Slow Travel Southeast Asia
Almost a year ago, David and I took a bold leap of faith, embarking on a journey that would transform our lives. We sold our home, car, and belongings, and found a loving new home for our cherished dog, Loki. Then, leaving behind our secure jobs, we set off to explore the vibrant corners of Southeast Asia. It’s astonishing how quickly the past twelve months have passed, each filled with unforgettable moments and remarkable experiences.
We’ve adopted the philosophy of slow travel, allowing us to fully immerse ourselves in each new place, savouring its distinct culture, and cuisine, and sometimes even learning the local language. This journey has been about more than just seeing the world—it’s been about experiencing it deeply and together.
We had our hearts set on An Throng (Western Quarter) as our new home base, attracted by its seemingly perfect mix: diverse accommodations, bustling markets, an array of eateries, convenient transport, and proximity to large shopping centres. It even featured its very own Moon Milk Deli—a curiosity I promise to revisit later. Plus, the area boasts one of Vietnam’s finest stretches of sand, China Beach, famously named by U.S. soldiers during the war and immortalised in several movies from that era.
Eager to get a jump on things, I booked our first three nights in a modest hotel right in the thick of it all. Like any seasoned traveller, I had already joined all the relevant Facebook groups to scoop up tips on finding a long-term apartment. Following the advice of the seasoned expats, I crafted a detailed post outlining my needs: reasonable rent, speedy internet, and no time wasters.
Almost instantly, my phone was inundated with messages and photos of potential apartments. Filtering through them to find the genuine offers turned into quite a chore, but I managed to shortlist a few promising ones.
Contacting the listing agents was when the real fun began. “That unit just went,” they would say, or “I have another one, just a few… kilometres away.” Or the classic, “Oh, that price was for our much smaller unit.” And the swimming pool I needed for my knee rehab? A figment of my imagination.
I even went to view a few, led on by promises of “just a few steps away,” which turned out to be a five-kilometre odyssey through streets and alleys, ending in disappointment.
Finally, a friendly agent showed us what appeared to be the perfect apartment: brand new, still under construction, located right where we wanted, complete with a pool and Wi-Fi—it ticked all the boxes. It seemed too good to be true, and it was. It hadn’t received council approval yet, and there was no telling when it would. Frustrated, I questioned why she’d shown us the apartment in the first place. Her solution? “Take the other one I showed you,” before she promptly ghosted me.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted, my knees and feet ached, and I was emotionally drained. But, ever the optimist, I reminded myself: tomorrow is another day.
The new day dawned, and though I was uncertain about my feelings, I tossed them to the universe—as I often do—and it responded with its usual positivity. In my determination to stay in An Throng, I’d overlooked the potential of other areas. A heart-to-heart with my husband, an International Bestselling Author, reminded us of our purpose here. His writing suffers whenever I whisk him off to new sights, and I realised I needed to refocus.
Among the messages I had nearly dismissed was one from an owner in the Son Tra area, merely 5 kilometres up the coast. He acknowledged his apartments weren’t in our targeted area but insisted they checked every other box on our list. Intrigued and a bit sceptical after yesterday’s chaos, we decided, why not? Our hotel checkout was looming anyway.
We took a short Grab ride to The Yen Residences. The entrance alone was impressive—marbled floors, golden accents, welcoming seats, and distinctive artwork. There was even an impromptu welcoming committee: a fellow Aussie enjoying a beer who assured us, “You won’t be disappointed.”
The owner, a young man around 30, showed us a stunning one-bedroom apartment. It was airy, bright, and brand new—the building had opened just a month prior, and we would be its first tenants in this unit. But the real showstopper was the pool area. An exquisite infinity pool with ocean views, steps instead of a ladder (a blessing for my knees), and deck chairs for lounging with a drink or snack. I was sold.
As promised, a quick word about Moon Milk Deli—a Favorite among expats in Central Vietnam. Picture a quaint IGA-like store tailored for Western tastes, offering freshly baked bread and pastries (get there early—they sell out fast!), deli meats like ham and salami, imported cheeses, and all the comforts of home you’ve been missing. They also offer bargain alcohol, with London Dry Gin for $5 (750ml) and local Da Lat wines at $6 a bottle.
Conveniently, we found one near our new apartment. If you’re ever in the area, don’t miss out on Moon Milk.
Love, MyLifestyle.
