the museums we missed earlier. Our first visit was to the War Museum, which would end up moving me quite a bit. I was bombarded with interesting details and information even before I entered the main building. The lawns of the museum had on display the vehicles and weapons used in the war between USA-backed South Vietnam and North Vietnam, backed by China & USSR. The centre-front main building was flanked on the right with helicopters, tanks, missiles and their allies on display, while a mini-pavilion on prison torture was sheltered to its left. The pavilion was a display on the prison conditions and the torture faced by prisoners in Côn Đảo Prison, a prison on Côn Sơn Island off the South-East coast of Vietnam. The French were the main curators of the prison and its practices, though it was also rented by the South Vietnamese government during the recent war. The southernmost section of the exhibition ran a looping projection of water and lye being thrown through steel grills at the prisoners below at regular intervals, their legs thinner than sticks, chained to their beds. Prisoners, especially of political backgrounds, were subjected to insane atrocities: from getting their teeth completely removed, to their toenails and nails being pulled out, to one leg being broken so that they won’t escape.

The next important piece of history I learned about, was Da Lat prison. Disguised as an educational place for children, the prison tortured political juvenile prisoners by chilling their compartments with an underground cooling system and exposing them to a harsh sunlight in a stone cellar covered with barded wires at the top. The pavilion also offered more information about the battle at Hanoi; shelters, B52’s, and the likes. The main hall comprised of information on the war with the US army and their atrocities. A decade onwards from 1961, the US army also engaged in chemical warfare – using lethal chemical weapons like Agent Orange to destroy the Vietnamese people, their livelihood, and even their lands. They in fact excessively sprayed chemicals in forests and public lands, ensuring massive ecological destruction. That they were only globally condemned for it didn’t weigh well the justice compared to the crime.

The Vietnamese people still suffer from the lingering after-effects of Agent Orange. The chemical has affected the offsprings of the victims as well, leading to body deformation – from bloated legs, stunted growth, to undergrown limbs & melting faces. There have also been cases involving individuals affected mentally, such as a girl who attempts to chew anything she encounters – whether a person or an object.

The below pictures are NSFW.

The US Army also massacred many innocent villages, engaging in insane acts like shooting the elders dead, followed by disemboweling even children. The man who would later become Senator of the US, Bob Kerry, was one of the leaders of such missions. Apparently, apart from their primary motive of trying to put a stopgap on the spread of Communism across the Indo-China plains, the US was also heavily involved because of the abundance of tin & tungsten across these lands. Their idea of investing in the war was one of cost-effectiveness – the path least costly to the US markets. I had to rest my feet and my mind before leaving the main building. It was a lot to wrap my thoughts around. But as the more ‘informational’ part of my trip was coming to an end, I could read one recurring pattern between the lines: the resilience of the Vietnamese people. 

The Post Office

A walk through a few crossings landed us near the Notre Dame Cathedral of Saigon, but it was closed for renovation, so we had to relish its elegant facade from the outside. That saved a bit of time, so we headed towards the famous Post Office post-haste. Its lemon walls sliced by vine-green outlines, the office reminded me of Wes Anderson’s work. The building must be three bogeys wide, fringed with a small lawn and some shops, with the book street just beside its vistas. The high grand ceiling was a huge surprise to me. Natural light was a welcome guest to the shops at either side of the main entry, and the main offices at the centre. To our surprise, we had a good shopping experience here.

The Post Office was originally constructed between 1886 and 1891, during the French colonial period. It was designed by Gustave Eiffel, the renowned French architect who also designed the Eiffel Tower in Paris. It was built to serve as the main communication hub for the city, which was then known as Saigon, and to connect it with other parts of Indo-China and beyond. During the Vietnam War, it served as a key communication center for the U.S. military, and was later used by the Vietnamese government to send and receive mail and packages. Over the years, the office has undergone several renovations and updates, but it has remained an important landmark in the city, serving both local residents and tourists. 

After a second round of shopping in Ben Thanh Market, we rested our legs in the garden around Ho Chi Minh’s statue overlooking the City Hall. After the hustle and bustle of the day, sitting there provided a serene sense of calmness, infusing us with renewed energy to continue on for a short visit to the gates of the Opera House. I had never seen European architecture with my own eyes, so even though we were not allowed entry into the Opera, it was quite an enlightening experience to observe the lines and curves at the face of the house, and the intricately crafted statues carrying the house on their shoulders right at its teeth.

