Travel Journal
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VIETNAM: Fifty Years Later, A New Eden from the Rubble
May 2025
By Sandra Bertrand
I sometimes liken travel to a mirror that shatters, then miraculously reassembles itself into a new visage. From a perspective of self-regard we reemerge, fresh, with a multi-faceted countenance to face the world.
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This year marks the 50th anniversary of the fall of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) to the North Vietnamese and the 30th anniversary of the diplomatic relations between the U.S. and Vietnam. It was high time for my traveling partner Joanne and I to walk the same streets, eat the same food, breathe the same air, not as strangers but as fellow human beings.
Hanoi, the capital of the country and home to a population of seven million, is an instant assault on the senses. After 16 hours in the air, our taxi arrived at our Belle Maison lodgings in the Old Quarter. We were quickly ushered through the narrow aisleway of a 24-hour convenience market, up a hardwood staircase at the rear of the shop to the fifth-floor landing — a boutique hotel, Vietnamese style? Mint tea and a blossom strewn bed in our appointed room awaited us. I took a sip of the tea, removed my shoes, and fell into bed.
We rallied in time for a late afternoon lunch around the corner at Gia Ngu Restaurant. Fortified by beady-eyed prawns in a coconut shell and a papaya salad, we reemerged into the street. The banks of Hoan Kiem Lake lay directly south of us with a lacquered red bridge stretching across the watery expanse. In no time, I was accosted by a leaping human in monkey garb for a quick snapshot. My attention was again diverted to hollows in the trees, where supplicants could leave offerings to whatever Buddha was tucked inside.
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Hanoi Street Scene
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After purchasing tickets for the Thang Long Water Puppet Theatre, we ambled about the narrow streets of the Quarter. No small feat with curbs choked with vendors hunched over steaming pots of pho. The smoke from barbecue grills filled our nostrils as skewers of pork and buffalo meat were hungrily consumed. Many Vietnamese are small in stature, which explained their plastic stools no higher than a shoeshine bench.
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Outdoor stools at the Hanoi Skyline's roof lounge provided us with a misty pre-dinner view of the city. Chilled and jetlagged, we were as expectant as fifth graders on their first out-of-town bus excursion. By New York standards, the close by theatre was drafty and timeworn, but once the lights came up, we were totally enchanted. Singers wailed in sing-songy unison as a cast of dragons, fish, and human puppets splashed and cavorted in their watery pool. Our second day in Hanoi began with a hotel breakfast of ruby colored dragon fruit, passion fruit in its viridian shell, watermelon, sausages, toast and scrambled eggs for me. Joanne opted for pho soup, the signature dish of beef shavings, broth, onions, noodles, lime and hot pepper sauce. I tried out my “cam on” thanks to our sweetly compliant waitress, a phrase which was to remain my only attempt at the language for the rest of the trip. Happily, enough English and French is understood that we could stumble through with a smile. Ready to dive into a complex history, we headed for Van Mieu, translated as the Temple of Literature. Dedicated to Confucius, from 1076 to 1779 it acted as Vietnam's first national university. More lovers of the written word than devout, for us it seemed like a good beginning. Manicured courtyards, steles supported by giant turtles to honor the best students, and altars to Confucius abound. A calligraphist was on hand for demonstrations outside a small museum displaying past graduation ceremonies. |
Confucius, Temple of Literature, Hanoi
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What frustrated our ignorance of Eastern beliefs was the odd outpouring of gifts, from Hennessey cognac and Ballentine's Scotch whiskey to oversized grapefruits and fancy chocolates at almost all the altars we encountered. When I questioned what the alcohol was for, a guide informed me without a trace of irony, “It’s holy water.”
Inspired by the spiritual benefits of “holy water” imbibing, we headed in a Grab cab (highly recommended and incredibly cheap) for the French Quarter where the famed Metropole Hotel lay in wait. It opened in 1901 as one of Southeast Asia’s grandest hotels, attracting such luminaries as Graham Greene in 1952 — perhaps when he was writing The Quiet American. Once settled into a glassed-in courtyard café overlooking the pool, we ordered the author’s namesake cocktail as well as a Charlie Chaplin. The mime had honeymooned here once upon a time with actress Paulette Goddard. Even Jane Fonda camped for two weeks during her infamous broadcast to American troops.
