Goodbyes have never been easy for me. Especially long, drawn-out goodbyes.
My preference is the sneak-out-the-back-door kind. Avoid-eye-contact goodbyes. The-it’s-over-already, move-on goodbyes.
Waving goodbye to the tight-knit Cambodian family whose guesthouse I’ve called home these past four days brings unexpected tears to my eyes. Why? I barely know them.
Perhaps they represent what I’ve come to love about Cambodia… resilience. Three generations still standing, determined to carry on, represented here on my last day in this country.
I’ve said so many goodbyes these past nine months. Not just to countries. To people I’ve met along the way. To the illusion of family. To my lifestyle. My culture. Everything that once defined my life.
Super Bowls, Academy Awards, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Taco Tuesdays, St. Patty’s Day. Family Feud, local news, driving on the right side of the road. Driving, period.
Goodbyes now form the landscape of my days.
Back in Da Nang, Vietnam for Tet—Vietnam’s version of Christmas, Thanksgiving, and a government shutdown all rolled into one. The country presses pause to say goodbye to the Year of the Snake and usher in the Year of the Horse.
Feels like the perfect time to say goodbye to my flowing “mane.”
Thanks to a recent translation mishap, what was meant to be routine highlights turns into a full-on white head of hair. The adorable young bartender at the pool hall tells me I remind him of his grandmother. Mortified beyond belief, I frantically search out a reputable salon close by.
Luckily, everything in Da Nang stays open past my bedtime, so getting my hair done at nine p.m. is no biggie. My hairdresser and his assistant Kim find my dilemma hysterically funny. Two hours later, I’ve got a hip short cut, a toned-down hair color, and two new friends to show me how to celebrate Tet the local way.
Turns out Kim and I pick up the same bug. Twelve days bedridden. Goodbye, Tet. Vietnam does Lunar New Year like no other country—and I missed most of it.
The Dragon Bridge in Da Nang—shaped like a giant golden dragon—opened in 2013 as a symbol of the city’s swagger. By day, it’s a bridge. By night, especially during Tet, it breathes fire, shoots water, and fully commits to the drama. Add a mind-blowing fireworks display to the mix, and there goes that once-in-a-lifetime moment.
That one’s going to sting for a while.
But I came to Da Nang for two things—Tet and to see if the city fits. I missed most of the first, so now I’m focused on the second. And I think I’m ready to say goodbye to the “goodbye girl.”
By far the most excruciating goodbyes I’ve experienced were saying goodbye to my boys, Wolf and Grizzly. Those two yappy Pomeranian puffballs pawed at my heart. The loss didn’t leave. It just settled in.
While I’m not 100 percent ready to unpack my suitcase for good, I am ready to entertain the idea of having my heart ripped out again. No pain, no pleasure. And of all the cities I’ve considered, Da Nang quietly presents itself as the dog-friendly capital of Southeast Asia.
As if on cue, in one day I met five Pomeranians and their owners. Dare I say fate?
Da Nang feels familiar in the way most cities in Southeast Asia do—street food, massages, pharmacies, bars, cafés filling block after block. Grab drivers outnumber customers. Scooters swarm, going wherever they feel like it. Traffic signals, crosswalks, sidewalks… mostly optional. And the wiring overhead? Absolute chaos.
It feels more polished than most places I’ve been, but the backpackers—and just enough seediness—still slip through. Not that I haven’t occasionally found myself playing pool and karaokeing my way into the danger zone.
However… there are a few lumps in the taters. Seeds in my lemon garlic pasta. Uncooked kernels in my corn on the cob.
The three medications I take daily—and can get in the U.S. without a second thought—aren’t recognized in Vietnam. Good Lord, healthcare might be the death of me. The insanely good-looking Vietnamese doctor casually suggests I get my meds on the black market.
WTF?? Like the dark web? Doc… dude… huh??
Pollyanna, I am not. But seriously—I’m clueless about black markets. Hell, I don’t even know how to get back to my hotel.
Doc McHottie rolls his chair closer and, in a near whisper, tells me to go to the expat areas.
Now I’m distracted. Muscular but lithe. Scrubs just tight enough. Sculpted cheeks, chiseled jaw, perfect almond-shaped eyes. Flawless English. Thirty-five. A walking specimen. Meanwhile, every bell and whistle alerts me to keep my hands at my side.. do not engage the hotness.
Feigning shock at the mere suggestion I’d color outside the lines, I abruptly jump out of my seat. Better to appear off balance than deal with law enforcement. Mc Hotness follows suit and waives my 70 dollar exam fee.
Armed with my new “insider” intel, I head straight to the nearest expat pharmacy and stock up. Great. Problem solved—for the low, low price of five hundred freaking dollars.
Saying goodbye to money is just really not fun… at all.
Add in visa runs every three months, and suddenly saying goodbye to Vietnam becomes a lot easier.
How many more goodbyes do I have left?
At some point, I need something that stays. A place. A routine. A dog.
Buy me a glass of wine 🍷
