Pause and Wander

Dates: January 7-11th 

Places: Quy Nhon, Vietnam 

This was an in-between-places kind of place, defined mostly by time to kill. We had a night bus booked south to Quy Nhon, which meant our entire first day stretched out in front of us with nowhere specific to be and nothing urgent to do except eventually get ourselves to the pickup point. No big plans, just filling the hours. There were a few bright spots and some low moments, all of it running under the steady background of Arya’s ear infection. The pain comes in waves. Medication and distraction help, but when either fades, the discomfort quickly takes over.

We lingered at our Hoi An Enso Retreat longer than usual, letting the girls work through homework while we did trip planning. For the first time in a while, we have a loose outline through mid March: Quy Nhon, then HCMC, Singapore, then southern Thailand. We are trying to strike a better balance. Too much planning locks us in. Too little leaves us constantly thinking about what comes next. Planning about 30 days ahead feels like a reasonable experiment. We now we’ll also be in Laos at the end of March, but we still have some flexibility in how we get there. 

Lunch gave the day some structure. We landed at Masa Taqueria, globalization on full display. Part of us resists it, but another part is deeply grateful to find hand-pressed mass tortillas and al pastor tacos in the middle of Vietnam that rival what we ate in Oaxaca. We played Kings and Cabbages, sipped beers and margaritas, and talked with the girls about the trip so far. What they loved, what they hope for, what they would change. We want them to feel real ownership over this year, even if their ideas occasionally include places like Afghanistan. That one is not happening.

After lunch the girls journaled, and Max wandered into the market to buy woven bamboo baskets we’d had our eyes on. The shallow produce baskets stacked high at vegetable stalls had been calling to us. He found a woman with hundreds of them and somehow walked away with 13 for about $20 total. More baskets than planned, but since we are shipping a bag home from HCMC anyway, it felt justified.

Things started to unravel when it was time to transition from killing time to actually leaving. Grab failed us, had to haggle with a shady taxi driver, and we ended up in a dimly lit parking lot in the rain, waiting far longer than expected. The cold and Arya’s ear pain stretched time out. Alleged departure time came and went. Then 10 more minutes. 20. 30. When the sleeper bus finally arrived, almost 45 minutes late, the relief was immediate. The ride south was aggressive and jerky, smooth rides still elusive in Vietnam, and by the time we reached Quy Nhon well after midnight, we were exhausted and mildly nauseous. The apartment was clean, the beds soft-ish. That was enough.

Quy Nhon itself turned out to be a mixed bag. Gritty, windy, and not the most obvious place to celebrate Shaina’s 41st birthday, but we made the best of it. Breakfast became pancakes, pepperoni pizza, fish and chips, and cold crisp cider at an expat spot called The Social. Definitely not health food, but exactly right for a birthday, and all of it was exceptional. The place itself was strange. Shabby, two people asleep on a sofa in the dining area, workers lounging about and scrolling on social media when they weren’t serving food, and a man chain-smoking the entire time. Eventually we had to leave just to escape the weird vibes and the smoke.

A walk along the beach helped reset things. The wind was strong, the sun intermittent, and the sand had formed a thin crust over something softer beneath. Each step produced a crunch followed by a gentle sink. With every step Finlee and Arya squealed, “So satisfaction!”

That night stayed simple. A quick run across the street for Chinese noodles at Xi A Lou, then back to the apartment for Mean Girls, the musical, the girls choice for movie night. Halfway through we were convinced the choice had been a bad one, as every character seemed completely irredeemable. But the message turned out to be simpler than expected: being cruel does not lead to much, and being kind goes a longer way. And it gave us an excuse to eat popcorn and snuggle together on the couch. That was Shaina’s real birthday present. 

The following day marked a shift. For the first time in a while, our bodies felt engaged again. A workout in the hotel gym did exactly what it was supposed to do. Blood pumping, sweat dripping, minds waking up. A 2,000 m row that took more out of Max than it had any right to, followed by a 10 minute EMOM of alternating dumbbell power clean and jerks. For not having lifted properly in over 6 months, it came back surprisingly easily. We knew we would be sore, but it would be the good kind of sore. Shaina pushed hard on the elliptical and gave herself a gentler reintroduction to strength training, but we both felt the difference the rest of the day.

