Vietnam After All These Years

Shortly after my stepfather’s memorial service, my 78-year-old mother resurfaced the idea of taking me; my wife, Ingrid; and our 16-year-old son, Eli, on a trip to Vietnam. My mother emigrated from Vietnam to the USA in 1966 and has returned several times but only once with me, exactly 30 years ago. While it had been a dream to take Eli to Vietnam with my mother, it hadn’t ever worked out; kids, careers, aging parents and health challenges of our own had all of a sudden eaten up a couple of decades.

It also wasn’t an ideal time to travel abroad with Mom. Ingrid had been diagnosed with a breast cancer recurrence, metastatic this time. My mom struggles with neuropathy, which has greatly limited her mobility and fine motor skills. I was dreading a rotator cuff surgery requiring months of recovery. Eli juggled track meets, SAT prep courses and schoolwork in his crucial-for-college-admissions junior year. From a distance, the lot of us had no business planning a trip of nearly 9000 miles – 24 hours of travel time.

And yet Ingrid and Eli had never been to Asia, and he hungered to connect with his Vietnamese heritage. My mother wanted to share her homeland and memories with her grandson while she was still able. Ingrid’s treatments were relatively successful, with no side effects for the time being. International travel with my mom and a walker wouldn’t be easy, but Ingrid and I knew if not now, maybe never.

A weekend in Palm Springs might’ve been the more practical route. But never wasn’t a choice I could live with. Ingrid and I closed our eyes, held hands and booked 10 days in Vietnam and Cambodia.

On the Plane

While sitting in business class (Mom’s treat and an immense economic privilege), I couldn’t shake my anxiety about what my mother wasn’t going to be able to do. It consumed the place I wanted excitement to live. I wanted to shift my mindset to focus on the ways that my mother could find meaning and possibility in an ambitious trip at a difficult time in her life. I decided to trade concern about physical challenges for joy at small wins – it would prove to be a daily exercise.

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Day 1: Arriving in Vietnam

The plan: Land in Ho Chi Minh City fresh and ready to sightsee. Make a quick stop at the hotel, and then have a memorable first Vietnamese lunch – maybe our first authentic banh mi.

High points: While waiting at customs, my mother looked up at her grandson from her airport wheelchair and, tears welling in her eyes, said, “Your great-grandfather built this airport, Eli.” My grandfather had been an engineer, and his job in the mid-1950s was overseeing airport construction by the military. The pride she felt recalling his legacy was palpable, and I was immediately grateful for the long first leg of travel we had just completed. 

Challenges: We found our private guide, Nick, and driver, Tri, who diligently helped my mother enter and exit the van, and would continue to do so at every stop along the way for the next 3 days. At the hotel, I immediately fixated on the three stairs at the entrance. I felt my anxiety rising. Nick, Tri and the hotel staff helped her up the stairs and into the lobby. I looked around at the crowded sidewalks, pedestrians not following traffic rules, scooters, street vendors, honking and loud music. I took a deep breath. The trip had barely begun, and already all I could see were the obstacles popping up to greet us.

It was 33°C (91°F), and we were exhausted and hungry. Jet lag complicated strolling with a walker, and we had to pass on a few restaurants without ramps. Eventually, we squeezed into a small, crowded Japanese fast-food udon place – not the first meal we’d all been envisioning. Mom was quiet. I felt defeated. 

A lasting memory: After exploring the neighborhood with Eli and resting for a few hours, we took a taxi to dinner at a traditional Vietnamese restaurant that Nick recommended, Hoa Tuc. We sat in its leafy courtyard, refreshed by the breeze and my pisco sour with pandan, and we all started to relax. My wife came prepared with conversation starters to encourage Eli to engage with his grandmother. As we talked about how she had to go from her girls’ high school to the boys’ school for math class, I exchanged those first sidewalk challenges in my memory bank for shared teenage reminiscences, one in the present and the other resurfacing a distant past.

Days 2 and 3: Seeing Mom’s “Saigon”

The plan: Visit Ho Chi Minh City’s major sights, including the Central Post Office, Ben Thanh market, Reunification Palace and the War Remnants Museum, and see where my mom lived. Get a memorable meal at Nen Light, and take a motorbike street-food tour.

