Cà phê sữa đá and vibes (part 3)

Not the same

I’m not the same, not after you was the refrain of the song that soundtracked my last week; not after life in this town, not after the friends made, and certainly not after those unexpected connections, some so last-minute they were very nearly missed.

Quite surprised to leave Danang in tears but my usual equanimity restored itself by the time we landed at Noi Bai International Airport, because Hanoi meant friends and homes where I was always welcome. I hadn’t seen as much of the country as I’d planned, but the bits that I had visited, like the capital, I absolutely loved.

North to south

After my embassy visit earlier this year, I decided to stop by the post office to dispatch a postcard to my mother. It was a little family custom that I began all the way back in the summer of 2015 in Dubrovnik, when the lure of signing a missive with a flourish from King’s Landing was too strong to resist.

It started to rain heavily as I was getting the stamps, so I asked the Vietnam Post uncle if I could hang out for a little while with them. He brought me a chair for the long-ish wait, and sold me an umbrella. And so we get by on the kindness of strangers again!

On another visit, my third Christmas, the barangay celebrated with home-cooked noche buena high up in a tower overlooking the would-be F1 track, and on Christmas Day, like every good Christian I attended the festive mass with fellow Danang titas at St. Joseph’s Cathedral (fun fact: he is Vietnam’s patron saint).

Some of my other favourite memories from Hanoi visits include sunset strolls by lotus ponds and solitary walks round silvery Hoan Kiem lake. Then there was the food: foie gras banh mi in the old French quarter; an unforgettable 11-course vegan dinner (an achievement for me, a carnivore); leisurely Sunday brunch and cake by the lake; scrumptious lobster rolls; tapas and wine; and an exciting evening in a well-concealed speakeasy that had a stuffed peacock at the entrance and an ersatz dinosaur skeleton casually suspended over the bar.

On my last day in Vietnam *sniffle* we had lunch at the striking dragon-shaped JW Marriott Hanoi. We booked a table at John Anthony and ordered a Cantonese dim sum spread with all our favourites – baked prawns with salted egg, dried lotus roots, stir-fried turnip cakes in XO sauce, xiao long bao, crispy pork belly and seaweed, an assortment of dumplings, Yangzhou fried rice and truffle rice. A proper send-off, that, with all my beloved Hanoians.

Ho Chi Minh, on the other hand, was all frenetic noise and energy. It was dancing in and out of motorbike traffic, entertaining lunches, tranquil afternoon tea at Park Hyatt, and hot guys who were a little handsy in smoky clubs.

Quy Nhon: so nice I went twice

I could not get to Quy Nhon fast enough.

It was my second time making this six-hour train trip south, but my first in the regular compartments.

Barely five months prior I’d stepped aboard the Vietage, a luxuriously outfitted rail carriage, determined to keep up the birthday travel tradition despite it being pandemic year one. I’d booked myself a weekend of being spoilt and cosseted: beginning with the three-course menu, a massage, open bar (probably my favourite onboard amenity, to be honest), and a little chocolate train; and ending with a surfeit of turndown treats at the Avani I stayed in. The return ride was just as plush; I drew the curtains after dinner and dozed in contented quiet until we arrived in Danang.

This time…let’s just say my fellow passengers had vastly different definitions of creature comforts. The man in front of me certainly had his at my expense! My quiet seat mate, though was kind enough to translate things and explain the lunch time stop.

Quy Nhon was a surprise because it felt rather Pinoy; a decent Jollibee with actual peach mango pies that had Imported from the Philippines stamped on the packaging (but still no burger steak); and mojitos in unfussy beach bars that reminded me very strongly of Panglao’s Alona beach and Boracay’s Station 2.

One bar had a Vietpop playlist we liked so much I leaned over the cashier to see what it was called, and we came back to this one after managing to find the famous beef stew (rare foreigner fail: I have no idea what it’s called in Vietnamese) that was sold a long way down a cramped little alley.

Two UNESCO sites in one

Don’t work too hard, the resort manager at Four Seasons The Nam Hai said.

I’m already two drinks in, don’t worry, I assured him. Visiting the resort twice in within a month to bask in the sun like a lizard before heading off to their lagoon spa villas was truly excessive, but I was inordinately stressed at that time and justified it as self-care.