Pho afterward felt like a small victory. Max has never been a sweet breakfast person, and the fact that bánh mì and pho are considered breakfast foods here makes him feel like he may have found his people. Four bowls just around the block for a little over $8. Not too shabby. 

We settled into a café for the afternoon. Homework, journaling, music, travel planning, steady sipping. We locked in reservations from Singapore through Thailand—flights and accommodations set for about a month. Big cities, tiny islands, beaches, jungles, knowing we’d eventually make our way to Laos and the Northern Mekong. Cycling between high-energy travel days and slower recharge days, refined dining and street food, air-conditioned condos and bamboo bungalows. Things will keep perfectly in balance right up until they do not. And that’s okay. 

Arya’s ear infection finally seemed to be turning a corner. Less pain medication, more drainage. Better out than in. We are hopeful that in another 3 to 5 days she will be fully back to herself.

Dinner that night, we went deeper into the menu at our new neighborhood favorite spot, Xi An Lou, perpetually packed with locals. BBQ pork bao buns, fried pork wontons packed with corn and carrots, and bánh thiem tây, essentially a pita stuffed with grilled pork, vegetables, and three sauces that tasted like pure spice and magic. Shockingly good. Possibly even a rival to bánh mì?

Another movie followed, and we hesitantly allowed the kids to pick again. This time they pivoted. Jack Reacher. Pure entertainment. Easy. 

The rhythm continued the next day. The apartment itself is unremarkable in a design sense, but clean, functional, and high above the city on the 25th floor, sporting wide views over the waterfront. What mattered most was the gym. Two days in a row felt like reclaiming something we miss. Running on the treadmill, goblet squats, pushing the bench press machine a little harder than was wise. Almost six months without a routine shows up quickly, but even this felt grounding.

The day unfolded without pressure of many expectations. Pho again, then a long stretch at ADIUVAT Coffee Roasters. The girls worked through homework while we read and journaled and planned. No rushing, no pressure to see anything impressive. Just being in the city, letting the day be shaped by coffee and conversation. We probably indulged more than strictly necessary, but the workout made it feel permissible.

Underneath the ease, the tension remained. Arya is better, but not well. The lingering pain and still-thick drainage wear on her, and homesickness sits closer to the surface when she is uncomfortable. That spills outward. Finlee reacts quickly. The dynamic feeds on itself. By evening, patience was thin.

Dinner was tasty enough for Shaina and Max, less so for the kids. We tried to salvage the night with live music and cards back at The Social, but fatigue won. The walk home along the waterfront was tense. Hard conversations, raised voices, reminders about attitude and listening, complicated by the reality that Arya literally cannot hear well right now.

As we wrapped up our time in Quy Nhon, it felt like a pause that mattered more than it might look on paper. Having the space to plan ahead without rushing, to map out the next stretch of the trip with a bit more confidence, was grounding. So was the gym. Being able to work out a few days in a row, to move with intention and feel that familiar soreness again, felt like reclaiming a small but important part of ourselves that has been missing on the road. Even two or three sessions made a noticeable difference in how we showed up for the rest of the day.

At the same time, Arya’s pain is real. Ear infections are not abstract inconveniences, especially when you are far from home and moving between places. Helping her heal while keeping spirits up, managing patience, and supporting Finlee through the spillover is work. Some days it goes better than others. There were moments here where positivity felt earned, not automatic, and where progress was measured in smaller, quieter ways.

Next stop—Ho Chi Minh City, otherwise known as Old Saigon—Vietnam’s largest and most metropolitan cities.  Another big move, another shift in pace. Arya is improving, even if she is not fully herself yet, and that gives us some cautious optimism. Quy Nhon gave us structure, space, and a chance to reset a few habits. We are carrying that forward with us as we move on.