Da Nang – Siminka's View

After a few days in Ho Chi Minh City, we flew to Da Nang for a longer stay, tentatively planned for a month. This time, I made sure to arrive with zero expectations. It was a domestic flight, and you’d think arriving two hours early would be overkill, but we quickly learned that you need to give yourself plenty of time at Vietnamese airports—unless you want to pay $20 per person for priority check-in. The priority section was deserted, while the regular lines were massive. They don’t care if you have small children; you either pay up or wait. To make things even slower, only about half the counters were staffed. We stood there nervously for at least an hour, glad we hadn’t cut it close. We made it to the gate just in time to wait another hour because the flight was delayed. We only figured that out ourselves, though, because no one gave us any information, even as frustrated passengers kept approaching the desk for answers.

We finally made it. We landed in the pride of Vietnam. Compared to sunny Ho Chi Minh City, we were greeted by slightly cooler, overcast, but still warm weather. The drive from the airport was lined with military barracks and billboards showing a happy army and citizenry. The traffic was much lighter and calmer than in Saigon, and the mix was different—lots more cars here, whereas Saigon was dominated by scooters.

Accommodation

We settled into the modern Monarchy complex, back on the 19th floor. It was a corner unit, so every room had windows and we could get a great cross-breeze going. From the balcony, we had a perfect view of the iconic Dragon Bridge, which breathes fire and water every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 9:00 to 9:10 PM. While crowds of tourists gather below to watch, we got to enjoy the show from the comfort of our own home. One little quirk: the washing machine was out on the balcony. In this climate, it actually makes sense and saves space inside. Plus, there was a remote-controlled drying rack right above it, which the kids thought was the coolest thing ever.

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The apartment was nice—spacious and clean. I did find a patch of mold under the kitchen sink, but since we didn’t really need to use that space, I just ignored it.

We came to Da Nang mainly to soak up local life. We weren’t chasing tourist attractions or “experiences.” Johnny worked, and the rest of us just lived our daily lives. I did some homeschooling with the kids during the day, and we went for walks, hit the beach, and explored the playgrounds. We shopped at the markets, discovered food stalls, bakeries, and pastry shops, and found our new favorite local spots.

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The beach was beautiful and clean. The kids loved playing in the big waves, but only in the designated areas because the currents were still strong. Anyone who strayed outside the flags was immediately whistled at by a very intense lifeguard. It always made me laugh because he looked like a character out of a French comedy, whistling and gesturing wildly. Simeon spent most of his time lounging or napping on a beach chair, while Arthur built monuments in the sand and hunted for tiny crabs. In the evenings, Johnny would take over with the older boys, taking them to the gym or for boxing sessions nearby. We had an outdoor pool at the complex too, but the weather wasn’t quite warm enough for the water to feel inviting—it was pretty icy. Simeon actually felt the effects of swimming in the cold water and developed a minor issue, so I got to test out the private healthcare system. The service was excellent. We were seen quickly, the doctor diagnosed him, and ordered the necessary medication right there. Aside from paying, I didn’t have to do a thing. I left with a package that had clear instructions on dosage, who it was for, and who prescribed it.

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Right next to our building was a sports complex with soccer and basketball courts, a running track, and a small playground. Unfortunately, the space was showing its age. Despite being constantly used, it clearly wasn’t being maintained. Every playground we visited during our stay was the same—rusty, broken, and falling apart. It made me sad that safety and nice environments for kids weren’t a priority, especially since the rest of the city looked so well-kept. Local kids mostly played on the squares and promenades in the evenings—biking, skating, and running around. Many were already in their pajamas, apparently staying out until they dropped so they could go straight to bed.

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“Pajama culture” was actually quite a thing in our complex, even for adults. People would go to the store, walk the dog, or push a stroller in their PJs. Some would even run down to grab a delivery with a towel still on their head. The Russian expats in the building seemed to find this particularly hard to handle.

Animals

Whenever we missed our pets back home, we’d head to a cat or dog cafe. The kids loved cuddling with the energetic dogs or the indifferent cats. We saw a different kind of animal on the streets after dark. We started playing a game: who could spot a rat first, or who could spot the most. My most intense encounter with them was at a market near our favorite bakery. We usually shopped at a different market closer to home, so I wanted to see if this one had anything new. It was lunchtime, and the vendors were clearly taking their siestas. It was a dark, damp, gloomy place under a roof that blocked out all the sun. Most sellers were tucked away or sleeping in hammocks. Suddenly, I saw a rat run past. The kids were disappointed they missed it. We moved a bit further, and suddenly a horde of rats rushed out. There were so many that they couldn’t even avoid me—one actually ran over my foot. That was too much for me, and I let out a loud shriek of pure disgust. A few lethargic eyes peered out from hammocks, clearly annoyed by the crazy tourist, but once they saw I was harmless, they tucked themselves back into their cocoons and ignored us. I told the kids to pick up the pace; I needed to get out of there immediately.