Inspired by the spiritual benefits of “holy water” imbibing, we headed in a Grab cab (highly recommended and incredibly cheap) for the French Quarter where the famed Metropole Hotel lay in wait. It opened in 1901 as one of Southeast Asia’s grandest hotels, attracting such luminaries as Graham Greene in 1952 — perhaps when he was writing The Quiet American. Once settled into a glassed-in courtyard café overlooking the pool, we ordered the author’s namesake cocktail as well as a Charlie Chaplin. The mime had honeymooned here once upon a time with actress Paulette Goddard. Even Jane Fonda camped for two weeks during her infamous broadcast to American troops.
Bathed in a seductive atmosphere of softly whirring fans, aided by the quiet comings and goings of waitresses in their elegant chartreuse aoi dai, the national dress of Vietnam, time slowed. We couldn’t help eavesdropping over two Texas businessmen at a nearby table, arguing the merits of American mustard with their server.
A healthy walk unearthed an expansive plaza where Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum lay in wait. The grim structure holding the embalmed hero gave us pause. Ironically, the unassuming Ho’s last wish was to be cremated, with his ashes strewn from one end of his beloved country to the other.
A healthy walk unearthed an expansive plaza where Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum lay in wait. The grim structure holding the embalmed hero gave us pause. Ironically, the unassuming Ho’s last wish was to be cremated, with his ashes strewn from one end of his beloved country to the other.
A Ha Long Bay excursion is a must-see despite its overwhelming popularity. Jagged limestone peaks or karsts pepper the landscape in staggering numbers — almost 4,000 piercing the coast all the way toward China. We opted for Bai Tu Bay with fewer caves and a more serene viewing. A sumptuous lunch was enjoyed inside the main cabin (fish soup with a fresh pea shoot salad for starters, crushed calamari nestled in a puff crust with dipping sauce, shrimp with steamed cabbage, beef and scallions with rice, oyster soup and assorted fruits for dessert). Afterward, we declined a suggested kayak run!
While eyeballing the otherworldly landscape from the deck, I spoke to a spirited Australian woman. Upon discovering where we were from, she exclaimed “My god, New York City makes me dizzy! I’m just a farm girl.”
Loud drums awoke me around 3:00 a.m., followed by the sounds of Hanoi’s loudspeakers announcing International Women’s Day. By 8:00 a.m., a giant screen projecting blowups of passersby was visible below. Military officers in their dark greens were gathering before a stage with other female compatriots. Tire rolling, rope climbing, and other exercises were on offer, but we decided to keep to our Plan A — a visit to the Fine Arts Museum.
While eyeballing the otherworldly landscape from the deck, I spoke to a spirited Australian woman. Upon discovering where we were from, she exclaimed “My god, New York City makes me dizzy! I’m just a farm girl.”
Loud drums awoke me around 3:00 a.m., followed by the sounds of Hanoi’s loudspeakers announcing International Women’s Day. By 8:00 a.m., a giant screen projecting blowups of passersby was visible below. Military officers in their dark greens were gathering before a stage with other female compatriots. Tire rolling, rope climbing, and other exercises were on offer, but we decided to keep to our Plan A — a visit to the Fine Arts Museum.
Karst Cliff from Boat Interior, Ha Long Bay
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Military Women, International Women’s Day, Hanoi
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A brief interjection. On our daily strolls we often set out arm in arm, due to the steady swarm of moped drivers that rarely stop, almost never at crosswalks. In one instance, a kindly Vietnamese man approached us, asking why we were linked in such a way. “You must be the mother,” he said to me, explaining he did the same with his. “No,” I replied. “Just friends.” After a quizzical pause, he thanked us. “You’ve taught me a lot!” We had crossed a cultural barrier, but I’m not sure what. Such confrontations were hardly meant to be rude. “How old are you?” was often asked as soon as we settled into a cab. Sometimes I challenged the inquirer. “How old do you think?” Once, the response was “Oh, fifty?!” If he only knew. Remember how old even fifty looked when you were twenty?
