Exploring Hanoi, Ha Long Bay and Southern Vietnam by Motorbike Taxi in 2004

May 2004: Ironically, it was the Vietnam War movies I grew up watching, like Platoon, Hamburger Hill, and Forrest Gump, that inspired me to visit Vietnam as one of the first countries in my quest to see the world. I wanted to learn more about the devastating war that had not only ravaged the people and landscapes of Vietnam but also better understand the misery and horrors that American servicemen, like my uncle, faced when they fought there.

Visiting Vietnam was a high priority for me, especially since it had only become possible for foreigners to travel freely there seven years before my visit. It was a country that hadn’t yet been overrun by mass tourism, unlike Thailand, which was already seeing an influx of visitors. I wanted to experience Vietnam while it still retained its authenticity.

As part of a larger two-week journey that included the Mergui Archipelago in Myanmar-Exploring the Pristine Jungle Clad Islands and Sea Gypsy Villages of the Mergui Islands, Myanmar | Venture The Planet and Thailand, I spent a week in Vietnam, exploring Hanoi’s vibrant streets, cruising through the breathtaking limestone formations of Ha Long Bay, relaxing on the beaches of Nha Trang, and venturing into its lush inland mountains via motor taxi. Each destination provided a unique glimpse into the country’s beauty, resilience, and rich cultural heritage.

My Route across Vietnam

For much of the 20th century, Vietnam was embroiled in conflicts with the French, Americans, Chinese, and later the Khmer Rouge, resulting in the deaths of millions of Vietnamese, approximately 50,000 Americans, 50,000 French, 20,000 Chinese, and another 20,000 Cambodians. Despite decades of war, communism, and untold human suffering that relegated Vietnam to being one of the poorest countries in the world, it has managed not only to recover but to emerge as one of the economic powerhouses of Asia. Since the 1980s, Vietnam has experienced peace and stability, allowing it to thrive. Remarkably, despite the prolonged and brutal war between the United States and Vietnam in the 1960s and 70s, few countries I have visited have welcomed me as warmly as the people of Vietnam did during my trip.

My first stop in Vietnam was Hanoi. I immediately loved the city. It was humid and chaotic, and I stayed in the atmospheric French Quarter, surrounded by old French colonial buildings dripping with moss and mildew. The streets were choked with motorbikes, while old women in iconic wide-brimmed conical hats carried heavy pots of food on both ends of a bamboo pole balanced over their shoulders. Street food eateries competed for every last inch of sidewalk space. The city, a mix of drab communist brutalist monuments, memorials to the Vietnam War, lakes, Tai Chi-practicing mobs, French architecture, and old decaying churches, is one of my favorites in Southeast Asia.

I stayed in a family-run guesthouse in the French Quarter. Compared to Thailand, I was surprised by the lack of tourists in Vietnam and the attention I received from locals who were unaccustomed to foreign visitors, especially Americans. This was a feeling I would become familiar with throughout my week of traveling in Vietnam. Despite the war with the USA, the people seemed to harbor no grudge against me and, to the contrary, were some of the kindest I had met anywhere in my travels.

While in Hanoi for a few days, I walked everywhere. Whenever I got lost, which was often, I would show a rickshaw driver my hotel’s business card. Without it, and given that few people spoke English in some areas, I might still be lost. I visited the lake where American Senator John McCain was shot down in his fighter jet during the war and subsequently kept as a POW. I saw hundreds of elderly people practicing Tai Chi in the morning and hundreds of young kids dancing in unison. I would stop at small hole-in-the-wall eateries, ordering cheap noodles and eating them on plastic kindergarten-sized chairs on the sidewalk, always worried they would break under my much larger-than-average frame. The highlight of Hanoi, however, was the water puppet show, featuring traditional Vietnamese music and incredible water puppets, a unique cultural performance in Vietnam.