Da Nang

Day 8

Another night of eating Haldiram’s passed by, and we left for Da Nang the next day. This time, we made it in time to the correct terminal. I was surprised to see a vast range of hills through the plane’s window as we were about to land. The air was much cooler here compared to Ho Chi Minh. Though the city seemed mostly cosmopolitan near the airport, we entered a completely different world when we crossed the Dragon Bridge. Wide roads descended into equally wide streets, at the end of which was the main beach. The moon was really low here, and shone amongst the clouds like a Monet painting. On our first night there, my father and I grabbed some beers off the supermarket and had some food at Bikini Bottom. The hotels were cheaper here, so the best hotel of our trip was in this city – it had a swimming pool and a decent buffet area at the terrace, good enough for me. 

Day 9

Ba Na Hills

In the chilly embrace of the overcast weather, we left for Ba Na Hills the next day. After the first fiteen minutes of picking everyone up, the bus turned at a corner and took the road along the beach. The view opened up to a vast sky and it’s idealistic reflection in the ocean below. It was preceded by the shoreline carved by Da Nang’s mountain range, with the Lady Buddha sitting at the foot of the range. The road turned westwards, opening up to a splendid view of the hills on our right, with clouds sitting on them like thick, wavy hair, sliding across their. We reached after an hour’s journey or so. The gateway to the place wore a strong reflection of Indo-China architecture. Noodling tree-like pillars shouldered the kind of roofs reminiscent of eastern architecture, only you could see more of Chinese influence on the roofs, which were bending upwards, their golden dragon-heads pointing to the sky. At the head of the structure sat the face of a bronze Sun, almost masquerading as a clock. Sweeping roads passed passed through the lush-green hill range around us, the weather merciful and windy. 

While standing on the many escalators leading to the trolley, I realised how little I knew about Ba Na Hills except it’s French connections, and started researching. My jaw dropped when I learnt that we are going to be sitting on one of the longest trolley systems in the world, which would take us across the ranges and into Sun World, the main touristy area in Ba Na Hills. It was a 20-25 minute ride, spanning more than 5 kilometres. When the trolley ride started, I thought the top of the hill I could see at the horizon was our destination. A few hills later, a long stepped waterfall appeared, flowing through shoulder of its hill, into a small stream, a long way down below. We crossed that hill, and many others after it. An air of anticipation and anxiety surrounded the trolley cabin. The hills were rolling over, and we could see dense clouds embracing the next range, and that just added to my already enthralling anxiety trying to comprehend how high we were off the ground. After a few minutes, as the trolley ascended, it was enveloped by dark grey clouds. All that met our gaze were the droplets on the window, the few metres of wire stretching into simple blankness, a few treetops, and the towers and their rumbling sound as the trolley shifted gears in their lock-heads.

Sun World’s central section is a brilliant replica of a French town, but that’s only a part of its many faces. The huge area also has a dedicated place for playing games – which also has a small theatre, a jurassic museum for kids, and a literal drop tower built inside a mountain. The January fog embraced the whole village, making it look like a gothic town with its cobbled streets and sharp tower faces. We took another trolley to the Golden Bridge, one of the prime reasons for Ba Na Hill’s fame. Though it was a little crowded, the buzz could not take away the significance of its build. The bridge swerved across the balcony of the mountain, held up high by two gigantic concrete hands. It reminded me of so many fantasy books and video games! The structure did sieve through the rationale of my mind for a bit. How amazing it would be if were actual divine hands installed on this mountain for a sacred purpose. There is also something very cooperative about a famous place. You pass through the place asking strangers to click your picture, and clicking theirs, often not even knowing their language. A short bow, generous thanks, and a wide smile cuts it. 

We crossed a few manicured gardens. A colourful monkey made of grass greeted joyfully, a moai spat water through its mouth, and a goofy humanoid head seemed to sink into the ground. There were also splitting replicas of Roman architecture around such gardens, with some structures reminding me of the same style used in the Colosseum(not that I’ve been there).

