Pause and Wander

Dates: December 26–28, 2025

Places: Phong Nha and Huê, Vietnam

The days in the caves and jungle had been full and energizing, the kind that sharpen your senses and stay with you. When we returned to Nguyen Shack Retreat, we carried that feeling with us, ready to enjoy it without rushing on to the next thing. Coming back felt like exhaling. The edges softened, the urgency faded, and what remained was a quieter rhythm that didn’t ask much of us beyond being present.

The first morning back began with a 7:00 a.m. vinyasa flow yoga class. Claire, the instructor here, did an exceptional job, seamlessly directing the more experienced yogis alongside beginner explanations for our girls. The air was brisk enough that she kept the pace fast, moving us quickly from pose to pose with a lot of strength-focused work. It did exactly what it needed to do. Blood pumping, bodies warm, no time to drift. After a solid 60 minutes, we headed downstairs for breakfast.

Breakfast turned into hours.

We met an Israeli family and ended up talking well into the afternoon without ever leaving the restaurant. Uri and Hadas were the parents. They have three kids, their eldest son Omri, aged 12, and two girls, Neta (9) and Maya (3), all of whom played together so nicely, going from coloring books to the enormous box of toys the hostel had. 

The conversation started with traveling with kids and slowly widened. They had spent the last three months in Thailand, Japan, and Vietnam and were loosely planning southern Vietnam next, followed by New Zealand in February, with a big question mark in between. Familiar territory for us. From there we drifted into U.S. politics, Israeli politics, and global politics. We found a lot of shared ground. They are deeply concerned about the direction Israel is heading and are traveling partly to scout potential places to land if things cross a line for them. It was unsettling, not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, sober one. As messy as things feel back home for us, it does not feel as immediately dire as what they face.

While the adults talked, Arya and Finlee had an incredible day playing almost entirely unsupervised with the Nguyen Shack owners’ kids, Ann (5) and Kim (11). The four of them disappeared into their own world for most of the day. Running, inventing games, talking nonstop, reappearing only occasionally for snacks or water. We were especially proud of this. Up until now, consistent kid playtime had been one of the missing pieces of the girls’ travel experience. Seeing them settle in so easily and build their own rhythm with other kids felt like a small but important shift.

Later in the afternoon, we retreated to the room to work on a blog post and catch up on journaling. The WiFi had other plans. Uploading photos was an exercise in patience. The post eventually went live, but journaling fell behind again.

We eventually had to pry the girls away from playtime since homework was badly overdue. Once they were set up on their computers, we joined the sunset yoga class. Claire led again. Normally she finishes the day with a Yin-style class, slow and meditative, which Finlee finds painfully boring. Because it was cold, though, she opted for another vinyasa flow, this one focused on low back and hip mobility at the class’s request.

Max had been dealing with intense low back pain since our night camping in the jungle, so the timing could not have been better. The tightness did not disappear completely, but the improvement was dramatic. Noticeable relief. One of those moments where you remember how much tension your body holds onto without asking permission.

Dinner that night was back in the hotel restaurant. Fine, but basic. Nothing bad, just not memorable. Other than the baby piglets cozying up by the makeshift fireplace in the middle of the restaurant—that we were unlikely to forget. 

Our final full day in Phong Nha came fast, and we tried to pack it to the edges. We were up early, sneaking in an hour of homework for the girls before breakfast, then turned our attention to logistics. Transportation for the day was a pair of Honda 125cc automatic scooters. Nothing fancy, but both were in solid working order and felt dependable enough for a full day of riding.

After a quick double-check with Uri and Hadas, we headed toward Phong Nha Cave. The ride was short and easy, with almost no traffic. Phong Nha Cave sits within a limestone massif shaped for millions of years by underground rivers, and unlike most caves, this one is defined by water. A river runs straight through it, which means the only way in is by boat.