I also had a few bizarre experiences. At one guesthouse, the local family invited me to dinner and was incredibly welcoming. Before heading out for the evening, I counted my money and left some of my hundred-dollar bills in a sealed and signed envelope in their safe. When I returned, I noticed that one of the hundred-dollar bills was missing, even though my envelope was still sealed. However, upon closer inspection, my signature appeared slightly different, leading me to suspect that the family had stolen the money. This resulted in some uncomfortable questioning and the reluctant acceptance that I would have to live with the loss and find a new place to stay.

My new accommodation in the French Quarter happened to be in an area where many prostitutes worked the streets at night. One evening, as I was walking home from a bar, a group of them swooned around me on their bicycles, calling out phrases straight out of a Vietnam War movie, offering “boom boom” and “sucky sucky” in strong Vietnamese accents. I declined and returned to my hotel room. About twenty minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, one of the women barged in, again offering her services. I firmly removed her from my room and went downstairs to inform the doorman not to let anyone in again. He apologized and dubiously claimed he had assumed she knew me.

Despite these strange experiences, my time in Hanoi was unforgettable. The warmth of the Vietnamese people, the rich cultural experiences, and the city’s vibrant energy made it one of the most memorable stops on my journey. The brutal war between the United States and Vietnam in the 1960s and 70s left deep scars, yet few countries I have visited have welcomed me as warmly as Vietnam did during my trip.

Street scene Hanoi

From Hanoi, I organized a day trip to Ha Long Bay. The journey began with a two-hour bus ride, stopping at a shop where victims of Agent Orange, including children with birth defects and adults, sold handicrafts they had made to passing tourists. Agent Orange was a defoliant chemical used by American planes to destroy jungle foliage, making it harder for the Vietcong to hide. However, the chemical was highly toxic and carcinogenic, leading to severe birth defects and lasting health issues for subsequent generations of Vietnamese people.

Once in Ha Long Bay, I boarded a boat, visiting a few of the islands with dramatic karst topography. There are hundreds of mushroom shaped limestone, jungle studded islands in Ha Long Bay.

Ha Long Bay

Ha Long Bay

A cave used as a bomb shelter during the war on one of the islands

Local villagers selling goods from their boat

I flew to Nha Trang from Hanoi on a domestic airline, drawn to its location in southern Vietnam and its deep connection to the imagery of American Vietnam War movies. Once a major U.S. military base, Nha Trang is now a vibrant beach city, and it was everything I had imagined—like a Vietnamese version of California, but more tropical.

I stayed in a hotel right on the beach, where the coastline stretched endlessly, framed by swaying palms and warm, golden sand. The city had an electric energy, and the locals were incredibly welcoming. Young Vietnamese people constantly invited me to eat and drink with them, making it nearly impossible to dine alone. Over rounds of Vietnamese beer and steaming bowls of noodles, we tossed peanut shells onto the ground in every lively spot we visited, a shared ritual of camaraderie.

Eager to see more of the countryside, I arranged through my hotel for a motorbike taxi driver to take me into the mountains for a few days, venturing beyond the city’s shoreline into the heart of rural Vietnam.

Nha Trang Beaches

Old Champa Civilization Temple from the civilization that the people of Vietnam came from

For the next three days, I was a giant man perched on the back of a small motorbike, gripping my diminutive Vietnamese driver as we sped through the countryside. I hovered over him, and I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have looked to the locals as we passed by.

I had mapped out several places I wanted to visit in the interior—old battlefields and dense jungles. It didn’t take long to see the lasting scars of the war. Outside of Nha Trang, vast stretches of land remained barren, still marked by the devastation of American bombings. Yet, amidst the remnants of destruction, life flourished. We passed through vibrant indigenous villages, their homes painted in bright colors, and stopped to visit a few along the way. The locals were warm and welcoming, eager to share stories and smiles, making the journey all the more memorable.