Hoi An was that easy weekend visit, with its picturesque coffee shops and bright blue and yellow walls and riot of colourful lanterns, the faded charm of a former trading port in the days of the Cham Kingdom. There is a touching monument to the Polish architect, Kazimierz Kwiatkowski, who was so instrumental in the efforts to restore the heritage quarter; he was also involved in the restorations of Hue and My Son.

There were seafood splurges down by the beach road and random nighttime banh mi runs; we also liked the riverside Anantara and Urban Fresh, and the bars along An Bang and the cosy Japanese place next to the market. Lunch in the market was a memorable one, too, come to think of it. There were boat trips down the Thu Bon river and visits to the tailors (so touristy, I know), house parties and friendsgiving dinners and coffee with the girls and in-between pandemic socializing on the beach.

From Cua Dai port, you could set off for Cham islands, which were designated a UNESCO marine biosphere; so one day I joined a dive trip. I’d shown up by myself but ran into someone I knew on the boat, not totally unexpected for such a small community; and spent a pleasant day exploring the surrounding dive sites.

A pro tip for road trips

Another of the UNESCO sites that our Polish architect was involved with was My Son Sanctuary. It’s a long drive from the city, but we had lots of snacks. Always take snacks, whether you’re headed to view the grim grandeur of the Cham ruins in the rain, or the glittering stalactites of Paradise Cave in Quang Binh (said to be the longest dry cave in Asia, but no, I only walked the first kilometer of 31 underground, so unable to fact check), or even just the nearby shores of Tam Ky.

I brought the unbeatable breakfast pairing of cà phê sữa đá and banh mi on the road to Ba Na Hills, a giant kitschy wonderland that not only had the Golden Bridge, but was also crammed with reproductions of everything from a medieval European village to a dinosaur park.

It was wicked stepsister J’s ube pan de sal and banana bread for the drive up the breathtaking Hai Van Pass to imperial Hue. We cosplayed in matching royal-blue outfits for the day at the gilded citadel, and stayed at the former French governor-general’s residence, now a genteel Azerai property that lingered in colonial splendor by the Perfume River.

The longest one was a trip up from the prawn farms of Phu Yen. We had spent a self-indulgent weekend at the gorgeous Zannier hotel, which I recommend with all my heart. Beautiful textures and thoughtful details and pared-down luxury, the perfect socially distanced mental-health break ❤ It was a seven-hour drive back to Danang, but it was in a luxe SUV, not the train, and we were well supplied with treats from the hotel’s kitchens. Probably annoyed the poor chauffeur with all the Lady Gaga and Ava Max we blasted, but he perked up when we put on the Vietpop playlist from that Quy Nhon beach bar.

The shorter, snack-less motorbike drives to places unknown were no less memorable: there was the one to the mystery beach on the other side of the peninsula, the one you reached by scrambling down the slope on a sprained ankle, accompanied by the unseen chittering of forest creatures. The Fourth of July sunset that blazed across the shore that day rivaled the fireworks elsewhere.

Then there was the hour-long drive followed by a midday mountain hike in searing summer sunshine to the mystery waterfalls, where I had to be coaxed to leap from the rocks into the deep-green pool. The most effective encouragement turned out to be We want to die anyway, and I was generously rewarded with a picnic and an afternoon on those butterfly-speckled banks that was a wood-sprite fantasy come to life, worthy of a ten-minute Taylor Swift song.

The end

After all the anxious planning, helped in no small part by yet another online community for foreigners leaving Vietnam, the only thing I hadn’t anticipated was the consternation at immigration when I showed them two passports, a visa that was expiring in three days and no return papers.

When you come back Vietnam? they inquired.

I shook my head. I’m not. The finality of it had been dulled; if this had happened at the Danang airport I would have teared up a little, but that last extra day in Hanoi surrounded by my friends had steadied me, and now I was finally ready to go.

Whatever issue it was, they eventually sorted it out after a few phone calls, and I flew out after one last filling bowl of pho.

Everything comes to an end — a lesson I had been sharply, abruptly taught over and over in this country. Now that it was my time, I was going to leave as gently as I could, with loose ends tied up and goodbyes properly expressed, everything tidily in its place.

And Vietnam let me go gently in return.