We've had the chance to try Vietnam's fresh fruit and vegetables along our journey, including many types of juice (everything from carrot to dragon fruit to passion fruit) and "fruit shakes" (aka smoothies, think mango and papaya, as well as adventurous options like avocado and tomato). We've sampled nearly every flavor. Most are very good, but many still miss the mark. Then, just as we're about to leave Vietnam, on our last stop, we find the perfect smoothie. 

Cafe XAY is a non-descript, blink-and-you'll-miss-it cafe offering a couple local dishes, coffee drinks, and Vietnam's best smoothies. Small potted plants hang in the entrance and white bistro tables with "Ristorante" written in red cursive make up the open-air seating. Blended scoops of papaya and ice create a smoothie of the perfect consistency. The strawberry smoothie includes ice, yogurt and strawberries, complete with flecks of green (proof of a fresh strawberry base). And the best part? Each smoothie is about 75 cents. Daily mid morning Can Tho snack... check.

Raindrops barrage the water’s surface as our small boat rocks from side to side. Our Captain, a local Vietnamese man who we’ve paid $25 to guide us through the famous Cai Rang floating markets, desperately yanks the pull cord on the Honda motor but it continues to putter. A good 500 feet of murky brown water separates us from either side of the shoreline. We glance at one another, acknowledging that this is actually happening. We're stranded on a tiny wooden boat in the middle of the Song Hau River... in a monsoon.

Five hours earlier, the little vessel is successfully chugging along up the river, passing riverfront homes on stilts and boats carrying everything from fish to produce to motorbikes. Cai Rang is the largest floating market in the Mekong Delta, where locals from the surrounding web of rivers sell goods and produce, easily identified by the samples hanging atop poles on their boats. All of them stacked top to bottom with every fruit, vegetable and variety of fresh water seafood imaginable. Kids lay on the top deck, quietly eating pho as their normal morning routine plays out. The engine cut, our boat snakes through the market, quiet observers in everyday life.

A sharp turn off the main river narrows into a neighborhood of "side streets," or waterways, that twist through fruit orchards and around homes. 

We stop at a small farm where jackfruits grow on the trunks of trees and happy fish perform aquaculture. The sun is still shining after an hour spent laying side by side in hammocks and sipping coconuts and mango juice (while our captain kicks it in a nearby hammock, opting for the 10am beer instead). 

We're reaching the end of a seemingly perfect day as we embark on our two hour trip back to the pier. In true monsoon fashion, the rain makes a surprise attack. Within seconds of us saying "it's sprinkling," sheets of rain fall from the sky. Our captain struggles against the wind and rain to hoist up the small boat cover, tossing his jacket to us for added protection. The pounding rain combined with the river current and the wake of large passing boats result in a bumpy ride as we calculate the remaining hour or so back to Can Tho. We're the only small boat that is braving the storm on the wide river. 

Just as we're nervously laughing, adventurous attitudes in full force, the engine dies. The captain manages to turn it over a couple of times and we momentarily celebrate, only for it to die again. Drifting down the river, rain pouring down, we finally reach a small dock where a friend/mechanic with a wrench and screwdriver in hand works on the wavering motor. It takes 45 minutes, a couple of false starts and a lot of Vietnamese banter, but it finally turns over and we're heading home.

Having weathered the storm we arrive back in Can Tho, say goodbye to the captain, and hope that our tip will contribute to a new motor for the next couple that braves the Mekong on the brink of rainy season in Vietnam.

One of the best gifts of traveling is that of perspective. At home, in our modern, democratic and economically stable society, we still somehow struggle with inequality and extreme income disparity. Yet standing here, on the corner of a crowded Hanoi street, watching hordes of female street vendors try desperately to sell goods, it’s impossible not to have that word creep into your mind. Perspective.

The most striking thing we’ve noticed about women in Vietnam is their strength. Whether speeding past on a motorbike or grilling meat at a roadside stand, they exude a silent, yet incredible, confidence. Maybe it’s because they’ve been through so much, tragically lost so many loved ones, so many sons and husbands gone following the still recent war.

We’re sitting in a small room in the Vietnamese Women’s Museum, surrounded by portraits of the Heroic Mothers of Vietnam. This title was given by the National Assembly to over 50,000 women, all of whom had lost more than two children, their only child, their husband and child, or their own life, during the war. In the center of the room, sits the Chally scooter ridden by artist Dang Ai Viet, who traveled more than 35 thousand kilometers across the country to paint many of the women. All stories of incredible resolve, through incomparable tragedy and loss. 