Destruction from American bombs 

Tribal lady riding her bicycle 

Girl in a village helping her mom assemble 

Young kid working in family brick factory

Waterfall where I drank rice wine with some local village kids

We visited Buôn Ma Thuột and explored some of the battlefields in the area. The city witnessed some of the fiercest fighting of the war, and today, it is home to numerous Vietnamese war monuments. One of the most striking monuments features an American tank positioned in front of a massive structure celebrating Vietnam’s victory.

As I took a photo of the monument, a young Vietnamese couple nearby noticed me. The man approached and asked if he could take my picture. I agreed, but he then insisted that his wife join me in the photo—and that we pose in front of the American tank. It was a bit unusual, but I went along with it. Then, just as I was about to pose, he reached over and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, exposing more of my chest. At that point, the situation went from slightly odd to downright bizarre.

Boun Me Thuot American Tank from Vietnam War

Vietnam War Monument in Boun Me Thuot

I traveled deep into the Vietnamese countryside on the back of a small motorbike, gripping my tiny Vietnamese taxi driver as we navigated winding roads. I towered over him, and I imagine the sight of us must have been quite the spectacle for the locals—this oversized foreigner awkwardly clutching a much smaller man as we sped past.

I had mapped out several places I wanted to visit—old battlefields, dense jungles, and remote villages. It didn’t take long to see the deep scars left by the war. Outside of Nha Trang, vast stretches of land were still barren, remnants of American bombings that had wiped out entire patches of the countryside. Yet, amid the destruction, life carried on. We passed through colorful indigenous villages, stopping occasionally to meet the locals. They were warm and welcoming, their curiosity about me matched only by their hospitality.

One of our stops was Buôn Ma Thuột, a city that had witnessed some of the most brutal fighting of the war. Today, it’s home to numerous Vietnamese war monuments, including an American tank positioned in front of a towering victory memorial.

As I took a photo of the tank, a young Vietnamese couple noticed me. The man approached and asked if he could take my picture. I agreed, but then he insisted that his wife be in the photo with me—and that we pose together in front of the tank. It was a strange request, but I played along. Just as I was about to pose, he reached over and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, exposing more of my chest. That was when things went from slightly odd to completely bizarre.

Later, we stopped at a rural guesthouse surrounded by rice paddies. It also functioned as a bar and, unexpectedly, a brothel. Sitting outside with my driver, drinking beers under the dim glow of neon lights, I watched the surreal scene unfold—Vietnamese rock music blasted from inside while brothel workers in miniskirts shuffled between customers.

An older man sat down beside me and, through my driver’s translation, introduced himself as the owner. He claimed to be a former Viet Cong general who had survived being napalmed by American forces, and the burns on his leg seemed to corroborate his story. Despite everything, he welcomed me to Vietnam with a smile and poured me another beer. Then, in a completely unexpected turn, he reached out and began brushing my leg hair with his hand—apparently fascinated by it. It wasn’t the first time in Vietnam that someone had done this, as leg hair is uncommon there.

Between the war monuments, the barren battlefields, the odd photo request, and the former Viet Cong general-turned-brothel-owner petting my leg, this trip was turning out to be more surreal than I could have imagined.

In pursuit of my obsession with seeing wild tigers, I chose a national park on the Cambodian border that protects a vast forest wilderness. I had no real plan—just a desire to venture into the jungle, camp, and search for tigers.

My motor taxi driver and I navigated rough dirt roads to reach the park headquarters. After a long day of clinging to the back of a small motorbike, enduring the chaos of Vietnam’s roads, I was exhausted. The area around the headquarters was dotted with tribal thatched houses, and we took some time to visit a few indigenous families, who lived alongside their pot-bellied pigs.

As night approached, I arranged a trek into the jungle with an indigenous guide, planning to sleep in the forest. I didn’t have a tent, but the idea was to find a spot and sleep under the stars. We set off by crossing a river on the back of an elephant before hiking into the jungle as the sun dipped below the horizon.

An hour into our hike through the mixed forest, the skies unleashed a torrential downpour. The rain showed no sign of letting up, and sleeping out in the open in the Vietnamese jungle quickly seemed like a terrible idea. With no other option, we turned back.

