Here I sit on my last full day in Vietnam, in Saigon. I’m enjoying an incredibly delicious avocado smoothie before visiting the Independence Palace.
Reflecting on the past few hours.
And on the past four months.
I love Vietnam. Now, I’m thinking about why.
This is the one I know best
I think my answer is just that simple.
It’s true that it captivated me right from the start. After the bustle of Hanoi came Cat Ba, Ninh Binh, and then Sapa. And from there, more than a dozen other towns and cities. The North, the central region, and then the South. I’ve explored this country thoroughly, given the opportunities I had.
But I don’t really have much to compare it with.
I lived on an island in Thailand for three months. Admittedly, I got to know Koh Samui very well. But that’s just a tiny dot on the map of the country. I also lived in a Buddhist temple, in Chiang Mai, and—of course—in Pai. Yet, even taken together, these places represent only a small fraction of vast Thailand.
As for Indonesia, I saw parts of Bali and the tiny Gili Islands.
I traveled across Laos from end to end, but I didn’t cover as much ground there as I did here.
So, Vietnam is the country I can say with certainty—based on my own experience—is beautiful. I saw a lot of it. It revealed so much of itself to me. Out of all the places I visited, there were only two where I eventually felt I’d had enough. There is a strong correlation between the number of tourists and that feeling of “having had enough.”
Every country taught me something. A lot, actually. But I feel it was Vietnam that truly taught me what the digital nomad lifestyle is really like.
Lots of travel, lots of work. Shared accommodation. Simple local eateries. And the ability to move on when the time is right.
My heart is full of gratitude. I am living an extraordinary life right now. No matter how my life unfolds from here, the past year—and Vietnam’s role in it—has been life-changing for me. I might be wrong. But I only wrote this here out of habit.
Goodbye, Vietnam!
Saigon. For the last time.
For me, this will surely be a city of walks. I walked for 18 days here. 190 km. An average of 10.5 km a day. I’m satisfied.
I spent countless hours at Highlands Café. I think I’ve earned the “regular” badge. For a while now, the guys there have been able to predict exactly what I’m going to order. That’s just how I like it.
Today—my final day—I gave myself a day off. How ironic! A “free” digital nomad taking a day off.
I planned to visit five locations today. Whatever I miss, I miss. I decided that months ago regarding every future destination.
By showcasing these five spots, I’m letting go of this city. Tomorrow, I’ll be sleeping in Cambodia.
War Remnants Museum
I was already thinking about what I wanted to write about this experience while still at the museum.
I don’t want to—and can’t—write much about it.
In the courtyard, I encountered tanks, airplanes, a helicopter, and heavy weaponry. It was fascinating. But thoughts began to creep in: how many people had been killed by the very things I was looking at and touching?
Then came the section showcasing the prison system, also located in the courtyard. Here, I was deeply disheartened by the ingenuity applied to the destruction of human beings. I usually smile. I don’t think I did then.
Inside the building, there are vast, thematic halls.
War crimes, the effects of Agent Orange—to name just two. The mere names sent shivers down my spine.
I felt a constant knot in my throat and stomach. I often had to fight back tears.
It was in that second room I mentioned that I decided I didn’t want to write about this. Just a single word.
Horrible.
The last room offered some solace. For although the exhibition was dedicated to the memory of the many photographers—both Vietnamese and foreign—who perished in the fighting, it felt more human than the war itself.
I saw a great many magnificent photos. Not cheerful ones; most captured moments of deep sorrow. Yet, to me, they all seemed like masterpieces. Despite the pain they immortalized, they held—for me—so many genuine, natural moments. Those moments, those human gazes, helped prepare me to step back out onto the street.
Now I am sitting here in front of the café. My avocado smoothie is slowly running out. I am still not smiling. But that is all right for now.
I am heading to the Independence Palace. And I am waiting for that something that will bring a smile back to my day.
Independence Palace
I had arrived at a significant historical site.
The entire building felt so familiar. I had the constant sensation that I had seen it before—and I suspect that was no coincidence; the palace had likely appeared in many films.
I explored the place from top to bottom—from cellar to attic, as the saying goes. It was fascinating to see the styles and technology of sixty or seventy years ago within the labyrinthine cellar. I tried to picture the now-empty rooms as they once were, filled with radio operators, political officers, and security guards. I wondered how they would have reacted had I simply wandered in back then. I sought out every locked door and followed every staircase leading downwards to its very end. I thoroughly enjoyed looking around.
