Coming Home to Quy Nhon

Traveling in any foreign country and experiencing a different culture is a powerful way to erase prejudices and preconceptions. It is an invaluable opportunity to see another perspective, and feel a people’s history. It also provides an equally important chance to share your own. As Americans traveling in Vietnam, we were a little nervous about how people would view us in light of the two countries’ entangled past. In this beautiful town, we didn’t have to be ashamed.

A decade before I was born, my father also came to Vietnam. He was a young man, drafted to serve his country in war as officer in the U.S. Navy. In 1972, he was stationed in the small city of Quy Nhon, and managed the transport of supplies in and out of a major port on the South China Sea.

We wanted to visit Quy Nhon to pay respect to his sacrifice, to connect to him by walking down the same streets and staring at the same sea views, and to share with him how much the city has changed since the war. Our time there provided all of these things, as well as a refreshing place to escape the backpacker travel circuit.

The first thing we noticed, besides the lack of white faces, were the smiles, shouts, and waves people gave when they saw us. Walking down the street we felt like celebrities. Locals were so excited to see us. They would ask, “where are you from?” And we would receive an exuberant thumbs up when we told them we were American.

We explored the town, looking for my Dad’s office building he showed us on a map. The port is now a major international shipping port, and as such is considered an international border. We were politely denied access, but not after exhausting all efforts to explain what we were looking for and why. Pretty sure they thought my dad was a crew member of the Korean cargo ship currently docked there, but they didn’t judge me for that either.

Walking the city was an awesome mix of construction, stares, sunshine and raw culture. Bright colors and bright personalities made us feel like we were a rarity in this little town. Despite being foreigners in a very local place, we were welcomed with friendly smiles and attempts at English that we appreciated more than we could express in words.

The city really came alive at sunset when everyone flocked to the beach. Couples strolled, children played, and hundreds of pick up football (soccer) games stretched down the sand for miles. Walking past a beach volley ball game, one entire team stopped to wave and say hello, allowing he other team a quick easy point. 

It was impossible for us to picture the hardship, fear and loss my father experienced in Quy Nhon when all around us we felt welcomed with happiness and mutual respect.

Our time in Quy Nhon not only provided a meaningful connection to our family history, it was also a heartwarming experience in the present. Our time there took away a stigma we felt as Americans in Vietnam, and simply made us feel like people.