The Fine Arts Museum is a visual feast. Established as a French girls’ boarding school by a Catholic organization (Famille de Jeane d’Arc) in 1937, it houses a beautiful display of Vietnamese paintings, sculptures and ceramics. Lacquer and silk paintings command a second look, and the Tay Son Dynasty’s lacquered buddha sculptures are startlingly life-like.
Sakyamuni Buddha, Tay Son Dynasty, 18th C., Fine Arts Museum, Hanoi
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Buddha, Tay Son Dynasty, 18th C., Fine Arts Museum, Hanoi
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Yet another eatery, our Google iPhone Maps led the way to the art-filled O Macanese Restaurant, with a Portuguese and Chinese fusion of dishes. We dined on baked cod swimming in a lake of avocado sauce and spiked with chorizo sausage — a work of art in itself.
The train south to Ninh Binh lay between a needed overhaul and a clanky nod to the past. Open food carts stacked with fried chicken rumbled by for passengers bound for Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City). Chez Cao’s cabins are set amid acres of rice paddies. Bordered by karst hills, the landscape is barely visible in the resident fog. No surprise, a cocktail at the small lobby bar was dubbed “mystical illusion.” Seven kilometers away lay Tam Coc, a watery landlocked version of Halong Bay. Three to a waiting sampan, our female rower was quick to demonstrate leg rowing. We glided past sheer limestone cliffs, ducking our heads as dark tunneled caves arose.
Cuc Phuong is Vietnam’s first national park. Home to a primate rescue center, its rare lemur monkeys were on display, with strict viewing distance enforced. We declined a steep climb to The Cave of the Prehistoric Man (I doubt he was embalmed there) but opted for a humid and muddy 800-meter ascent to an ancient, fossilized tree. Thanks to big-boned Bella, a German woman from Cologne and a flirtatious Frenchman, I made it in time for a group photo. Back at our cabin we hosed down our mud caked sneakers that would take four days to dry. |
Sandra and Joanne at Ancient Tree Site, Ninh Binh
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CENTRAL VIETNAM
A twelve-hour train ride to Hue (pronounced hoo-eh) was challenging. A cranky, cough-riddled old codger and his buddies were seated directly across the aisle, making reading or napping impossible. We donned face masks, devouring a package of biscuits we’d bought back in Hanoi.
A twelve-hour train ride to Hue (pronounced hoo-eh) was challenging. A cranky, cough-riddled old codger and his buddies were seated directly across the aisle, making reading or napping impossible. We donned face masks, devouring a package of biscuits we’d bought back in Hanoi.
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Hue exudes elegance, no doubt due to its reputation as the nation’s capital of the Nguyen dynasty from 1802 to 1945. Our Grab driver deposited us at the Riverside Villa Hotel, happy to receive a two-dollar bill as a tip. Joanne had stuffed her wallet before departure as she’d read about their popularity. Nevertheless, accepting tips for services is often declined. The Imperial City was a highpoint, a gorgeous landmark whose concept is based on China’s Forbidden City. The morning we arranged to meet our guide, we purchased two ponchos to navigate the downpour. Inside the Grab cab, we watched as the moped drivers shot past us, a mad squadron of Valkyries, their own ponchos catching the wind. Approaching the grandeur of the palace exterior on foot was a special treat. Inside, the ceilings, tiles, royal porcelain, and furnishings from the Nguyen dynasty are all on display, with majestic red and gold hardwood pillars in the throne room a standout. |
Joanne and Sandra in Front of Imperial Palace, Hue
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It’s a short climb from Hue’s Perfume River to the seven-story Celestial Lady Pagoda. Our boat captain was a wily young woman who helped us disembark from the dragon-headed junk onto the slippery hillside. On the trip back, she passed us a note describing her family needs and laid out a table of folding paper sculptures. A special local art, we bought four.
Entrance Gate, Royal Tombs, Hue
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Temple Guards, Royal Tombs, Hue
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Hue was also the site of my birthday dinner at Les Jardins de la Carambole. Located in a colonial villa with a decidedly Mediterranean touch, it’s an enchanting choice. Suffering from a cheese withdrawal in the local cuisine, chunks of camembert and bleu d’Auvergne preceding a perfectly prepared steak did the trick.