Then, I toured the upper floors. I admired the grand conference rooms and the furnishings, carpets, and artwork that exuded luxury. It seemed designed to impress the outside world and the high-ranking guests who visited—for the bedrooms themselves were quite ordinary. It was interesting to witness this contrast and to imagine what it must have been like to retreat from all that day-long splendor into a plain, everyday bedroom. I certainly would have enjoyed it.
I really liked the cinema, the restaurants, and the ballroom. I occasionally got lost on the upper floors, too, given the sheer number of corridors and turns, but I always managed to find the staircase in the end.
Finally, I reached the roof, where an American-made Huey helicopter stood. Here, I didn’t just see the traces of history; I felt like I was becoming a part of it, too.
On Saturday night, I happened to be walking in this area. Suddenly, I found myself at 22 Gia Long Street—or at least, that was its name on April 29, 1975. Today, it is known as 22 Lý Tự Trọng. Back then, American government employees lived here, and it was from this location that they were evacuated by helicopter. It is a very famous event in Vietnamese history; chances are, you’ve seen a photograph from that day.
And now—today, Tuesday—I am here at the palace where, the very next day (April 30, 1975), Saigon fell.
Helicopters played a role at both locations—associated with the memory of the Americans (and many Vietnamese who had collaborated with them) being evacuated.
It occurred to me that on Wednesday, I, too, will be “evacuating myself” from Vietnam. Though my story is far less dramatic: I am not fleeing, and I don’t have a helicopter.
Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon
This building is the odd one out among my excursions.
For one thing, I had already been here on the aforementioned Saturday night, so the sight wasn’t new to me.
For another, the building’s two main towers are completely encased in scaffolding for renovations, so from the front, all you can see is plastic sheeting.
Thirdly, I didn’t go inside then—at night—and I didn’t go in today either. It is open for two two-hour slots a day. I missed the window today; I spent far more time at the first two stops than I had anticipated. Then, by the time I arrived here, I was forced to take a break at the Highlands because my phone had died and I didn’t have a charger with me.
I had to decide whether to wait for Mass and perhaps see the cathedral’s interior then, or move on. I decided to move on. I don’t consider it “ethical” to use attending Mass as a cover for my curiosity. Besides, there was another pagoda on my list that I really wanted to reach before dark.
In this way, the cathedral ended up being just like its big sister in Paris for me. I’ve been to Paris twice, yet I’ve never seen the inside of that cathedral either.
I suppose this has all come together to form a story that has come full circle.
Saigon Central Post Office
Famous, iconic.
At least, that’s what I read about this building.
It is certainly an impressive building, both inside and out. It is stunningly spacious, beautifully decorated, and—in many respects—evokes classic French architecture. I wrote that sentence knowing nothing about architectural styles, so I apologize in advance if it wasn’t quite accurate.
What I meant to say was that being in and around the building gave me the feeling of being in Paris.
However, it currently functions largely as a giant bazaar. You can access postal services in the main hall, but even there, countless vendors are selling goods—perfumes, jewelry—and not the cheap kind, either. The building’s two side wings are literally like a bazaar, filled with thousands of different types of souvenirs.
None of that really appealed to me; I think I spent maybe 15 seconds in the side wing before turning back. Especially since photography was prohibited. What business did I have there?
Jade Emperor Pagoda
This is a very old pagoda tucked among lofty skyscrapers in the bustling commercial city center. It will surely be one of the most suggested travel destinations when you have a chance to visit the city.
That’s what I had read about this pagoda beforehand.
By the time I arrived, I was feeling a bit tired.
From the outside, the building looked so familiar that my first thought was, “I’ve seen this before.” There was a sign stating that proper attire was required for entry. I almost decided not to go in—I’d have to take off my shoes, and I was tired and feeling a bit lazy.
But I’d played this scenario out a few times before. And once again, that voice inside me spoke up, saying, “Oh, come on!”
I hadn’t forgotten to pack my sari in my backpack that morning; it would have been a waste not to use it. So, I kicked off my shoes, threw on the sari, took off my hat, and went into the pagoda.
It would have been a shame to miss it. It was unique—truly. I saw statues there of a beauty I hadn’t had the chance to see anywhere else. This was one instance where I actually “regretted” choosing to be respectful, as photography was prohibited. I would have loved to take a few pictures, but the little sign clearly said no.
So, I’ll carry the image of the pagoda in my memories instead.
Just as I will with Vietnam.
I love this country.
Even so, I’m evacuating myself in an hour.
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