After a devastating year for international travel in 2020, there are promising signs for a return to exploration and adventure in 2021. Nations across the globe have begun mass vaccination campaigns with hopes of mitigating and eventually eliminating COVID-19. In the U.S especially, vaccination efforts are quickly ramping up, with plans to inoculate every American by August as the number of cases, deaths and hospitalizations continue to decrease each day.
A not-so-insignificant part of these efforts will be to create safe and healthy travel experiences for international tourists. Since late December, Delta and Alitalia have been offering “Covid-free” flights from Atlanta to Rome, allowing visitors to bypass quarantine upon arrival in Italy. With the addition of coordinated vaccine or testing programs like this, we’re very optimistic that European borders will open to American visitors by summertime. While we hope international travel will be completely secure in the latter half of the year, there will surely be some lingering Covid concerns among travelers. After more than a year of social distancing, mask wearing, and plenty of self-isolation, we’ll all want to feel safe and comfortable as we explore new places and share new experiences abroad. That being said, our criteria for selecting the best destinations and travel experiences are, (1) Outdoor experiences and natural beauty, (2) Effective local health and safety protocols, and of course (3) Low (or no) infection rates. With these factors in mind, we’ve crafted a list of our top eight destinations for 2021.
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In the hour before sunset, the rice fields are magic. The golden light bounces off each long blade of grass, creating the illusion of soft waves in an emerald green ocean. Dragonflies swoop dramatically as farmers tilt their nón lá (leaf hats) off their head, no longer needing the shelter from the sun. Just five minutes away, the delightful chaos of Vietnamese motorbikes weave through ancient streets past vine-covered yellow buildings. The traditional market, alive with towering piles of fresh herbs, baskets of live crabs, bricks of white tofu and mounds of fresh noodles, flanks the side of the Thu Bồn River. It’s not difficult to fall in love here.
For many of us, coffee is more than just a drink. It's the life blood that wakes us up, gives us the energy to get dressed in the morning, and make it to work each day. Without it, our mornings (and afternoons) would be a lot slower, our minds a lot foggier, and our ideas, probably, a lot duller. Let's face it, coffee is the best drug of all. It's legal, does magical things, and is fully maintainable on a daily, or even twice daily (3x?) level.
So if you're a coffee aficionado like we are and you'd like to experience the way the rest of the world consumes this incredible drink, then read on. See how local cultures, climate, and economies impact the world's best brews and get inspired to get out there and experience it for yourself! At the beginning of each year, we sit down together and start planning our travels for the next 12 months. It's become somewhat of a ritual for us - discussing our trips from the previous year, dreaming up vacations for the year to come, and deciding how exactly we'll make these adventures happen.
Do you ever fall in love with a place then, when it comes to planning your next trip, struggle with the decision of returning or exploring somewhere new? This is a constant conversation in our house. We always want to explore the world and experience new cultures, but then there are those memories - sharing a bottle of red wine on warm stone steps overlooking ancient Rome; jumping off a 20-foot cliff into the clear water and swimming to the next cove to do it all over again; hiking along the narrow ridge of a volcanic crater surrounded by wild hydrangeas with the ocean on one side and a lake on the other - that we just want to go back and do all over again. 
After nearly three months of traveling across Southeast Asia, it’s time to wrap things up. We’ve traveled through 4 countries, 23 cities, slept in an endless number of hotel/guesthouse/homestay beds (26 to be exact) and have taken 10 flights, 8 bus rides, 6 ferries, 1 train ride, and a seemingly endless motorbike ride. We’ve covered a lot of miles and had some awesome and not-so-awesome moments along the way. Here’s a list of the best, and most forgettable, moments from our 79 days in Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Thailand (in no particular order).