Later, at a nearby coffee shop, we talk about what it means to travel responsibly; to give back to the place we visit. We’ve purposefully been staying in locally-owned homestays and hotels, buying food and products made in Vietnam, and have sought out local shops to ensure what we spend goes back to the communities we visit. But with our newly gained knowledge of the struggle that many Vietnamese women face to support their families, it doesn't feel like enough. There’s no simple answer. No true or false questions, no multiple choice. This is an essay question that has to be answered thoughtfully and thoroughly, with details and examples. Part of this trip, this website, is about finding those details, providing those examples, sharing the information and continuing to look for opportunities to help.

Made up of nearly 2,000 islets within 1,500 square kilometers, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is just a few hours drive from Hanoi. The islets, a product of 20 million years of formation (the limestone itself, 500 million years in the making) from the wet, tropical climate. In Vietnamese, Ha Long means descending dragon, perhaps from a recent flight from Hanoi; it's meaning, ascending dragon. While there are various local legends describing how the bay came to be, its history is legend enough, as people have lived here dating back to 16,000 BC.

It’s the quiet that stands out more than anything. The stillness of the water and lack of wind, or really any weather at all. Once the clouds part and the sun casts its light on the steep limestone cliffs covered in green, the realization that this is not a dream starts to sink in. Images of Ha Long Bay have floated through our minds for years, drifting through the scattered islands in a place we likely couldn’t point to on a map. Always half a world away, but now we’re here.

Atop the roof deck of our 14 room imperial junk boat, we stand staring, jaws dropped, at the sheer beauty of this place. Within an hour we’re anchored in the central part of the bay, preparing to kayak through a floating fishing village, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Rowing slowly, praying for a way to truly stop time and hold this moment forever, we flow through the gray and green karsts. Hawks float in the sky above as we pass pearl farms, a few small huts on the islets, and caves to the larger bay around us. Soon we’re diving off the boat and floating in the bay, eyes closed, the moment burying itself deep in our minds.

Daylight fades and the sun sets magnificently behind an assortment of cliffs as we push further into the bay. By midnight we’re enveloped by darkness, drinking beers and playing cards with new friends from all over the world. 

It’s hard to describe the sensation of hopes or dreams being fulfilled. Very often, we build expectations that can never be met. But not here. Here, every promise is met. Each sudden cliff, a moment permanently engraved in our memory.

We turn down a small alley in Hanoi’s old quarter in search of some good, local food. Our destination is Minh Thuy's Family Restaurant, which comes highly recommended by a certain travel review website. Minh’s is small and narrow, with only a half dozen tables, so we share a table just across from another young couple. Within a few minutes we’re deep in conversation with the two young Brits, sharing stories from our collective travels around Southeast Asia. Hours, and many beers later, we part ways and head home for the night.

In the time after meeting these cool young kids and before the beers (only 10,000 dong for large Tiger bottles!) were done, we had some great food at Minh’s. It turns out, she’s a pretty well known lady in this town, having made it halfway through the reality cooking show, MasterChef Vietnam. And the food definitely proves worthy of the fame.

Indulging our recently created addiction to fresh spring rolls, we share a plate, as well as some truly awesome ‘fried pho’ topped with crispy shallots and bean sprouts, and egg fried rice that is good, but has trouble standing up against the other plates. It’s tasty enough that we circle back for more the following night, because who can resist some delicious eats and $.50 beers served up by a local celebrity.

The bass of the gong rumbles through the dark theater. Our knees are pressed against the seats in front of us as we sit, surrounded by tourists and a handful of local mothers with their kids, all waiting in anticipation for the show to begin. The self-made happy hour we've just enjoyed on a bench next to the lake has resulted in an optimal buzz, perfect for the Thanh Long water puppet show. 

Dating back to the 11th century, water puppetry is one of Vietnam's most treasured forms of folk art and entertainment. When the rice fields of the Red River Delta would flood, villagers would break out their wooden puppets and hold a show inside the rice paddy. A pagoda was put up to hide up to eight puppeteers, who stood in waist-high water and controlled the puppets with long strings and wooden rods. In modern theaters, a Vietnamese orchestra with vocals, drums, wooden bells, cymbals, horns, monochords, gongs, and bamboo flutes, along with lighting, fire and dry ice, now adds to the show. we quickly realize that this is not your local public library puppet show. It's both a traditional art form and a major production. And it's impressive.