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A short train to Da Nang, followed by a taxi to Hoi An was a wise choice. After checking into the Signature Hotel, we felt giddy with anticipation. Voila! An Asian Disneyland! We ogled the garish Chinese assembly hall with its cartoonish dragons, the covered Japanese bridge, and the 18th century narrow shophouses where descendants still reside. Artist Phan Ehanh Minh shared bold portraits that “came from my head.” Tailors proliferated at tempting rates. We were fitted at Kimmy’s, where English was spoken. Any imperfections in our silhouettes vanished after two visits.
Eating remained one of our priorities, with Morning Glory’s chicken and ginger dumplings and Mango Mango’s inventive “I’m in the Mood for Love,” a pan-seared king fish with sesame seeds and mango tomato salsa, all downed with Asian Invasion cocktails (vodka infused lemongrass and ginger). A local regulation required the entire town to light their lanterns at sundown, and the restaurant's veranda proved the perfect place to watch the nightly tourist march. The warmest welcome we received was from My, our delightful cooking instructor who spent four hours with us in her own abode. She was the epitome of patience while we flipped rice pancakes for her spring roll specialties. Mastering fish and peanut sauce making is an art, and we will be forever grateful.
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L to R: Joanne, Sandra, and Cooking Teacher My Nguyen (Hoi An)
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The great Cham temple site at My Son is an essential getaway from Hoi An’s fanciful pull. Wandering around its moss-covered ruins, unearthing fragments of holy shrines with their headless gods is haunting. (Note: Visiting in the early morning to avoid the heat and crowds is a must.)
We had given ourselves a couple of days of downtime. And Da Nang’s gorgeous beach front (dubbed “China Beach” by American soldiers needing a break from battle) fit the bill. Our Belle Rive Hotel [see Belle Rive Terrace Restaurant] gave us a dazzling view, a lineup of trendy restaurants opposite. It was easy to spot the Lady Buddha statue on a nearby mountainside, 70 meters high and overlooking the watery stretch.
But it wasn’t long before we tired of Vietnam’s Miami vibe. Heading out for the Rang Restaurant, we enjoyed the best Indian dinner on the planet. The wait staff was impeccable, comprised of young emigrants from Mumbai helping us translate the menu, including Rang Birangi, a lump crab and avocado concoction; Tandoori Gobhi, a crusty pistachio, pomegranate, and mint pastry on a Greek tzatziki bed; and a lamb Masala curry. Rang was the first Indian establishment to receive the Michelin Bib Gourmand award in 2024. A bottle of Sicilian Nero d’Avola completed our order.
We had given ourselves a couple of days of downtime. And Da Nang’s gorgeous beach front (dubbed “China Beach” by American soldiers needing a break from battle) fit the bill. Our Belle Rive Hotel [see Belle Rive Terrace Restaurant] gave us a dazzling view, a lineup of trendy restaurants opposite. It was easy to spot the Lady Buddha statue on a nearby mountainside, 70 meters high and overlooking the watery stretch.
But it wasn’t long before we tired of Vietnam’s Miami vibe. Heading out for the Rang Restaurant, we enjoyed the best Indian dinner on the planet. The wait staff was impeccable, comprised of young emigrants from Mumbai helping us translate the menu, including Rang Birangi, a lump crab and avocado concoction; Tandoori Gobhi, a crusty pistachio, pomegranate, and mint pastry on a Greek tzatziki bed; and a lamb Masala curry. Rang was the first Indian establishment to receive the Michelin Bib Gourmand award in 2024. A bottle of Sicilian Nero d’Avola completed our order.
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A HANOI GOODBYE
On our final return by flight to Hanoi, we consulted our guidebook once more to determine two museums not to be missed. The Hoa Lo Prison Museum was wryly nicknamed “Hanoi Hilton” by American pilots who were incarcerated there. Memorabilia of late Senator John McCain’s time served (1967 to 1975) is a moving testament to his courage. Many displays evoke the brutal treatment by the French during the earlier Indochina War.