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Healthcare

We gave even the sketchy-looking playgrounds a chance. Kids are much more open-minded than I am. Simeon especially loved the one by our house. My blood would run cold every time he ran across a rusty bridge with missing slats over a concrete floor. He always handled it like a pro, laughing the whole time… until the moment he actually fell. Even though I was watching him, he fell in a spot I didn’t expect because the bridge shifted and he slipped into the gap. It happened in an instant. Before I could even react, he was on the ground crying. So, we got to visit the ER at the International Hospital. Luckily, he’s a tough little Seyd and even a scary fall like that didn’t break him. Everything was fine, just a bit of swelling. The hospital was beautiful, new, and clean—none of the mold or crumbling interiors we sometimes see back home.

As if we hadn’t seen enough medical facilities, I took Simeon to a modern vaccination center for his second Hepatitis A shot. I intentionally chose lunchtime right before their big holiday, so we were almost the only ones there. I registered at the desk and was sent to pay about $20 for the vaccine—roughly what it costs at home. There was a bit of a hiccup because the card terminal wasn’t working. I didn’t have enough cash, so my “knight in shining armor” (Johnny) had to come over from the apartment to save the day. The doctor then examined Simeon and asked routine questions about his health. I should note that every medical professional we met spoke excellent English. They were very thorough. We moved to another room where a doctor and nurse were waiting with the vaccine. They asked more questions, showed me the vaccine to confirm it was exactly what I’d requested, checked the expiration date—it was all very transparent. After the shot, they had us wait for half an hour in a fantastic play area. Once they confirmed there was no reaction and his temperature was normal, they sent us home. It was a very pleasant experience; Simeon didn’t even want to leave.

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Tết

We were in Da Nang during Tết, which is their version of New Year’s, Christmas, Easter, and All Saints’ Day all rolled into one. The whole city was decorated with flowers. There were kumquat trees everywhere, bursting with orange fruit to symbolize wealth and luck, along with peach blossom trees (hoa đào) to represent spring, new beginnings, and protection from evil spirits. It was beautiful, colorful, and festive.

Tết isn’t just one day; it’s a weeks-long season. It starts slowly as people prepare. A few days before the main celebration, festive tables are set up in front of houses with food left out all day as an offering to ancestors. Eventually, the family gathers to eat the food, which by then has been sitting out in the air for hours. The most surprising sight was a large table in the middle of the road with a whole roasted pig waiting for the family gathering, surrounded by a swarm of flies. (I didn’t take photos of this out of respect.)

Much like our All Saints’ Day, flowers for the deceased were being sold everywhere—mostly yellow chrysanthemums. Since my husband knows I love yellow, he brought me two massive bouquets, which significantly scandalized the locals as he walked down the street. It was obvious to them that he didn’t have any ancestors buried there and was bringing them to someone living. I’m starting to get a little paranoid, though—first he brought me funeral flowers in a pot for my birthday in Slovakia, and now this… is he trying to tell me something?!

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Tết also means time off work as people travel to visit relatives. For a week, we experienced the “discomfort” of our favorite eateries being closed. I spent the whole time dreaming of my favorite fish soup with tapioca noodles, Bánh Canh cá, but it was nowhere to be found.

When the main day of Tết arrived, we hit the streets. The city was full of people celebrating. There were overpriced snacks on the sidewalks and a concert in the square. People were dancing and singing, and we just wandered around, enjoying the pleasant evening weather. It’s much more comfortable than freezing on the streets in Slovakia for New Year’s. We went to the Dragon Bridge to watch the fireworks. I’m not usually one for light shows, but Johnny watches them with such childlike joy and records everything, so I didn’t want to ruin it for him. When the fireworks ended, Simeon wanted to go to the concert stage, so we split up. By the time we got there, everything had gone quiet. The lights were out, and people were already heading home. Exactly 10 minutes after midnight, the party was over. I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.