The 3 to 4 foot lacquered wood puppets glide across the water's surface in perfect choreographed unison, much like an Olympic synchronized swimming team. Each scene tells a different story, all in Vietnamese, forcing us to quietly spitball what's going down on stage. Dragons breathe fire from the water, birds fly in from the ceiling, a monkey scurries up a tree and we're having a blast.

After this classic performance that dates back centuries, we step out into the bustling Hanoi streets. From the ancient to the modern, the streets are filled with hip hop dance troupes, roaming roosters, musicians, and vendors selling cocktails from carts. The energy is buzzing and this is clearly the local choice for a Saturday night out. 

Art, music and culture, the old and the new, all in one night in Hanoi.

P.s. Did we mention the hip hop dancing...

After some time spent in Vietnam, Hanoi’s differences from the south, although a bit subtle, are easy to notice. The honking of motorbikes is slightly louder and more aggressive. The chaotic traffic feels less organized. The food, less spicy. It might be where we’re staying (the old quarter is notoriously touristy), but Hanoi feels like a city that caters to foreigners. Menus are written in English, there are women hawking donuts and other trinkets everywhere, and hotel staff are relentless in their offers for trips to Ha Long Bay. Regardless, it’s a beautiful city, full of treelined streets, architectural details, and tributes to “Uncle Ho.” A marriage of ancient Vietnam and colonial France, being reinvented by the young, modern, and enterprising Vietnamese.

"The great challenge in travel is not arriving at the glamorous foreign city, but solving the departure problem, finding a way out of it, without flying. Busses are usually nasty and bus stations the world over are dens of thieves, cutpurses, intimidators, mountebanks, and muggers. Hired cars are convenient but nearly always a ripoff, and who wants narration from the driver? The train is still the ideal- show up and hop on." 
- Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star

To describe the passing Vietnamese countryside as beautiful is selling it short. At 5:30am, the train rocks through the waking streets of the Hue suburbs and shortly after we're slowly moving past rice fields, ponds full of blossoming lotus flowers, and massive limestone cliffs, jutting straight out of the ground. By 1pm, we're in an agricultural area, with the flat plains sprinkled with water buffalo and the bamboo conical hats of farmers. The bright afternoon sun slowly moves overhead and prepares to set as we close in on Vietnam’s capital. Stop after stop, we inch closer to the city, and as darkness falls the train creeps through small villages where men gather around short tables on plastic stools, drinking beer and playing cards. It is, without a doubt, the best way to see the country. 

With so much time, we read aloud from Theroux's book, finally reaching chapters on Vietnam and comparing our time here with his. As we learn more and more about this country - the history, the war, the economy and the culture - our experiences start to make more sense. It sparks conversation and reflection; a deeper understanding of the people and place that is only attainable through a combination of effort and time. We're grateful for the opportunity, proud of our decision to travel and happy to experience the world together. All of this from 14 short hours on a train that stands today as a symbol of independence.

Hue is a mix of the ancient and modern. The imperial city, or citadel, on the north banks of the Perfume river was once inhabited by emperors and their concubines. On the river’s south side, a web of narrow streets and alleyways is filled with hotels, coffee shops, video game cafes, and a surprising amount of Italian restaurants (okay, so we may have gotten pizza one night, but let’s be real, it’s pizza). Our stopover is brief and, with only one full day to explore, we start with a stroll to the train station to book our tickets for the following day’s journey.

Covered by a gray, hazy sky, the city’s landscape feels muted. Narrow parks straddle the wide, lazy river on both sides, the headache inducing roar of cicadas envelops the trees above. A few kilometers down the road and the pink colonial rail station approaches. We cross the green hued river on a four lane bridge to see the west wall of the citadel. On this side of the Perfume RIver,  it’s quiet, with only a few street vendors slinging banh mi and sugarcane juice. For the first time in Vietnam, we opt for the latter and watch as the street vendor hand-cranks the press to flatten the long rods of sugarcane. Her strength is impressive as she squeezes every last drop of juice into the bottom of the cup. We happily continue down the riverside, passing the sweet, honey-colored liquid back and forth, racing against the questionable ice melting, the perfect afternoon stopover in Hue.

Bookcases filled with old comic books line the walls of this spacious restaurant, far removed from the busy streets of Hoi An’s Ancient Town. From a thick menu of teas, drinks, and vegetarian Vietnamese dishes, we choose two 'fresh' (aka draft) local beers, two green teas and a shared set menu. 

