The flight was Emirates, coming from Dubai, and I was just hitching the final Vietnam leg of its journey.  At the adjacent gate, another Emirates flight was boarding—also headed to Dubai. The pre-gate agent looked at my boarding pass and smiled:“Dubai? Great. Have a nice flight.”

I had to laugh. “Actually, Vietnam.”

But that moment? That mix-up?It confirmed something deep in my gut: the path ahead—Vietnam now, Dubai later—is absolutely the right one. Even the airport was dropping hints.  And yes, I’m fully aware of the geopolitical firestorm brewing with Iran right now. We’ll get to that.

Unfortunately, the flight itself was a nightmare. As usual, the pilot gave that classic, infuriating pre-lie:“We’re expecting a few bumps.”

Translation: Buckle up, this is going to suck.And it did. Full-on turbulence the entire ride and a seatbelt sign that never went off.

But finally, wheels down.

Immigration was a total circus. Lines, chaos, zero signage. The usual.Thankfully, I had a driver waiting just past the madness, one of those smooth, no-nonsense types. He whisked me straight to Hoi An and the quiet little homestay that would become basecamp 2.0.

Along the way, my jaw hit the floor. The Vietnamese coastline was  unrecognizable. Resorts, hotels, massive developments everywhere. I hadn’t been back in so long, I couldn’t even remember my “before” picture—but this was after, and it was booming.

And then, finally, I saw Jen.  Months had passed, but we picked up like no time had gone by. She’d been key to pulling off this entire midnight run. Getting her stuff back was the bare minimum I could do. We caught up as best we could, but I was running on fumes from the turbulent sky-beating I’d just endured.

Sleep first. Reboot later.

The homestay was everything I needed.  It was chill, tucked away, effortlessly beautiful beside a river. A little oasis after the turbulence and chaos.  The weather was also perfect, not raining and not too hot either.

First order of business: figure out the Vietnamese money. Not easy when everything costs hundreds of thousands of dong, but hey, at least it’s cheaper than Thailand. That much was obvious right away.

So there I was, sipping vodka sodas and enjoying Joe’s homemade spicy chili which was absolute fire, in the best way.  That's when karaoke started drifting through the night air.

Suddenly, I was transported. Back to the Shanghai glory days.Before Xi.Before the soul got sucked out of everything.  That sound, that karaoke echoing through the alleys—it wasn’t just noise. It was freedom. Raw, imperfect, hopeful. You could feel people believing in the future back then.  Now that’s all gone for China.

So there I was, buzzed on the balcony, wondering aloud to myself:“Is Vietnam going to follow the same path? Or will they get it right?”

I don't care so much about what political system is as long as I can do the things I want to do.    But communism runs a greater risk of a hardliner like Xi coming in, a guy who locks the whole thing down with no off switch and takes all the fun away.  Literally, he locks it down.  I just hope that Vietnam can get it right and avert this risk.  For now they're doing an awesome job.

But it's funny how the same trigger hits people in completely different ways.

For me the drifting karaoke was pure nostalgia and pure pre-lockdown Shanghai magic.To Jen and Joe it was straight-up noise pollution. They hated it. Said it kept them up at night and made their stomachs turn.

Different frequencies, I guess.

The next day was full-on errand mode: SIM card missions, scooter rental negotiations, ATM hunts. A proper Welcome to Vietnam starter pack.

But the ATMs—man, the ATMs.Frustrating as hell. Tiny withdrawal limits and hefty fees each time. Like they were designed to punish anyone trying to get their own money.  The upside? It forced me into budget vigilance.No more lazy spending. Time to run tighter numbers and track every dong like it mattered—because now, it did.

Somehow, this all felt more mentally draining than a full week of trading crude oil in a volatile market with Iran and Israel.

I can’t get into all the details, but between managing money, managing expectations, and managing boundaries, my brain was operating at 110% capacity—and still lagging.  Apparently, I’d been unofficially crowned the “money guy”, which sounds fun until you realize it’s code for “Hey, can you be responsible for everyone else’s financial chaos too?”

It got to the point where I had to mentally set stop losses, not on trades, but on real-life spending—just to keep all that dong from evaporating.  And the worst part? Everything was in thousands and millions, so even buying a coffee felt like signing off on a defense contract. No wonder my brain was short-circuiting.

Later that evening, we ended up poolside, drinks in hand, and the conversation turned towards what everyone else is talking about in the news

Joe, being Israeli himself, didn’t hold back. He was still furious about October 7th 2024 as anyone would be.  But the anger extended beyond the attackers, it was also as he said, “The Iron Dome works, but it’s not a magic force field. It needs sharp minds, active management—not coffee-drinking generals on autopilot collecting pensions and sitting on their ass.”

He wasn’t wrong. Israel hadn’t faced a war of this scale in decades, and complacency had crept in. People had gotten too comfortable with their salaries and retirement packages, mistaking peacetime for permanent stability.

Several vodka sodas later, the night reached that inevitable tipping point: it was time to party.  Joe tapped out—fair enough. But Jen and I were on a mission. We jumped on the scooter and hit the Hoi An nightlife circuit like it owed us something.  Bar after bar, neon after neon, cheap drinks flowing—and then, at one random spot, boom:50 people walk in at once. Out of nowhere. Like a tour bus had just exploded directly into the dance floor.

It was surreal. A quiet scene suddenly turned into a full-on music video. After that… details get hazy. 

The next day was all about scooter cruising:  wind in my face, caffeine in my system, and an open road to explore.  And somewhere along the ride, it hit me:Vietnam has pretty much everything Thailand does… and more.

Stunning beaches? Check. 

Affordable food? Check. 

Warm people, epic scenery, ancient towns, modern cafes—check, check, and check.

And the vissa is 90 days.  Ninety.Meanwhile, Thailand’s still stuck in the 60-day hamster wheel, wondering why tourists are bailing.

Everywhere I looked, Vietnam was buzzing. Tourists in full force, pouring into resorts and old towns like it was the new Southeast Asian promised land.

And I couldn’t help but ask:What’s going on here?Is Vietnam quietly winning the tourism arms race while Thailand scrambles to keep up?

Something’s shifting—and it’s big.