High points: Our fancy hotel breakfast was a wonder: multiple hot noodle soups, a dumpling bar, Vietnamese entrées, salads, vegetables and fruits, as well as Western-style breakfast choices and rich, strong coffee served alongside a 180-degree view of the city. Mom’s eyes sparkled as she watched Eli sample breakfast pho and fried rice, gleefully refilling his buffet plate. Meals like these would consistently become the most relaxing moments of our trip, since Mom didn’t have to traverse sidewalks, cars or stairs – and I didn’t have to worry about any falls. 

Mom said she didn’t need the wheelchair I’d ordered from the hotel, but when the staff actually wheeled it out, she sat down, and both our family and the tour guide breathed a sigh of relief. Our first stop on our second day was the Central Post Office, which was less crowded than the neighborhood surrounding our hotel, and Nick easily pushed my mom alongside the rest of us. We visited the pedestrian-only Little Book Street, an alley with kiosks that were packed with books and colorful flowers for Tet. It was vibrant, and I was thankful that Mom could experience it with us at street level. We took pictures in front of the big gold Ho Chi Minh statue, as Eli learned a bit more about this tiny country’s history at every stop.

We broke for a tasting of a TikTok-famous coconut ca phe (iced coffee with coconut cream and a dollop of coconut ice cream), and Mom was tickled when Eli showed her TikToks of American teen tourists sampling Vietnamese coffee and snacks. En route back to the hotel, we drove through the neighborhood where my mom lived before she left for college in Texas. She pointed out her school and her last house with great pride. It was hard to imagine how much the area has changed in 50 years.

Our best experience with Mom in Ho Chi Minh City was going to Reunification Palace, the home of the president of the Republic of Vietnam when she left in the 1960s. Our tour was early in the morning, so the palace wasn’t crowded yet, and it had excellent wheelchair accessibility, with ramps and elevators everywhere. We visited every room in great detail, reading all the caption cards with Nick and Mom. She reflected a lot about her own memories of the American War and her childhood and family. 

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After lunch, we visited the War Remnants Museum. Three floors of black-and-white war photography, with an entire room of pictures of Agent Orange victims. Itf is a fascinating and intense place but turned out to be too much trauma for one day. Another visitor and child sat on a bench crying after seeing the images of disfigured children. My mom was exhausted. We all were. We quietly got back in the van and returned to the hotel.

Challenges: That afternoon, my mom fell in her hotel room while trying to go from the bed to the dresser without her walker. My mother has always been resistant to using her walker despite my misgivings – she wants to keep her strength and mobility as intact as possible for as long as possible, which I can understand. But for me to be able to relax even a little during this trip, I needed her to use her walker. I told her how I felt as gently and respectfully as I could. I just couldn’t shake the worry that she’d end up in a hospital in a country where we didn’t speak the language.  Ingrid went to speak to my mother as well, hoping she might be more receptive if it wasn’t coming from me. 

None of us wanted to have this conversation. It felt like I was bringing into sharp focus something we’d previously only looked at a little sideways. My mom has mobility issues, and those issues could change the course of this trip dramatically. We tried to shake the heaviness of the moment and headed to our planned dinner anyway. I had been so looking forward to this unique and special meal. 

At Nen Light (now closed), a postcard accompanied each dish in the 11-course meal, with a backstory, ingredient list and quote from the chef. It was an ambitious and intriguing concept. It had been a long, hot day, and any remaining energy was sapped by the conversation at the hotel. I wanted to be more excited, but I could barely keep my eyes open. Even with bruises and a cut on her hand from her fall, Mom still enjoyed watching Eli try cornetfish, an unusual fish considered a delicacy in Asia that none of us had tried before. We rushed through the last three courses, which I’d previously imagined savoring.  I was so grateful to fall into bed quickly afterward.