Running through the jungle in the dark, soaked to the bone, we retraced our steps to the river, paddled across, and returned to the park headquarters. That night, instead of camping in the wild, I found myself in a small bungalow—dry, warm, and slightly disappointed, yet still exhilarated by the adventure.

Indigenious village

Indigenious people living in a thatched home 

Praying mantis inside one of the indigenious homes 

Sharing local foods with an indigenious family 

Hiking through the forest at night looking for a place to sleep before the rain came

Sunset in the forest

In the morning, I wandered around my guesthouse in Yok Don National Park, searching for insects and snakes. While waiting for breakfast, which the cooks were preparing in a nearby thatched hut, I noticed a monkey in a cage just a few feet away. The cage was closed but unlocked.

For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I decided to release the monkey. The moment I lifted the latch, I heard a panicked scream from behind me—one of the park rangers had seen me.

“Noooooo!” he shouted.

But it was too late. The monkey was free, embracing his newfound liberty with an enthusiasm that would soon prove disastrous.

As I soon learned, the monkey was a wild one, found injured in the reserve. He was being kept in the cage until he recovered enough to be released. He was also, according to the ranger, extremely naughty. Within seconds, I discovered why.

The monkey bolted straight into the kitchen, triggering an immediate explosion of chaos. A woman screamed, pots and pans crashed to the ground, and the cooks scattered. One of the women tried to flee, but the monkey—sporting a very conspicuous erection—chased after her with alarming determination.

The ranger, standing next to me with a broom in hand, muttered, “The monkey really likes girls.”

The woman disappeared into another hut, while the ranger scrambled to wrangle the monkey. But the little troublemaker was too quick—he climbed into the rafters and hid, watching from above like a mischievous spirit. Then, out of nowhere, he spotted me lying in a hammock. In an instant, he latched onto my head from the foot of the hammock and began picking at my scalp, eating whatever he was finding.

Every time I tried to move, he tightened his grip with sharp little claws, holding me hostage. When the ranger approached, the monkey hissed and moved closer to my head as if I was his personal protector. The ranger, broom in hand, waited for his moment to strike.

Resigned to my fate, I sat still and let the monkey continue his impromptu grooming session. “Take a picture,” I told the ranger, deciding that if I was going to be a human tree for a wild monkey, I might as well document it.

Eventually, the monkey got distracted long enough for the ranger to make his move. With a quick, well-placed swoop of the broom, he managed to shoo the monkey back into his cage.

Peace was restored. Breakfast was finally served. And I had learned an important lesson—never release a monkey without knowing its backstory.

The monkey picking on my scalp as I sat in my hammock 

After visiting Yok Don, I began the long journey back to Nha Trang on the back of a motorbike. Somewhere along the way, disaster struck—I came down with a brutal case of food poisoning. What followed was 10 hours of pure hell, battling waves of nausea and intense diarrhea while clinging to the back of my driver.

The worst part? Having to stop at public restrooms that could only be described as places of nightmares. Each stop was a test of endurance, but I had no choice—I was in survival mode. By the time we finally arrived at my hotel in Nha Trang, I was feverish, weak, and barely holding it together.

Then, as if the universe wanted to throw in one last challenge, the electricity in my hotel went out. I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, feeling even worse. Gathering what little strength I had left, I stumbled down to the front desk to ask about the power outage. The hotel manager took one look at me and immediately called a doctor.

To my amazement, within an hour—at night—a doctor arrived at my room. For just $20, he examined me, prescribed medication, and assured me I’d be fine by morning. And incredibly, he was right.

By the time the sun rose, I felt completely recovered, as if the nightmare of the previous day had never happened. It was fantastic.

From Nha Trang, I caught a flight back to Hanoi and then continued home to San Diego via Bangkok, Thailand. My trip had come full circle, but Vietnam had certainly made sure I left with one last unforgettable experience.