The Vietnamese Women’s Museum, opened in 1987 by the Socialist Republic, exists “to recognize the role played by women in the nation’s historical and cultural development.” There’s an undeniable power in the photo blowup displays of those women who fought valiantly, behind the scenes or alongside their comrades.
On our final return by flight to Hanoi, we consulted our guidebook once more to determine two museums not to be missed. The Hoa Lo Prison Museum was wryly nicknamed “Hanoi Hilton” by American pilots who were incarcerated there. Memorabilia of late Senator John McCain’s time served (1967 to 1975) is a moving testament to his courage. Many displays evoke the brutal treatment by the French during the earlier Indochina War.
The Vietnamese Women’s Museum, opened in 1987 by the Socialist Republic, exists “to recognize the role played by women in the nation’s historical and cultural development.” There’s an undeniable power in the photo blowup displays of those women who fought valiantly, behind the scenes or alongside their comrades.
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Back at the Skyline Roof Bar, under a drizzling canopy of rain, we lifted our glasses to Vietnam’s beauty and enigmatic energy. I thought of that shattered mirror I’d held up and how each shard represented a face, a taste, a place that I wouldn’t forget, that would make me whole again.
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LAOS (A Quick Detour to Luang Prabang as Part of the Journey)
Waking to a sun-shot morning in my Saynamkhan Riverview Lodge bed, I could hear the tinkling of monastery bells. We were afforded a placid view of the Nam Khan River, which feeds into the larger Mekong. Three young monks in their saffron robes strolled single file along the riverside, and I knew I was in a quieter place inside and outside my head.
Wat Xieng Thong (Golden City Temple) is a 16th century monastery that served as the coronation site of Lao kings. As the day’s heat rose into the nineties, we sought shade under frangipani trees, admiring the triple-tiered roof of the main building with its golden dragons jutting out in all directions. Directly opposite the temple we settled down for a salad plate of Laap (minced meat of choice, fresh herbs, lime, fish sauce, and toasted rice powder) at Belle Rive Terrace. The Mandalao Elephant Preserve introduced us to several of the floppy-eared residents, where they feasted on the carrots and bamboo shoots we provided. Trudging in front of a willing mother and her offspring, I found their hides the same ochre camouflage color as the dusty path. Twenty other such centers in Thailand are helping the species survive, even to return, if possible, to the wild. In the 1980s the population was at 100,000 and is now barely over 5,000. A Tamarind cooking class in the heart of the countryside started at the town market. We passed buckets of fish, great slabs of bison liver, and every imaginable fruit, vegetable and grain. Sit, our resident chef and his crew did their best to induct us in the joys of Laotian cuisine, as we did our best to follow instructions. But tying up a minced meat delicacy in a softened banana leaf required persistence. The hours folded one into another, without urgency or stress. Trailing bougainvillea, pastel-colored houses and rustling pines all conspired to lull us into doing nothing. Another temple visit was dark and cool, filled with exquisite panel paintings of a Buddha’s path to Nirvana. |
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PLACES OF INTEREST (LODGING) Hanoi La Belle Maison Ninh Bin Chez Cao Note: Tam Coc Boat Tour and Cuc Phuong National Forest Tour can be arranged here. Hue Hue Riverside Villa Hoi An The Signature Da Nang Mercy Emerald Hotel |
PLACES OF INTEREST (MUSEUMS/TOURS) Hanoi Vietnamese Women's Museum Vietnam Fine Arts Museum Hoa Lo Prison Museum Van Mieu (The Temple of Literature) Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum Thang Long Water Puppet Theater Hue Hue Citadel and Imperial Palace Emperors Royal Tombs Hoi An Center for Culture, Sports, Radio and Television Hoi An Office of Tourist Services (Link to phone #) My Son Sanctuary Kimmy Custom Tailor (Get fitted properly!) Home Cooking Class with My Gnuyen |
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Sandra Bertrand is an award-winning playwright and painter. She is Chief Art Critic for Highbrow Magazine, and she is former founding editor of NAWA NOW, a quarterly magazine published by the National Association of Women Artists, Inc. Prior to working for Sanctuary as Travel & Culture Editor, Sandra was a Featured Artist in May 2019.
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