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Activities

In the evenings, we’d walk along the Hàn River. Under every bridge, there were attractions for both kids and adults—electric cars, motorcycles, or plaster painting. They even had blankets spread out with toys for the littlest ones. There were carousels and an outdoor play area called Fantasy Land where Simeon could run wild. It was interesting to see that these activities were all available late at night—kids are often out until 10:00 PM. We loved it, and the kids did too. We thought this was just normal life here, but as soon as Tết ended, everything vanished. We were pretty disappointed.

We didn’t just play in Da Nang; we also did some learning. We visited the Da Nang Museum, which covers the history of the area, including the details of the Vietnam War. The kids saw videos of survivors’ stories and the victims of Agent Orange. It was heavy. On a lighter note, the Cham Sculpture Museum was dedicated to the Cham ethnic minority, who were Hindu and left behind monumental statues. It was cool to see the connection to what we’d seen in Bali—the statues, temples, and traditions were very similar. Over time, many converted to Islam, so part of the population is now Muslim. They are known for their unbaked (unglazed) pottery, which they still make by hand without a potter’s wheel.

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You haven’t really experienced Vietnam until you’ve visited the massive Han Market. You could barely move in there—wall-to-order tourists and bargaining vendors. Johnny bought some civet coffee and sent it via Vietnamese post to Prague because Slovakia wasn’t even on their list of countries. As I write this, it’s been two months and the coffee is still nowhere to be seen. We bought some clothes for the kids, and even though I’m not great at haggling, the prices were still low. I even had two dresses custom-made for about $30 each. There’s an entire section of fabrics where you can pick what you want and have it ready the next day. We got Arthur a “golden” shirt for a few dollars. Honestly, seeing how hard those seamstresses work—they don’t even stop to eat—I didn’t even have the heart to haggle and just paid what they asked.

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The people at the markets are a different breed—incredibly assertive and persistent. In contrast, when you walk into a regular shop or restaurant, the staff can sometimes seem almost too shy to speak.

Over time, we found our favorite spots. For sweets, we went to the Tiệm Bánh Daisy’s Bakery, run by one of the sweetest people we’ve ever met. For cheap, kid-friendly meals, we loved Pizza Sister’s. In the evenings, we’d grab fresh skewers at the Night Market. This was perfect for us because the meat was just salted, and you could add your own sauces. We could have ours spicy, and the kids could have theirs plain. Everyone was happy. Right across from Monarchy, we’d get amazing bubble teas. For a special treat on three of our family members’ birthdays, we went to Maison Marou, where they make fantastic chocolate desserts right in front of you. Every morning, we’d head to Phở Tráng for a delicious chicken Phở. Other staples included cheap Bánh mì from the lady on the corner, chicken and rice at Cơm siêu gà on the way back from the beach, and fresh sesame balls for a few cents next door.

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We’d occasionally mix things up with local specialties like goat, jellyfish, frog, or seafood picked fresh from a tank. The variety was incredible—everything from mantis shrimp to moray eels. Sometimes we’d crave sushi, and here we had the best sashimi of our lives—perfectly fresh salmon that melted like butter.

Johnny had a lot of work during our time in Da Nang, so we couldn’t do as many family excursions as we’d hoped. But we did manage to see a few famous spots nearby.

Excursions

Just a half-hour taxi ride away was the Lady Buddha. We weren’t actually that interested in the massive statue or the golden relics; the main attraction for us was the troop of bold monkeys that jump on visitors. To Arthur’s delight, two macaques chose him—one jumped on him while the other started nipping at his side through his shirt. While he was happily calling for help, we were being “great parents” and filming the whole thing before finally chasing them off. Well, Matyas chased them off—Johnny and I had to put our phones away first.

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We also visited the caves at Marble Mountains. You can either take an elevator (mostly used by Indian tourists) or climb the stairs. We’re a fit family, so the choice was easy. We reached a fork in the path and decided to explore. To put it simply: safety isn’t really a priority in Vietnam. There are no warnings or railings. We ended up with the kids in places we definitely shouldn’t have been. The climb back down was a bit of an adrenaline rush. Luckily, we made it without any injuries, but it was an experience we could have done without. Still, the view from the top was amazing, and the cave temple was magical. Sunlight streamed through a hole in the rock, and I could see why they chose this as a sacred spot.

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Hội An was constantly recommended by expats, and we’d even considered staying there for a month. Our expectations were high. What we found was the “Venice of Vietnam”—assertive, pushy vendors and historic streets packed with overpriced junk. Everywhere you looked: shops, stalls, sellers, and millions of tourists. There was nothing authentic about it. No peace, no room to breathe, no way to just enjoy the view. Just a crush of people and a constant stream of rickshaws. We didn’t buy anything, and we didn’t enjoy it. We hurried through and were glad to head back to the peace of Da Nang. Hội An is full of resorts that bus tourists into the center for a “taste of Vietnam.” If this was all I’d seen of the country, I would have been very disappointed. But clearly, it works for some people.