Before we get to the food, there’s something to be said about the beer. Straightforward and refreshing, the ‘fresh’ Vietnamese lager runs a guest 3,000 dong at Minh Hien. That’s approximately 14 cents in USD. Seriously, where else, anywhere, can you get a beer for 14 cents. And it’s good! For a minute, we consider bringing water bottles back to fill for our train ride the following day. Sadly, we don't, and in the end we definitely regret it.

Back to the food. The Hoi An special noodles are thick, chewy and really, really, yummy. The spring rolls are perfectly fried and the banh xeo (Vietnamese pancakes made of rice flour, water, and turmeric powder) is served with fresh greens, bean sprouts, and squash, then wrapped ‘like a cigarette’ in rice paper before being dipped in homemade spicy sauce. The steam from banana leaf-wrapped tofu, onions, mushrooms, and spices wafts across the table and we’re reminded of just how good the food is in this country. And did we mention the 14 cent beer?

There’s something a little magical about riding a bike. You instantly feel like a kid again; ringing your bell as you cross intersections, standing to pedal uphill, a dumb grin on your face the entire time. Our first ride from Hoi An to An Bang Beach is unforgettable. We’re two in a cluster of bicycles that rivals the Tour De France. Dad peddles as his five-year old balances sideways on the back of his bike. Baby is peacefully strapped to mom’s chest. We all quietly ride through the countryside, surrounded by rice fields being plowed by water buffalo, all with a common goal: get to the beach. 

The straight road dead ends into a bustling beach scene, each person seeking a respite from the 100+ degree temps. As the sun starts to set a few hours later, we all unlock our bikes in unison and kick up our stands. The sky turns pink as we cross the Cua Dai river. Like many others, we stop at the top of the bridge to gaze over the Hoi An countryside, awestruck by it’s beauty. Then, we hop on our bikes, put our chins to our handlebars and race down the hill into town.

In the backyard of a local Hoi An family’s home, something very special is brewing. Forget the factory; home distilleries produce the rice wine in Vietnam. And with an ABV of more than 25%, they’re not messing around. 

At the home we’re visiting, a few large plastic tubs hold white rice which has been cooked and mashed, with water and yeast added for fermentation. Across the small courtyard, the newly created alcoholic broth is being distilled to create the final product. The leftovers are then fed to the six pigs living in a small pen a few feet away. A traditional combination of food and drink found throughout Vietnam, but we’ll pass on the pork (small confines for these really lovely animals is not awesome). 

A long held tradition in Vietnam, home distilleries sell their product within the community and to villages nearby. However, about two years ago, a governmental decree banned unregistered home rice wine distilleries. Most agreed the ban would be virtually impossible to enforce, and the “Vietnamese moonshine” production continued. The government cites the reason for the decree as the danger in homemade alcohol consumption, reporting that it has been the cause of 3.5 percent of food poisoning cases nationally. Not a huge number, but something to consider if you plan on a taste test. 

But as we found in our Hoi An neighbor’s backyard, this originally craft Vietnamese libation ain’t going nowhere. Later in the evening, we enjoy a chilled glass on the rooftop deck of a local restaurant. Assuredly made by another local distiller, it has a taste that lies somewhere in the middle of sake and vodka. A true kick in the pants. There’s no soft touch here. No hint of oak, no fruity overtones. Just boozy goodness.

It’s hot. Like over 100-degrees, 90% humidity kind of hot. We’ve just stepped off a 14-hour bus ride into the sun. Exhausted and woozy, the idea of walking seems arduous. We manage to wave down a taxi to take us to Charming Homestay, where we will spend our four nights in Hoi An. 

In a short time, we’ve learned the difference between a hotel and a homestay. A hotel typically has a front desk, receptionist, bath products, laundry service, a concierge desk and breakfast. If you choose a homestay, you often sacrifice some of the hotel amenities for the opportunity to stay in a Vietnamese home and interact with your host, which includes advice on what to do/see/eat/drink, etc. Charming Homestay is the first place we’ve stayed that has it all. 

Not even a year old, the three rooms are located behind the main house; two at the edge of the garden, one up exposed brick stairs. Plans to add three more rooms are also in the works. After a long journey, we feel overjoyed to step through the French doors into our room. Surrounded by plants, nature and light fills the windows. Tall ceilings, a large bathroom with rainfall shower, strong air conditioner, and beautiful minimalist design feel like we had walked out of Vietnam and into an English garden apartment. Immediately, we feel relaxed.