Another part of Ba Na Hills canopied a more spiritual embrace. A white marble of the Buddha stood tall amidst the mist. On its side was a stairway which led to a desolate temple. If I ever came close to experiencing complete silence in broad daylight, it would be this. As I headed down the stairs the silence grew, but surprisingly it did not scare me. I roamed around the temple area, the statue of Laughing Buddha in the centre accompanying me – occasionally seeking any living thing. Some dogs did visit later, but that was all. On the furthest right facing the temple’s verandah, crossing some outdoor dining area and an open gate, was another small verandah which probably overlooked the mountain. I couldn’t tell, because the view was completely shrouded in fog. Even if the ground was just 6 feet beyond the railing, I couldn’t see it. I heard a truck honk in the distance and that’s the closest I came to feeling like I was still on the plane of the living. I think I really did experience true peace in the twenty or so minutes I roamed around that temple, I don’t think I will ever forget it. Finally, I walked towards the inner gate of the temple, and there was an actual person sitting there, and the woman seemed like she was sitting there from quite some time, oblivious to my presence, lost in her own small activities. I’m a little jittery around dogs, so as they came closer I decided it would be the perfect time to head back.

Once I climbed back up to civilization, we went to the play area for kids, where I rested my legs while my father sat at the seat to watch the mini-theatre, fully expecting it to start. I told him it didn’t seem like the theater was active, and it indeed wasn’t. The other people who were sitting there were also resting their legs. Like a typical nerd I refused any leisure time in games and instead went to the Jurassic walkway. After brushing up, my legs started hurting even more, but I braved it for a walk through the French Village. The streets were mixed with the fragrance of pizzas and coffee and the moisture of the rain, which only increased in its cadence the more I walked. Old bricks and cobbled streets surrounded my thoughts, and the overwhelming fog gave it an incredibly gothic touch. It reminded me a bit of Castlevania. Having given up on my aching legs, I rested inside one of the halls, and took a massage from one of the automatic massage chairs. I was always curious about those, but it they did their job pretty good, honestly. I almost forgot to mention that we had a multi-cuisine buffet lunch as well in between, which was brilliant.

The Beach

When the bus reached back, the city felt like a completely different country compared to the hills. My father, eager to start his drinking routine, wanted to head over to the closest mart, but I insisted on going to the beach as well. Though the beach was roadside, the calm sustained in a sort of isolated equilibrium there. I walked on the shore, watching the skyline and the city lights falling on the beach, with the purple clouds above my head contrasting the dark sky. While heading back to the hotel, we came across a huge aquarium-shop for seafood. In rows and columns of water tanks were large sea animals I had never seen before. I was a little hesitant to check them out, anxious of the fact that I would be asked to buy something or to step out of the store, but I noticed a few other tourists also flocking towards the other end of the open-ended shop. As is with sheep, I immediately became more comfortable and explored all the sea animals up for sale. There were crabs and lobsters the size of my entire arm, staring down at me. Massive sea shells, strung up by their torso, eels, squids the size of my forearm, and much more. There were so many sea creatures I almost forgot about the fishes. After a good night’s sleep(for which I was the most grateful), I woke up and decided to head to the beach, and dragged my father along. Since our tour to Hoi An began at afternoon, I decided it would be the perfect day to explore the beach in all its glory and then read up a bit about Hinduism in Vietnam at the museum for the Cham people. 

Day 10

The beach was clean but it seemed like folks were not allowed to head into the waters much. Though I enjoyed sitting at the shoreline, the water hitting my body, maybe it was the cold or the uprising of some forgotten anxiety, but I couldn’t head deeper into the water like I usually did. Cham island stood shrouded under clouds in the distance, and as I saw my father walk in the other direction on the beach shore, I noticed a father cusping his son, placing his feet on his own, and slowly strolling into the ocean. The son, though initially scared, gained some confidence. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but I could gauge what he must’ve said. The overcast weather brought clouds like a cotton blanket in the sky. The grey sand reminded me of Kamakura beach; the calm and isolation was surely resonant, only Kamakura had a lot of boats far off in the water. I played with the water for a bit, and then we left to take a bath and leave for the Cham museum.

The beach was clean but it seemed like folks were not allowed to head into the waters much. Though I enjoyed sitting at the shoreline, the water hitting my body, maybe it was the cold or the uprising of some forgotten anxiety, but I couldn’t head deeper into the water like I usually did. Cham island stood shrouded under clouds in the distance, and as I saw my father walk in the other direction on the beach shore, I noticed a father cusping his son, placing his feet on his own, and slowly strolling into the ocean. The son, though initially scared, gained some confidence. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but I could gauge what he must’ve said. The overcast weather brought clouds like a cotton blanket in the sky. The grey sand reminded me of Kamakura beach; the calm and isolation was surely resonant, only Kamakura had a lot of boats far off in the water. I played with the water for a bit, and then we left to take a bath and leave for the Cham museum.

