I’m writing this from Ho Chi Minh City (I admit, I still want to call it Saigon like many locals), Vietnam, a country I think I’m visiting for the fifth time now. I’m here on my way to Bangkok for the Extraordinary Travel Festival, and as I’ve been wandering around the city the last day, I’ve found myself thinking about something I hadn’t really expected to associate with this place: my dad.
He passed away this spring, and being back in Vietnam has brought back memories of a conversation we had more than twenty years ago during my first trip here. He served here during the Vietnam War, and although I could never get him to talk about his experiences, something that happened by chance during my first visit prompted a conversation that has stayed with me.
I’ve written before about why I love returning to places I’ve already visited. Countries change, cities evolve, and there’s something fascinating about seeing those transformations firsthand. But this time, Vietnam has reminded me of something else: places aren’t the only things that change. We do, too.
And after more than thirty years of traveling, I’m beginning to realize just how much.
A Phone Call From Dad
The first time I came to Vietnam was in the spring of 2002. I’d been slowly growing into my wings as an international traveler for about a decade, but Vietnam was unlike much of what I’d experienced before. It was my first trip to Asia, everything operated in cash, credit cards were useless, ATMs were nowhere to be found, cell phone roaming wasn’t a thing in Vietnam yet, and familiar international hotel chains hadn’t arrived. There were benefits to all that, too. I got to experience the old Rex Hotel, with its deep roots in the city's history, and a Vietnam that hadn't yet been transformed by international hotel chains and all the conveniences of modern tourism.
It was unfamiliar, occasionally challenging, and absolutely fascinating. I loved it.
I hadn’t told my dad I was coming to Vietnam. Not because I was deliberately hiding it, but because I knew he probably wouldn’t approve or maybe understand. He was never shy about expressing an opinion, especially when it came to politics or my tendency to travel to places he considered far too dangerous.
Then, somewhere during that trip, he called to catch up. Ironic, because it’s something he rarely did, but if you believe in fate… When he asked where I was, I had to tell him.
Oops. 😂
Now, Vietnam was a particularly interesting place for that conversation. It was the first country my dad had ever really been to outside the United States, and he’d gone there as a young man serving in the military during the Vietnam War.
I expected a reaction. Maybe a lecture about safety, maybe an opinion or two about the country, or perhaps even some stories about his own experiences. Given how rarely he held back his thoughts on just about anything even mildly controversial, I was prepared for all three.
Instead, he surprised me.
He mostly listened.
We talked a little about Vietnam and what it was like now, but he still didn’t suddenly open up about his time there. He simply told me to stay safe and that he worried about me. For someone who usually had plenty to say, that was an unusually restrained response.
I remember being surprised at the time. Looking back now, I wonder what he was thinking as he listened to me describe a country that must have held such different memories for him and to have them unexpectly pulled front and center.
I'll never really know, and not for lack of trying. Despite our differing views on so many subjects, I'd always promised myself I'd keep making an effort to understand where he was coming from. But his military service was something he simply chose not to discuss with me. Whenever I gently raised the subject, he skillfully changed it.
Twenty-Three Years Later
I returned to Vietnam about a year after that first visit and was astonished by how quickly things were changing. Suddenly there were ATMs, people everywhere seemed to have cell phones, and the country was modernizing at an incredible pace.
Another decade or more passed before I returned again. By then, Ho Chi Minh City felt increasingly like any other major Southeast Asian metropolis, with international hotels, all the modcons, and all the familiar trappings of a rapidly developing city.
On each visit, I found myself comparing the Vietnam I remembered with the Vietnam in front of me. But I don’t think I spent nearly as much time considering how much I had changed from my travels (and life in general) along the way.
When I first came here, I was still discovering just how enormous and varied the world could be. I wanted to see everything. There were guidebooks to follow, famous sights to visit, and an ever-growing list of places I wanted to see and experience.
That curiosity hasn’t disappeared. Give me an obscure destination, an unusual airplane, or a complicated itinerary, and I’m still a very happy traveler. And yes, I still occasionally look at a map and wonder whether I can squeeze three more regions into an afternoon. 😂 (Just kidding…kind of…it was only one region today… cough)
But I think I’ve become much better at slowing down and appreciating the ordinary moments.
Today, for example, I took a trip southwest of Ho Chi Minh City to visit a local market. Nothing particularly famous, nothing I’d ever find on a list of must-see attractions. Just people selling rice, fruit, and the things their neighbors need for everyday life.
And I loved it.
These days, I’m much less concerned about seeing something simply because a guidebook says I should. Most of the time I’d rather wander through a neighborhood, sit in a coffee shop, join the local running group, or simply watch people going about their lives.
I don’t feel the same need to fill every hour with sightseeing or return home with a checklist of accomplishments. I’ve come to appreciate the conversations, the unexpected encounters, and the little moments that make somewhere feel real and like another little piece in this incredibly massive and complex global puzzle.
And THAT, perhaps, is one of the biggest ways travel has changed me.
What We Carry With Us
There’s another thing that changes as we get older, of course. We become more aware that time isn’t unlimited.
After more than thirty years of exploring the world, I’m probably well past the halfway point of my traveling life. That’s certainly not to say I’m anywhere close to finished! But I do think differently about how I want to spend the years ahead.
My dad’s experience of international travel couldn’t have been more different from mine. Vietnam was his first trip outside the United States, and it happened during a war. He traveled internationally very little afterward, apart from a work-award cruise that took him to Greece and Morocco, of all places.
He almost never wanted to talk with me about his military service. My stepmom told me he discussed it a little more with her, but it was never something he shared openly. That’s why I found it particularly interesting that he’d told her he wanted a funeral with full military honors.
And that’s exactly what he received this spring.
For all the things he chose not to say about that part of his life, it clearly remained important to him.
I’ve thought about that quite a bit since losing him. About the things we know about our parents, the things we never fully understand, and the conversations we wish we’d had more of no matter how hard we tried.
That phone call from Vietnam more than twenty years ago was just one conversation. I doubt either of us considered it especially significant at the time. But sitting here today, I remember it more clearly than I remember many of the famous sights I've visited on my travels. We all have those seemingly ordinary moments that somehow stay with us for decades. This is definitely one of mine.
Back then, I was surprised he didn’t have more to say. Today, what I remember most about that conversation was that he paused and listened. Very similar to our very last conversation where I remember him really making the conversation about me and what I was up to and doing…and not at all about his usual strong opinions.
And perhaps that’s another way I’ve changed. I’m a little less interested in having all the answers, and a lot more interested in understanding other people’s experiences, even when they’re very different from my own.
Travel has played a big part in teaching me that. Not necessarily through the big sights or bucket-list experiences, but through thousands of ordinary interactions with people all over the world.
Coming Back
I’ve spent much of this year writing about the value of returning to places rather than constantly chasing somewhere new. Vietnam is a perfect example of why. I’ve watched this country transform over more than two decades, and I hope I’ll have the opportunity to return many more times.
But this visit has reminded me that returning isn’t just about seeing what’s changed in a place. It’s also about recognizing what’s changed in us.
I’m not the same traveler who first came to Vietnam in 2002 or 2003. I’m certainly not the same person. And while there are plenty of things about getting older that I’d happily do without, I think I’ve become better at appreciating the little moments that make life (and travel) especially worthwhile.
I came back to Vietnam once again expecting to notice how much the country had changed yet again.
Instead, I’ve found myself thinking about a phone call with my dad.
Funny how life and travel work sometimes.
Really great post Jason. 🙏