After a lengthy nap on the cozy king bed, we wander out to the kitchen/dining area. We meet Nhi, our host, and her mother, Mrs. Thu. Their  warmth and genuine hospitality is immediate. Nhi talks to us about Hoi An, her hometown pride evident as she lists out the ‘must do’s.’ We quickly become friends and, later that week, meet for an after dinner drink where we learn about growing up, living, business and dating in Vietnam. 

There are some places that have it all. The breakfast, the bikes, the beautiful rooms nestled in an English garden setting, and the people, eager to share and learn, genuine in their hospitality. We will never forget our time at Charming and would recommend it to any traveler passing through Hoi An. 

You might say we stumbled upon Nu Eatery. While we’d read a few good things about the restaurant, we were actually looking for another place before we ended up spotting the glowing teal sign in front of Nu. A simple two story restaurant, dropped smack in the middle of Hoi An’s ancient town (near the Japanese bridge), every one of our five small dishes were memorable. The poached beet and Sapa apple salad, the pumpkin and coconut milk soup, and the rice with grilled eggplant, daikon and mushrooms were all excellent. We ended our dinner sharing a scoop of homemade lemongrass ice cream.

Huddled upstairs, you get the feeling you could be anywhere in the world. But take a look beyond the small deck, and the tiled rooftops of Hoi An's old buildings quickly bring you back. There are very few other places to eat a meal this good, for so little money, in such a wondrous city.

A Vietnamese woman, about 4’10” and not a day under 70, looks over with a gentle look of encouragement. She smiles as her daughter methodically kicks the wheel while she shapes the clay with her hands. Our sad excuse of a bowl wobbles before being cut with wire and placed in a row of others that have been expertly crafted. Although our bowl won’t hold pho anytime soon, we agree that it’s the perfect Mother’s Day activity, considering Megan’s mom could shape a ball of clay into a masterpiece with her eyes closed.

The small ancient fishing town of Hoi An is well known for its lanterns and they'e everywhere. Strings sway above the streets and shops on every corner radiate light in different shapes, sizes and colors. Like a moth to a flame, it’s impossible not to be drawn in. 

Like many crafts, the lanterns are a product of Vietnam’s long history of trade with its neighboring countries. There’s no doubt, however, that these lanterns are not only Vietnamese, but Hoi An-ian. Each lantern is hand made with local bamboo and covered carefully with raw silk. Many are hand painted with flowers, scenes of the countryside, or Vietnamese words. There is true pride in the craft and it shows.

The Vietnamese believe that hanging a couple of lanterns in front of the house will bring happiness to the family. After witnessing the magic of the lanterns, we have no doubt.

It’s fitting that the name Hoi An translates to peaceful meeting place. There’s a spiritual essence to this city, a feeling of timelessness that’s reflected in the rustic, tile-roofed buildings and narrow streets of the Ancient Town. Resting on the coast of the South China Sea and recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its magnificently preserved seaport village, this city’s history dates back to the 1st century when its harbor was the largest in Southeast Asia.

A city of great wealth, starting with the spice trade in the 7th century, Hoi An has long been the place to be. The Chinese, Japanese, Dutch and Indians settled here in the 16th and 17th centuries and their influence is clear. Hoi An’s classic Chinese lanterns glow on the quiet streets and waterways, the short city blocks dotted with the shops of custom tailors. By 10pm everything is closed, the streets empty, only the hanging lanterns to illuminate your bike ride home.

The best use of time here is an afternoon wandering the backstreets, stopping in the shade of a quiet alleyway to escape the intense heat and feel the cool stone wall on your back. A sense of solitude and peace that’s unimaginable in the madness of modern day Vietnam, as our friend Nhi would say, Hoi An is truly a ‘special place.’

The bus squeals as we turn, our driver breaking around each corner of the steep downhill. We desperately try to photograph the passing mountains, breathtaking and covered with dense jungle and waterfalls. With each passing kilometer, the outside temperature and humidity increases, the jungle thins out and the ocean beckons. We're on our way to Nha Trang, Vietnam's most popular beach destination. 

Dubbed one of the country’s “party capitals,” the city of Nha Trang is Vietnam’s version of Miami Beach, but with a lot more Russian tourists. New development from the recent surge in tourism means the city is sprinkled with patios, rooftop bars, clubs and restaurants, many of which are half empty. The beach town is beautiful though, sitting on a 6km long stretch of yellow sand with turquoise water, book-ended by the Hon Yen, Hon Dung, and Hon Tre islands just offshore. 