Cham Museum

Now, the Cham people were indigenous Hindu people who primarily resided in what is now Vietnam and Cambodia. The Cham community is still active, though modest in number. A lot of their culture was influenced by Hinduism via trade with India, but was also infused with indigenous elements. Once a massive kingdom around the 2nd century, their influence waned out with the growing influence of the Vietnamese to the South. A huge amount of sculptures and temples were excavated near Da Nang, hence the Museum.

We saw many statues of Naga & Garuda in the beginning, then the museum opened up to a central avenue, which housed a massive Shivling erected on a square platform. On the walls of this square structure was the depiction of a scene from the Hindu epic, Ramayana: Lord Ram bending the bow which would help him win Goddess Sita’s hand in marriage, and messengers arriving in King Dashratha’s court to inform him about Lord Ram’s feat, followed by King Dashratha arriving at Mithila, the kingdom ruled by King Janaka, Goddess Sita’s father, for the wedding. The Shivling and its square platform took almost half of the space in this part of the room. We swifted forward, observing rock sculptures of Nandini, Vishnu, Dancing Shiva(Nataraj), amongst others.

The room then blossomed into a bigger avenue which had a massive piece of an entry wall to a temple, with scenes carved of men playing flutes from small windows in the wall. It was here that I saw a statue of Lord Ganesha standing upright, something I had never seen before in my homeland. On the right was a statue of Buddha as well, sitting on a chair. We also saw a slab of stone in which the scene of Lord Brahma’s birth from Lord Vishnu’s navel was carved out. Stone carvings of indigenous gods were also on display, along with sculptures of beings I had never seen or even imagined; a chimera with a head of an elephant and body of a dog of sorts, another with the head of a dragon and body like that of a mammal. In the latter’s case, the head was proportionately larger than the body. As I was leaving the building, I wondered about how ideas, practices and beliefs can spread across a continent. How old the religion must be, because it must have taken time for all of this to travel from one land to the next, especially without a missionary approach.

Focused on this thought and on crossing the road, I lifted my head to witnes an uncanny, beautiful view: the Dragon bridge in all it’s glory superended by Ba Na Hills in the background, with cotton clouds rolling over their head like gorgeous hair. It was not long before we came back to the hotel that we had to leave for our tour for Hoi An. The tour also included a visit to the Lady Buddha statue to the north – east. The statue was an empowering presence in Da Nang, comfortably visible to the naked eye from the coastline.

The Lady Buddha Statue

As the bus swirled around the small climb towards the statue complex, the window view opened up to the complete coastline of Da Nang on one side, windows glimmering the sunlight onto its vistas, and hills on the other, on which clouds settled like an undulated cap for the second day in a row. Roaming about the complex, the first thing I noticed was Cham island in the distance, which was much more visible now. Monkeys and dogs kept hustling. Gasping at the island, I almost missed what was in between my view of it; a monkey mother caring for their young on the top of one of the tertiary temples. After a bit of astonishment and gasps at the view, I turned around to explore the inside of the complex.

The periphery of the complex was adorned with curved roofs. Water-shooting and orb-mouthing marbled sea dragons could be found almost everywhere inside the complex. A plethora of other statues, various temple complexes, and gardens were also in plenty. But I visited the centre first: the titular statue overseeing the complex. Her stance on a lotus, she had her hands in a mudra, with a small bottle in one of them. Her face was calm; her small lips, gentle eyes, and a clear forehead were roofed with a tunic with the Buddha at its center. The base housed a small circular temple. 

Towards the north from the main entry was a sizeable temple. Its walls were pale-skinned, but adorned with paintings. Its maroon pillars were swirled over by a shape representing a dragon’s tail, which also sat at the curled edge of the pastel green roof. At its other end, the temple opened up into a hall full of oxblood marble monk statues in the court of Guanyin. At the hall’s left was a garden populated with around ten stone statues in a rectangular formation, listening intently to a child Buddha. The complex was a symbol of peace and serenity, and if you’d visit Da Nang, you might also suspect that its looming effect trickles into the city as well. 