We also checked out Ba Na Hills, a major draw for Indian tourists and a must-see for social media. We took a cable car up with stunning views of the nature below, only to find total kitsch at the top. It’s a replica of a medieval French village—loud, crowded, and overpriced. It’s basically a theme park with carnival games, gambling for kids, and lots of flashing lights. We walked across the iconic Golden Bridge (the one held by two hands), but it was impossible to get a decent photo because you could barely move. After exploring the outside, we ducked into the Fantasy Park. I hid in the toddler play area with Simeon while the others did the 4D and 5D cinemas and other activities. I noticed something there that I later saw elsewhere: Vietnamese play areas always have massage chairs for parents. They just let the kids loose and then go to sleep—in the chairs, on benches, or even right on the floor. Some areas looked like a post-apocalyptic movie with bodies lying everywhere. But I didn’t blame them—Ba Na Hills is a full, exhausting day. It wore us out too, which might be why a stomach bug went through the whole family afterward.

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Oddities

Some of my favorite local quirks included:

• The blend of rural and urban life. You’d see laundry, quilts, mushrooms, onions, and fruit drying on playground equipment during the day. Or you’d hear roosters crowing in modern neighborhoods because people keep chickens on their balconies.

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• People of all ages dancing under bridges or on the street at any time of day or night.

• Living rooms that are wide open to the street. They’re either all glass or just have the doors wide open, so you can see families lounging on the couch watching TV, or even sleeping in their PJs in the poorer areas.

• Vietnamese bingo, where the announcer sings the numbers in a very catchy melody that stayed in our heads for days.

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• People wearing winter jackets even when it’s 70+ degrees and sunny. I took Simeon to a small park with a rusty little roller coaster that moved at a snail’s pace. The woman in front of us was bundled up in a parka with the hood pulled tight over her and her child to “protect them from the wind.” Meanwhile, I was dripping with sweat in a tank top and skirt.

• Strict grandmothers who never smile and expect total obedience, contrasted with cheerful, laid-back grandfathers. One time, Johnny wanted to give me and the kids a treat and paid two old men on rickshaws to take us home. It cost way more than a taxi. Halfway there, they just dropped us off and said “finished.” Since they didn’t speak English, we couldn’t argue, and they happily headed back to their post while we walked the rest of the way.

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One thing to watch out for is sugar in milk—even regular cartons of milk from the store. Always check the label. In street shops, check items that come in pairs; we accidentally bought two right-handed boxing gloves. And most importantly: cars and motorcycles do not stop for pedestrians, even at crosswalks or red lights. A scooter can come from any direction, even against traffic, often without lights at night. You have to cross assertively but carefully at a constant speed so they can swerve around you.

The Vietnamese are a bit like Southern Europeans—no rush, everything is mañana. The cleaning ladies worked at a very leisurely pace, chatting and giggling. They’d do one thing and forget another. When we ran out of soap and I left the dispensers open for them to refill, they just closed them. When the washing machine leaked and we called a technician, he didn’t show up for the appointment but then randomly appeared two weeks later. In restaurants, they almost always forget to bring the rice. Sometimes it arrives after you’ve finished everything else, and sometimes it never shows up at all.

Aside from the stern grandmas, everyone was always smiling and friendly. I taught the kids that a smile and a “thank you” go a long way. My teenagers can be a bit moody, so I had to keep reminding them. Matyas finally took it to heart and tried to smile at a woman who brought our order. He was facing away from me, but I saw her face contort in total horror. She looked away and hurried off. I asked Matyas to show me the face he’d just made. After fourteen years, I realized my child doesn’t know how to smile naturally. Instead of a friendly look, he’d produced a creepy, slasher-movie grin. I felt so bad for that poor woman. We’re going to have to practice “Duchenne smiles” so it doesn’t happen again.

Conclusion

We really enjoyed Da Nang. It’s a smaller city—only about three times the size of Bratislava—so it felt compact and walkable. Everything we needed was close by, and it never felt overcrowded. February and March were perfect—mostly sunny but not too hot, with temperatures between 80-90°F. It felt safe enough that we could let the kids wander a bit on their own. And you can find delicious, cheap food on almost every corner.