The best moments in Southeast Asia
The most forgettable moments in Southeast Asia
So, obviously there are quite a few things about Southeast Asia we won’t miss. Some examples, you ask? Well, we definitely won’t miss constantly smelling like 100% Deet bug spray in a desperate attempt to avoid malaria and dengue fever. We won’t miss all-in-one bathroom/showers. We won’t miss the (pardon our French) shitty roads and ridiculously long bus rides, or having to buy bottled water everywhere. We also won’t miss the bland, monotonous Asian lagers and pilsners, the presence of very large rats and poisonous SNAKES, and least of all, super sketchy ferry rides. But there’s plenty more parts of Asia that we will truly miss. First and foremost, the food! It’s delicious, accessible, and super cheap. The way these countries balance flavors, especially hot and cold, spicy and sweet, is unbelievable. It’s difficult to find authentic food of this quality in the United States. Southeast Asia is also a really, really beautiful part of the world where natural wonders seem to pop up out of nowhere. Ha Long Bay, Vietnam, the mountains of Northeast Thailand, Koh Phi Phi, and Ubud, Indonesia are just a few of the truly amazing places we will never forget. We’ll also miss the people, who so often were incredibly gracious, humble, and welcoming to us. We made some great friends along the way that we’ll stay in touch with for a very long time. We’ll miss our favorite snacks, like green tea Cornetto ice cream cones, Paddle Pop popsicles, Milka Crackers and banana chips. We’ll miss the motorbikes that are EVERYWHERE in SE Asia, sometimes with entire families (up to 5 or 6 people) all riding together. We’ll miss Buddhism, Hinduism, and the beautiful temples that dot the tropical landscapes across these countries. We’ll miss 50 cent bottles of beer, Vietnamese coffee, Indonesian Arak, one dollar smoothies, and fresh fruit (mangoes, coconuts, passion fruit and apple bananas) everywhere. We stayed in some very beautiful hotels and homestays for very little money, which we’ll definitely miss. But most of all, we’ll miss the feeling of freedom; of being unattached to the pressures and stress of the western world. Life exists in a different way there, with a stronger connection to the very simple, but very important, parts of life. There’s such beauty in this simplicity, which is found everywhere in Southeast Asia. This way of living, unattached to the western version of “success” and grounded in family and tradition, is something we won’t only miss, we’ll do our best to take home with us. Traveling to places less popular among tourists and backpackers has its benefits. Can Tho, the largest city in the south of the Mekong Delta, is not a stop on the Saigon day tour route. This means low prices and a more realistic glimpse of everyday life. A city of over a million people, it is an agricultural mecca, the natural waterways and lush soil providing the perfect recipe for produce. 
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. In another room of the quiet museum, a small screen loops a 5 minute film, documenting the lives of street vendors near Hanoi. In Vietnamese society, men traditionally stay home to run the farm, or small plot of land, and watch over the children. They earn extremely little money doing this, forcing wives and mothers to move to the city and earn the money necessary for their families to survive. These women typically live together in a dorm-like apartment, as many as 10 to a room. They wake at 4am for the market and work throughout the day, often until 7pm, in hopes they'll make enough to return home every two weeks with $20. We sit in silence, moved and saddened. We’ve been approached by street vendors throughout our time in Vietnam and nearly all have been women; persistently trying to sell everything from donuts to banh mi, clothing to conical hats. Now we’re itching to get outside and hand over a $20 bill to the first vendor we see so she can go home to her family. 
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...
Ear splitting squeals pierce through the gentle swarm of motorbike engines, as sparks cascade like fireworks in the humid afternoon air. Straddling the edge of the scooter occupied sidewalk, desperately attempting to navigate the rush hour street traffic, we twist and turn though what might be called the 'metalworks' district of Hanoi’s old quarter. Vietnam's capital city is a mishmash of specialized neighborhoods, minuscule streets sewed through the wide avenues and palatial buildings left behind by the French. As we've learned by now, America left nothing but destruction in Hanoi and the rest of Vietnam. In contrast, much of this city feels European. Hoan Kiem Lake (lake of the returned sword in Vietnamese) is the heart of Hanoi, with avenues splitting off like arteries to the south, narrow side streets like veins to the north. Each block has its own identity; some filled completely with flowers, others packed to the brim with silk and cloth. Others with paintings, trinkets, bamboo (mostly crafted into bongs, strangely enough), and metal crafted into household goods.
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  It's hour 9 of 14 and we're getting a little loopy. We’ve assigned nicknames to the passengers in our car and have bets on the murderer in the Vietnamese soap opera that's playing (at full volume) on the tiny television screen. Each time the carriage door opens, we turn, hoping to see the cart selling beer (not pho or steamed sausages). For the fourth time today, we compare this train to the speed and efficiency of the those in Europe or Japan, a hopeless exercise that only leads to further frustration. The only thing to do is surrender to the travel mindset and adopt the "we'll get there when we get there" mantra. We've opted to take the train to Hanoi (the Reunification Express) following our last 14-hour travel adventure on an overnight bus from Nha Trang to Da Nang that included one bathroom break, unpaved roads and a near Dramamine overdose. In comparison, Theroux is right; the train is the way to go. Sure, there are some seriously strange smells, the bathroom requires half a bottle of hand sanitizer, and Vietnamese pop music competes (at full volume) with crying from the soap opera on TV, but we're nine hours in and happily rolling along.