A lasting memory: Our second night, Ingrid, Eli and I took a motorbike street-food tour, each of us behind an individual driver. Mom dined alone, and I balanced feeling sad for abandoning her and thrilled for this must-do experience with my family. Whizzing over the river, I felt alive for the first time in months – my sling-free, postsurgery arm could wave in the tropical breeze. We started at a rooftop bar, followed by a gorgeous steamed Dungeness crab platter and frogs’ legs, then a seafood pancake kiosk down an alley. Our last stop was a speakeasy with a live band, the singer encouraging everyone to dance. An older couple was the first to take the floor for a slow dance, and I teared up as I reminded Eli that my mom and stepdad, Fred, used to love slow dancing to songs from the 1960s.

Day 4: Joining the Cruise

The plan: Take a 4-day cruise on the Aqua Mekong, from the My Tho village to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. 

High points: Arriving at the dock, walking toward the boat entrance, my excitement was building. The boat was small, beautiful, modern and wooden with metal details – not at all what came to my mind when Mom first suggested a cruise on the Mekong Delta. Our rooms were booked on the second level of the three-level boat, and passengers could use a fitness center, a game room with a huge mah-jongg table and foosball, a library, a media room, and another lounge with giant backgammon boards (Ingrid bought me a set last Christmas, and we play several nights a week). The deck had a small dipping pool and sunbathing chairs. 

Challenges: My initial giddiness at seeing the vessel was immediately tempered when I also saw that a retractable metal staircase was the only way to enter the boat. I started to panic. We had asked our tour concierge if the boat was accessible but clearly hadn’t articulated just how much help my mom would need, nor had we considered how to best prepare for the obstacles. Mom, Ingrid and I – all of us – were a little in denial, wanting so badly to make this memory happen for her, for us and for Eli. And we had all been juggling high levels of stress in our everyday lives. I wonder in hindsight if we’d have even made the trip if we had known how hard it might be.

With Ingrid and I supporting my mom on either side, she held on to the railing and climbed the stairs to get aboard. After 20 minutes of negotiation, the crew was able to transfer Mom from a bottom-floor room to the second floor, next to the dining room so her commute to meals would be easier. But they weren’t able to calm my nerves about how my mom would navigate a boat with a spiral staircase separating her from the rest of the common areas for the next 4 days.

A lasting memory: Every morning at 6 am, one of the Cambodian crew would lead a sunrise meditation on the sundeck. Ingrid and I joined the small group of guests for a sermon about mindfulness, compassion and reactivity, and 10 minutes of silent meditation. It was a beautiful way to see the sun come up along the river and a key reminder of resetting my own mind each morning.

The cruise group was small – with 44 crew members and only 24 other guests, lots of middle-aged couples. Every day one or more of the passengers would approach Ingrid or me and say how impressed they were with my mom navigating the boat with a walker and seeing Eli help her get around and enjoy meals with her. During downtime, guests would visit with us and ask my mom about growing up in Vietnam. I think she felt really seen and respected, receiving guests in our corner booth where we’d eat every meal, sharing stories about going to school in Ho Chi Minh City as a child, coming home for a multihour lunch break and rest every day, then returning to school until evening – peacefully sailing along.

Days 5–7: Cruising the Mekong 

The plan: Go on excursions to farmers markets, cycle in local villages, visit temples and a silk factory, and learn some Vietnamese and Cambodian history.

High points: On our first full day on the boat, Ingrid, Eli and I took a small skiff to a farmers market that had the most gorgeous fresh greens and fruits that I’ve ever seen or smelled – alongside less-appealing sights like skinned rats and frogs, both delicacies in Vietnam. The boat’s chef guided us through and picked fresh crabs for that night’s dinner. We visited the house of Marguerite Duras, author of The Lover, and at a temple, we lit incense in memory of those we have lost and prayed for the health of those close to us. It was a solemn moment for Eli and me, remembering our beloved Fred and thinking of Ingrid, currently in treatment. On another excursion, Eli, Ingrid and I took a tuk-tuk to a silk factory, where we saw worms creating raw silk and the looms spinning, and met some weavers. My mom gave Eli money to pick out a few silk scarves for souvenirs – he proudly showed them off when he returned.