We paid our entrance fees, split the cost of a boat, and climbed aboard long, narrow wooden craft powered by surprisingly loud engines. As we moved upstream past town, a massive cliff face appeared ahead of us, split open by a triangular void. As we approached, that opening narrowed dramatically, shrinking to a low slit just inches above the roof of our boat. At the last moment, the engine cut. Silence fell instantly. The crew switched to oars and guided us inside with inches to spare. The relief of quiet was immediate and profound.

Inside, the cave opened up around us in ways that felt unreal. The ceiling rose high overhead, the walls stretched wide, and everything felt oversized and ancient, shaped patiently by water over spans of time that are impossible to grasp. The river moved gently beneath us, reflecting soft light onto the stone and making the entire space feel alive but hushed, like it preferred not to be disturbed.

After a quiet row 1km into the cave, we turned back and eventually disembarked to walk through a dry section of the cave. Raised boardwalks led us through room after room filled with towering stalagmites, hanging stalactites, and formations that looked like frozen waves spilling from ceiling to floor. Impressive in the most literal sense of the word.

After lunch nearby, we said goodbye to Uri and his family and climbed back onto our scooters. The ride to Paradise Cave wound through some of the most beautiful terrain we had ever ridden through. Rice paddies rested in their post-harvest phase, transformed into shallow reflecting pools, before the road climbed into steep jungle hills wrapped in dense foliage. It was one of those rides where you forget everything except the road unfolding in front of you.

Paradise Cave revealed itself quietly at first, a small, unassuming hole in the mountainside that gave no hint of what waited inside. Then we stepped through the opening and the space exploded open. Enormous does not even begin to cover it. The first chamber was so vast that it felt like standing inside a natural cathedral. You could fit the Taj Mahal inside it easily. Probably two. Maybe three. The ceiling soared overhead, the walls were fully illuminated from edge to edge, and the scale immediately overwhelmed any sense of proportion. With every corner lit, there was nowhere for the size to hide, which somehow made it feel even larger and harder to comprehend. Massive natural columns rose from floor to ceiling, some fused together over ages into single towering structures. Flowing stone cascaded down the walls like frozen waterfalls, and everything carried the weight of deep time.

The cave stretches for more than 31 kilometers, though only about one kilometer is open to the public. Walking that single kilometer felt like crossing multiple worlds. Each chamber had its own personality, its own rhythm, expanding and contracting in ways that made it impossible to settle into a sense of scale. At one point, we had to sit down. Breathing went shallow, our brains struggling to process the sheer size of what we were seeing. Knowing that what lay beyond the lit walkways made up more than 97 percent of the cave only added to the feeling that we were witnessing something far larger than we could ever fully grasp.

When we finally stepped back outside, time had slipped away from us. The sun was dropping fast, and we still had a long ride back through jungle roads. We hustled. The ride home in soft sunset light was beautiful, even as darkness crept in and a few bugs found our eyeballs at speed. We made it back just minutes before the end of civil twilight, closer than preferred but memorable all the same.

After that much awe and motion, reflection could wait. The day asked for rest.

The following morning came earlier than anyone wanted. We carved out one last short homework session by the lake, pencils scratching quietly while the water sat completely still. Breakfast lingered longer than usual. Saying goodbye to Nguyen Shack Retreat carried more weight than expected. The girls loved this place deeply, especially the animals and especially Ann and Kim. They asked immediately if they could keep in touch. We exchanged contact information and watched their faces light up at the idea that this place would not disappear entirely once we left.

The bus ride to Hue was smooth and strangely comforting. Deluxe sleeper buses continue to feel like a minor miracle. The girls settled into their cocoons instantly. Max and Shaina pulled out their books that had hardly been touched in weeks and read every minute of the drive.

Looking back, Phong Nha gave us something we did not know we were missing. Not just caves or scenery, but a pace that felt sustainable. Days where stillness mattered as much as motion. Where awe arrived gradually and lingered. Where friendships formed easily and goodbyes felt earned.

Leaving felt harder than expected, which usually means we timed it right.