With all of its perfect ingredients, we're prepared to fall in love with the beach town of Nha Trang. However we quickly find ourselves missing the authentic food and genuine culture that we’d experienced in Saigon and Da Lat. A town filled with Russian tourists means most of the menus (written in Russian) include “international food” (i.e. hamburgers/hot-dogs) and a hefty markup. Even the street food seems to be catering to tourists. That being said, nothing beats diving into the warm turquoise water, immediately resulting in that vacation-ey feeling we crave.

To see the inner workings of these farms and factories was incredibly insightful. It was a glimpse into the daily lives of people outside the busy cities, with a local guide that helped us share these experiences respectfully. This small agricultural tour left us with a much greater understanding, appreciation, and connection with the amazing culture of this region.

Around every corner in the hilly streets of Da Lat, smoke wafts from makeshift grills balanced on two buckets with a fire of hot coals underneath. Skewers of folded pieces of meat, rows of button mushrooms, husks of corn and chicken feet rest on top as the fire is expertly fanned. As we walk down the large staircase to the town center, sleep deprived and slightly hungover, we’re drawn to the sound of an egg cracking on rice paper. The local vendor works quickly, adding green onion and chillies to her egg scramble, which is being cooked by the coals beneath. A wedge of soft cheese is added to the mix, which is finished with red chili sauce (one of the condiments of choice in Vietnam) and folded in thirds before being wrapped in what appears to be a recycled multiple choice quiz from the local school. At home we cure hangovers with an egg scramble and a bloody mary. In Vietnam, we pour sweat as we demolish grilled rice paper with egg, or Banh Trang Nuong.

The second largest exporter of coffee in the world, Vietnam grows the majority of its coffee in the central highlands and we found plenty of farms near Da Lat. Only second to Brazil in production, this country isn’t just an exporter. There is a true coffee culture here. In Da Lat, also a university town, we found dozens of awesome coffee shops, both big and small. 

Salt Coffee. Vietnamese coffee slowly brews into the ceramic cups on our table. A small, metal single-cup personalized French Press, used across the country for drinking traditional Vietnamese coffee, takes patience but is worth the wait. The result is an inch of strong, thick, black coffee accompanied by a small pitcher of hot water to make a local version of an Americano - with far more kick. Smoothies and blended coffee drinks are served in mason jars with a small ribbon wrapped around the top. Opt for a smoothie made with locally-grown fruits, such as mango or coconut. The iced mocha puts a frappucino to shame. Perfect for a hot day (or rainy afternoon, like when we visited!). 

Windmills. A trendy coffee shop near the center of Da Lat with a partially open air rooftop serving coffee drinks (both Vietnamese and Italian), smoothies, pastries and cakes. Where we stopped was a space far removed from the omnipresent sights, sounds, and smells of Vietnam’s busy streets, but Windmills has multiple locations. It’s a sneak peek in to the young, hip vibe of this hill town that’s clearly influenced by its namesake university.

‘Weasel’ Coffee. A short drive out of the city and you’ll find yourself among the coffee farmers of the central highlands. In a valley as picturesque as almost any in the world, a coffee delicacy is being created. Known as Kopi Luwak in Indonesia, but simply Weasel coffee in Vietnam, we’re talking about coffee beans that have been pooped out by civet cats (weasels). The animals eat what the producers believe to be the best berries, then defecate, leaving behind enzymes which create a coffee that’s even better than before. 

At first taste, it’s smoky and chocolatey, the ‘cherry’ version (for lady, apparently) a little sweeter than the ‘moka’ bean (strong, for man). Overlooking the strikingly beautiful countryside, this could be some of the best coffee we’ve ever had. Mind blowing Vietnamese coffee experience… check.

*As with any product made with or from animals, the ethical treatment, or lack thereof, should always be considered. Through our research, we found that many people and organizations have serious concerns about how these animals are treated and whether the process is humane. The farm we visited featured only a few, seemingly unharmed and well-treated weasels. However, we are finding that animals are often exploited for the purposes of tourism and will not support and report on any situation that is questionable.

Also worth mentioning are Bicycle Coffee and the cafe at Les Sapins 60. Both seemed like very cool spots and we'll stop by for a cup when we're back in Da Lat.

Coffee, coffee, coffee. We can't get enough, but luckily Vietnam's got plenty of it.