Marble Mountains

Our bus then picked up the road to Hoi An, a historic city which functioned as a port city where Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese and Indian merchants visited. We were going to visit Hoi An’s Ancient Town, a UNESCO heritage site famous for its historic preservation of streets and buildings, a monthly lantern festival, and the Japanese Covered Bridge, all visual icons of the town. On the way to Hoi An is another place of historical and cultural importance, the Marble Mountains. The mountains are more of hills – a cluster of five limestone and marble ones, each named after one of the five elements in Vietnamese philosophy: Water, Wood, Metal, Earth, Fire. Travellers used to pay their homages to these Mountains when travelling across this part of the area. We stopped on the way at a huge marble store, and we would see smaller marble shops on the way to the Mountains. We visited one of these mountains I believe, although it might be two. Unfortunately I do not remember anymore. Apart from a large marble statue and a temple, there was not much to see here. But then we were taken to the caves, for which the mountains are famous. There were four caves subletting in one big cave. One housed a marble sculpture of a couple of men playing a form of board game, in the second stood the Buddha, the third I could not comprehend, and the last one had some walls with inscribed symbols, but beyond those sculptures was complete darkness of the cave. I later realised it was dedicated to Shiva.

Hoi An

Sunset was upon us, and the major attraction of the day was still left to visit. We climbed down the hill and headed past small towns, villages and rice fields for Hoi An. By the time we reached there, the sun had gone to rest, and the wind became slightly colder. The entrance to the town was sober, lined with single storied yellow houses, their roofs and balconies welcomed with persistent vegetation and eternal moss. Fused in Vietnamese and French architecture, most of the houses had frilled rust-brown windows and domed archs to their balconies. There were lanterns sprinkled here and there, hinting at what was to come. As we progressed inside the town though, the houses grew a story more. But it was when we reached the center did the magic truly happen. 

The town opened into another world of hustle and bustle. Small yellow buildings lit up with lanterns on either side of the Thu Bon river. The edges of the river were crowded with boats shadowed by palm trees, with many tourists laughing on their ride at the center of the river. Live English music played in the background in a couple of cafes somewhere. Not too far away, I could spot the famous Japanese Bridge, splitting the river into two and connecting the two sides. There was barely any modern electrical lighting, wherever I looked I saw lanterns – across shops, cafes, boats. Though you could say the shops did have modern lighting inside, but all the outside spots were lanterns. Lanterns were clearly an important part of Hoi An, having been an important element of the city’s liveliness during it’s peak years as a pivotal area of commerce, and were hence intertwined with the cultural and historical heritage of the place. In fact, Hoi An, celebrates a festival for them on every 14th of the month. The town was so colorful, I firmly believe I would not have seen something like this in my life. Though yellow stood out, it was accentuated with purple, pink, blue and green. 

We headed towards the Bridge, and pondered over whether to try our hands on boating, as we had time to kill. But we decided first to explore the other side. One of the prime highlights here were the wood artisans working on carvings of a laughing man with a beard; the root shaped in to the beard. The beer and the cafes were not really interesting me that day, so we took heed on the boat decision. It took a lot of scary attempts to get my father on board the boat, with the rower not really understanding how to approach his onboarding, and every step he took on the boat made it swing on one side. It was a crazy five minutes, but once we settled it was all good. The river stroll was undoubtedly beautiful, and some special effects were added too which we were not expecting, like passing underneath the bridge to take a stroll on the other side, which was relatively quieter.

We then headed towards the turn at the other side of the town, where a sprawling market greeted us. The food and accessory stalls were scattered like raindrops. To make note for the food aficionados, apart from the usual sausages, the stalls also offered octopus tentacles, and fried frogs. We took the turn back, crossed the Bridge, and took the deeper turn inside the side we entered from, to explore the inner parts of the town. With lanterns strung across the street from houses to house, the street was illuminated in red, and was really quiet. The occasional woman would come to throw waste water from her home outside, or a shop owner just pondering over whether we could be potential customers. In between all this a saw a house which was definitely ancient: Dried vegetation hugged its old wood all over, and it stood out amongst the yellow houses as a separate entity. I wonder how it survived all these years.

That’s a wrap!

We headed back. My bag’s zipper had been torn, so we headed to town the next morning to search for a tailor. We went through a small market, followed by a funeral procession(which I thought was a celebration, because of the music), and then an even deeper, dizzying market, where finally when we had given up, we spotted one.

It was a sombre feeling when we headed back to the airport. I wish I had a few more days, but my spirit told me I really wanted to be back home by now – as they say, your bed and your commode are your own. I don’t think I would ever forget about this trip. All of Vietnam’s beauty, culture and history aside, it was the first trip I planned end-to-end. My father seemed happy having travelled so extensively. It’s been good, man. Vietnam’s been amazingly beautiful and profound for me. I believe I have come out a better person as a result of this trip.

Cảm ơn, dhanywaad.