Our trip coincided with Tet, the Lunar New Year of the Golden Horse, symbolizing prosperity, clarity, ambition and transformation. It was our last morning on the ship, and Mom handed out li xi, red envelopes filled with cash to signal a prosperous New Year. Mom had tears in her eyes when she told the crew that morning, perhaps thinking about ambition, that when I was 10 years old, I told her I wanted to be a photojournalist. She’d responded, “How are you going to do that, when you are so shy?” I insisted, “I’ll change. I’ll become more outgoing.” (I did.) 

Challenges: The shower in her bathroom had no grab bars – another accessibility surprise. The crew procured her a plastic chair, and I helped get her into the shower and seated on the chair, then pulled down the handheld showerhead so she could wash herself. It had been over 32°C (90°F) every day, and I knew it must have felt good to finally feel clean and fresh. It was very difficult for me to see her so frail and needy, and I feared hurting her, or myself (having had shoulder surgery just 3 months earlier), but I was so happy that she was willing to let me help. 

A lasting memory: I skipped an afternoon excursion the first day to escort Mom to the third-floor lounge. She loved it! One of the bartenders helped her to the sundeck – the lip over the doorway was hard to get over with a walker, and she insisted she would be just fine staying inside – but suddenly, the Mekong River was her front yard. She saw the fishers, the dipping pool, the glorious sun and the reflection of the calm river. I saw her demeanor soften and brighten all at once. Long a power walker before her mobility issues, she started doing laps around the deck with her walker. For the next 2 days, she would do four to six laps each time she was up there, at least twice a day, clocking her steps to reach a couple of miles a day. It was a high point, and I was so grateful we had made it even this far, together in her home country for what probably would be the last time. 

Day 8: Getting to Angkor Wat

The plan: Disembark in Phnom Penh and go directly to the airport for our flight to Siem Reap. Visit Angkor Wat, one of the world’s oldest temples.

High points: The dock in Phnom Penh was at the bottom of a steep sloped hill. After a prolonged pause while we all were trying to figure out how she was going to get up that hill with a walker, the cruise director asked, “Could I carry you?” We were all giggling as he scooped up my tiny mother and carried her to the top, another crew member shielding her from the sun with a big umbrella.

In Siem Reap, we stayed at the luxurious Templation. Lush greenery and flowers abounded, ponds with fish and turtles, private pools in every room – it felt like a wildlife preserve but with a spa, swimming pool and beautiful bar with a Cambodian chile peanut mix that I still crave. Eli had never been anywhere this grand. Mom loved the hotel and spent her days sitting near the pool with a cold drink, watching other families splash around, and playing sudoku and mah-jongg on her phone. She seemed more relaxed in Cambodia than in Vietnam. Maybe it was that she didn’t have to navigate the stairs on the Aqua Mekong every day. Maybe that she didn’t have to be confronted hourly with sometimes difficult memories of her home country. Maybe she just liked Siem Riep, a calmer and quieter city than Ho Chi Minh City, a little better.

Challenges: Standing with her walker lined up to disembark the Aqua Mekong, my mom, who has never been a very emotionally open person, started to cry. I thought she was scared of falling – it was unstable to board those skiffs even for those steady on their feet – but she made it on and continued crying the entire 20-minute ride back to the dock. Later I asked if it was emotional leaving the boat. She started to tear up again, and Ingrid pressed her on what her emotion was. “Going to Angkor Wat without Fred,” she said. “He loved history, museums, monuments.” He would have loved seeing Angkor Wat with his grandson. 

A lasting memory: Our guide, Leap, and driver, Lin, shuttled us in a private van into the temple complex and parked right next to Angkor Wat. Lin had brought a lawn chair so Mom could sit in a shaded area while Eli, Ingrid and I toured the temples with Leap. It was a site to behold, certainly, but most of all, I was thrilled we were able get there before it was too crowded and that my mom could watch us walk up the temple stairs.

We spent much of our last day by the pool, no more tours, no more van entrances or exits. Eli and I shared a giant float in the pool, sunbathing and grateful for a little downtime.

We had survived a couple of falls, a few showers and many beautiful bites and sights. We made forever memories. I was about ready to go home.