I spent a month traveling slowly through Hanoi, Vietnam, with a brief stop in Malaysia and Indonesia along the way.
I started the journey on November 17th, 2025, carrying with me the influence of Anthony Bourdain—his insistence on slowing down, eating where locals eat, and staying far away from anything that felt packaged or performative.
Anthony Bourdain loved Vietnam because it hit everything he cared about at once:
cheap plastic stools, perfect food, zero pretension, and a country that doesn’t apologize for being itself.
Vietnam showed him that:
Great food doesn’t need luxury — just balance, patience, and obsession (hello, phở broth simmered for days).
Street food is democracy — everyone eats together, shoulder to shoulder.
History lives at the table — wars, survival, pride, and resilience all show up in a bowl of noodles.
Hanoi, especially, felt like home to him: chaotic but calm, blunt but generous. He once said Vietnam changed his life, and it wasn’t poetic exaggeration — it reset how he understood food, travel, and humility.
In short:
Vietnam wasn’t a destination to Bourdain — it was proof that the world makes sense if you sit down, shut up, and eat what locals eat.
This is exactly how I like to travel, as he adds so much truth in his stories.
What I found personally during my time spent all over in Vietnam in 2025 echoed everything he preached. The best meals on plastic stools, the richest conversations in unplanned moments, and the most meaningful experiences far from the tourist traps. It wasn’t about checking boxes or chasing luxury—it was about paying attention. It was one of those trips that reminds you why you travel in the first place.
One for the Anthony Bourdain books but firtst was the long ass travel day!
I left my home base in Rocky Point, Mexico, pointed myself halfway across the world, and landed in Hanoi. I rented an Airbnb for 30 days—not to rush through highlights, but to live slowly, observe, and settle into the rhythm of the city the way Anthony Bourdain always encouraged.
Hanoi wasn’t a stop on a checklist. It was a place to wake up early, start with a great walk, amazing coffee and/or tea, and let the days unfold without forcing meaning or accomplishment onto them.
Anthony Bourdain had this quiet belief that home wasn’t a fixed place—it was something you could build anywhere by paying attention. In Hanoi, I really understood that logic, and it hit me in the feels, big time!
My condo sat beside a man-made lake with miles of walkways, and each morning I fell into a rhythm: long walks as the neighborhood woke up, Vietnamese coffee strong enough to slow time, and—on game days—listening to the Oilers from halfway across the world.
Nothing about it felt temporary or borrowed; it just screamed this is what you have been looking for.
That was the lesson Tony kept trying to teach: when you slow down, eat simply, and let life happen around you, even the most unfamiliar place can start to feel like home.
From my experience, there are exactly two kinds of Vietnamese people: chain smokers, and those who walk and exercise tirelessly, as if it’s a second full-time job. There’s no in-between.
My days in Hanoi followed that rhythm—long walks around the lake, endless steps on quiet paths, and daily coffee stops that felt less like breaks and more like rituals. Watching life unfold from a plastic chair with a strong Vietnamese egg coffee became one of the highlights of the trip.
Amazing all around, and without a doubt, a place I’ll stay again.
I had every intention of staying in the Hanoi area the entire time. That was the plan. Then I checked flights—because that’s usually where good plans go to die—and remembered Anthony Bourdain’s unofficial rule:
When the door opens, you walk through it.
So I said yes.
I found myself on an unplanned road trip through Malaysia and Bali, crossing off two massive bucket-list items not because it was efficient or sensible—but because the inexpensive opportunity was there.
That was always Tony’s point. The best trips don’t come from sticking to the plan—they come from having the nerve to abandon it. He has basically reached legend status for me at this point!
Keeping my rent under $300 back at my home base in the eco park in Hanoi was the quiet enabler of all this. That single number is what turned the road trip from a cautious “should I?” into a very relaxed “why not?”.
When your biggest monthly expense isn’t chasing you down, spontaneity stops feeling reckless and starts feeling practical. Flights become opportunities. Detours make sense. And saying yes—like Tony always preached—suddenly costs a lot less.