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. 
The bus goes dark. Looking out the window of our top bunk, we’re surrounded by the interior tiles of an unlit tunnel. We’re driving from Hoi An to Hue, the imperial capital of Vietnam during the Nguyen Dynasty from 1802 to 1945. The tunnel we’re passing through is the Hai Van. It’s the longest in Southeast Asia, stretching just over 6km, and we’re pleased at the decision to sacrifice coastal views on the windy mountain pass for the much faster route and ten minutes of complete darkness. As the small beam of light from the tunnel’s end grows larger and larger, we’re finally released in to some of the most beautiful and unique scenery we’ve witnessed in Vietnam. Heading north up Vietnam’s Highway 1, we pass lush mountains cascading into the sea on our right, sunlit rice fields plowed by men guiding water buffalo on our left. It’s enough to make the dirty and broken bus that we’re in (a realization of the expression “you get what you pay for”) melt away.  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.
We agree. This could be one of the best dishes either of us have ever eaten. We reach for more of the grilled pineapple, pomelo and long pepper salad, topped with toasted baby coconut. We’re hungry, but this isn’t one of those “it’s good because it’s food in front of our faces” kind of situations. Rather, this is one of a handful of dishes either of us have ever eaten that is truly spectacular. 
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.
There are times in life where magic happens. Sometimes the magic is simple. Like escaping the triple digit heat on a Vietnam afternoon to play foosball in an empty coffee shop in the middle of town. The self-announced best of three world championship takes place near the back of the house. The onlookers, two young Vietnamese baristas (not really onlooking). The excitement when each goal clanks into the back of the metal framed table is nearly impossible to convey. We make multiple trips to Cafe Cafao for the cool breeze of ceiling fans, iced white Vietnamese coffee, and epic foosball battles that, in the moment, rival any sporting event in the world.
 Watching the evening traffic go by, we sit happily from one of two small tables fronting the open air windows of Pho Xua restaurant near Hoi An’s ancient town. The street is full of tangled motor bikes, wandering tourists and restaurant hosts offering something to eat to each person who passes. Sharing a single bench seat, the table quickly fills up with large bottles of beer, veggie spring rolls, fried rice, and delicious pho. Like any good Vietnamese cuisine, the flavors are perfectly balanced - sweet and spicy - hot soups covered in fresh mint, cilantro and local greens. We’ve grown accustomed to this incredible customization of food, where noodle soups are dressed up with hot chilies, lime juice, fresh herbs and soy, each offering a unique taste. The warm night air, full belly and calming feeling of a tall beer makes the unfolding street scene seem like a performance just for us; a travel moment that has gratefully been cemented in our minds.
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.   Over 400 years old, the Thanh Ha pottery village, a few kilometers outside of Hoi An, is like a step back in time. The narrow pathways are a maze through the villager’s simple riverside homes, each with clay stacked four feet high and the smell of wood burning in the kiln. The history of pottery in Vietnam dates back thousands of years before the Chinese domination and has been essential for trade with China, India, Japan, the Philippines and Thailand ever since. Now, the village is sustained primarily by tourism and we’re happy to purchase a ticket to explore, as well as a hand-painted vase that will arrive in the U.S. in 3-4 months. It's a rare feeling, to squat next to a potter's wheel and feel the wet clay against your hands. Regardless of the quality of the bowl, you've created something. Something people have been creating in this very spot for centuries. Anyone looking for a more in-depth history of ceramics in Hoi An should also visit the Museum of Trade Ceramics, located at 80 Tran Phu Street in Hoi An.
 Skeletons of bamboo rods shaped into circles and teardrops hang above our heads and wood bases with tiny slats sit near a pile of sawdust. We’ve just walked into a quasi-workshop, located in a shed that sits to the side of a private home. The woman who lives here does not speak English, but as a favor to Nhi, our homestay host, is patiently showing us how she makes Hoi An’s famous silk lanterns. The process is lengthy, and our appreciation of the craft instantly skyrockets. We learn that the daughter of this family runs a store in town, where we later buy two lanterns made by mom.
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.’ 
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