Vietnam Scooter Ride 2025 Part I: The Genesis of a Journey
Trawlercat Chronicles
Every ride, every trip, every adventure I’ve ever embarked on has a traceable arc—a single beginning, a sprawling middle, and a bittersweet end. Our Vietnam scooter ride, now gaining momentum like a pebble rolling downhill, is no exception. I can pinpoint its origin to two men: To (pronounced Toe) and Chien (pronounced chin). Chien, a refugee birthright seeker, hasn’t set foot in Vietnam since his parents fled in 1975, when the communists seized power and reshaped the nation. He’s chasing roots, a past he can only imagine. I get it—I was once in his shoes, a Cuban kid wondering what life might’ve been if my family hadn’t escaped to the U.S. decades ago.
To, about twenty years older than Chien, is our seasoned guide. He’s returned to Vietnam multiple times, each visit peeling back layers of a homeland that’s both familiar and foreign. Now, he’s volunteered to shepherd our ragtag crew—less-than-average history-educated Americans—through this odyssey.
Thanks to To, we’re starting to grasp the basics: Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos aren’t a monolith. Each boasts distinct cultures, languages, and historical trajectories. Sure, they share a French colonial shadow that lingered until 1954, but Vietnam leans heavily into Chinese influence—think Confucian echoes and chopstick finesse—while Cambodia and Laos bear India’s imprint, from Buddhist temples to spicy curries.
Within Vietnam’s borders, ethnic minorities like the Hmong, Mien, and Khmer from Laos add their own vibrant threads to the tapestry.
What binds us, though? Motorbikes—or scooters, in this case. Vietnam hums with them, millions zipping through streets and backroads. Word is, you can rent one for a couple of U.S. dollars a day.
For Vietnamese Americans like Chien, returning to the “homeland” after decades away can be a head-spinning plunge into what-ifs. Picture yourself as an immigrant kid, gazing back across the ocean, pondering a life left behind versus the one seized in the land of opportunity. That’s the emotional undercurrent we’re riding into.
Our first meeting wasn’t all heavy soul-searching, though. We got sidetracked by coffee—Vietnamese versus the regular stuff. To me, the difference boils down to the brew: both rely on gravity, hot water trickling through grounds, but one uses a paper filter, the other a metal phin.
Subtle, right? Not really. My Costa Rican buddy Marco once swore by his country’s supremacy, touting the chorreador—a reusable cloth filter that keeps impurities out, unlike those disposable paper ones that taint the flavor. Vietnam’s metal filter, I suspect, lets more oils and grit through, promising a punchier cup. We’ll see soon enough—I’m packing my taste buds for this ride.
A Feast for the Senses
This isn’t just about scooters or coffee, though. Vietnam beckons with its food, drinks, and culture—a sensory overload I’ve been craving since reading a National Geographic Vietnam Travel book at Barnes & Noble back in 2006.
It’s been gathering dust on my shelf, ever since but now it’s my roadmap. This will be my first time in Vietnam, and I’m eager to see what’s shifted beyond the history I’ve read. The country fascinates me, partly because I dodged its war. Too young for the draft, I watched from afar as the U.S. tried to “save the world from godless communists.” Vietnam’s story—like all wars—is best deciphered through history’s lens, and I’m here to wrestle with that understanding, to let fascination bloom amid the scooter’s hum.
Our departure date is now set for November 2025—before, during, or after monsoon season, I haven’t a clue. Think of that Forrest Gump scene where Forrest, slogging through Vietnam, describes the relentless rain:
“We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin’ rain… and big ol’ fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath.”
That’s monsoon season in a nutshell. I’m praying we skirt the worst of it—scooters and sideways deluges don’t mix. That’s all I’ll say about our timing for now; the weather gods will have their say.
Beyond scooters and coffee, we’re chasing Vietnam’s soul: its people, its history, and its food—fresh, vibrant, served straight from farmers’ stalls and fishermen’s nets. There’s something different about U.S. food logistics—produce hauled thousands of miles, arriving sterile, frozen, or limp, only to be zapped by some people into a microwave, stripping out the last whispers of life.
In Vietnam, I’m told, meals burst with immediacy: pho steaming with herbs, banh mi crisp from the oven, fish grilled moments after the catch. I can’t wait to taste it.
Scooting into the Unknown
Sitting on a motorcycle is second nature to me, but a scooter? That’s a fresh challenge. In Vietnam, it might double as exercise—picture us, a gaggle of overweight, middle-aged (and older) young-at-heart men, perched on tiny saddles.
Blood pools in our riding boots, vertebrae rattle like loose change, muscles twitch in perpetual motion. It’ll either sculpt our bodies or wreck us, but if it aids my digestion—and we dodge foodborne bugs—then it’s a win.
The scooters themselves are a cultural icon here, threading through Hanoi’s chaos or hugging coastal roads. Renting them for peanuts also feels like stealing a ticket to freedom.
The crew’s still forming- tell me if this tale’s hooked you so far. To and Chien are our anchors, but there’s room for more. I imagine us weaving through rice paddies, the air thick with humidity and the scent of jasmine, scooters buzzing like a swarm of cheerful bees. We’ll pause at roadside stalls. History will unfold around us—French colonial facades, Chinese pagodas, Indian-inspired shrines—each mile a lesson we never got in school.
Roots and Reflections
Like Chien, I’ve wondered about the life I might’ve led if my family hadn’t fled Castro’s revolution. Vietnam’s scars mirror that upheaval—communism’s shadow, a diaspora scattered, a homeland reclaimed in fragments. To’s been back enough to know the ropes; Chien’s stepping into the unknown, seeking a birthright buried in time. Me? I’m chasing adventure, sure, but also a thread of connection—refugee kids turned wanderers, now returning on two wheels.
The logistics are hazy—monsoon roulette, scooter rentals, a motley crew of history novices—but the why is crystal clear. Vietnam’s a paradox: ancient yet pulsing, scarred yet resilient. I want to feel its rhythm, from the scooters’ sputter to the clink of coffee drips. I want to taste its freshness, unravel its past, and ride its roads with friends old and new.
My 2006 travel book promises waterfalls, jungles, and cities reborn—twenty years later, I’ll see what’s endured.
The Road Ahead
Picture this: Ho Chi Minh City or Hanoi—wherever To deems fit. The Hmong’s colorful garb flashes by in the highlands; the Mekong Delta’s waterways glint below. We’ll dodge Forrest Gump rains if luck holds, laughing over beers and bowls of pho at dusk—this is living, raw and unfiltered. Kevin my ride-or-die philosopher from past trips, isn’t here, but his mantra echoes: “Every time we say no to a ride, it’s one less ride in life.” I’m saying yes to this one, history and all.
The horizon’s calling—scooters, culture, and a past to ponder. What say you?
Trawlercat
Trawlercat Chronicles 