The best parts of any trip are almost never planned.
Guidebooks don't mention them.
Travel websites certainly don't.
They usually start with a conversation.
Mine started over a couple of ice-cold beers with a German bloke called Michael.
The Sailing Club
We met one sticky afternoon at the Sailing Club in Nha Trang.
The sea breeze did nothing to cut through the heat.
Condensation ran down our glasses almost as fast as we could drink them, pooling in little rings on the table.
Within ten minutes, it felt like we'd known each other for years.
That's one of the things I love about travelling. Everyone arrives with a different story, but for a little while you're all heading in the same direction.
An Irish guy called Stephen, fresh off a flight from Bangkok, joined us for a couple of hours.
But his mind was elsewhere — on the Russian women scattered around the bar in their sunglasses and sarongs.
Before long, he had his back to us, working the room.
Fair play to him. He was on holiday and loaded, and they seemed to be having a ball.
The Backstreet Bar
The following evening I bumped into Michael again, purely by chance.
We wandered into a tiny backstreet bar tucked down an alley off the main road.
Plastic stools wobbled on the cracked concrete.
The beer was thick and bitter, strong enough to strip paint.
Fresh baguettes sat stacked by the counter, still warm, crusts crackling faintly in the humid air.
Somewhere behind us, garlic and grilled pork spat and sizzled on a hot plate. The smoke curled into the alley and tangled with the exhaust fumes of scooters buzzing past every few seconds.
It was the sort of place locals use every day — and tourists rarely stumble across.
Halfway through our beers, Michael pulled out his phone.
"You've got to see this."
On the screen, an entire crocodile turned slowly over glowing charcoal outside another restaurant.
Head. Tail. Teeth. The lot.
Apparently the place had been packed with Chinese tourists, all waiting for their share.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds.
"I think I'll stick with the pho."
He laughed. Then he glanced at my phone.
"You've got a Vietnamese SIM?"
"No."
"Grab?"
Another shake of the head.
He smiled — the kind of smile that says Oh, you poor soul.
"My friend... you're making every taxi driver in Vietnam very happy."
He wasn't wrong.
I'd already paid far too much for one short journey, and nearly got caught out again the following day.
Michael was flying to Da Nang the next morning — often called the "Miami of Vietnam" for its long sandy beaches, glittering skyline, and growing popularity with holidaymakers.
Before we parted, he pointed me in the right direction.
"First job tomorrow. Get yourself a Viettel SIM and download Grab."
Best advice I'd had all week.
A Revelation Called Grab
The following morning I wandered into a tiny Viettel phone shop tucked away on a side street.
Fans whirred overhead. Phone cases glinted under fluorescent light.
Within five minutes, the young woman behind the counter had swapped my SIM card, activated unlimited data, and sent me on my way with a smile.
Then I downloaded Grab.
What a revelation.
No haggling.
No guessing the fare.
No trying to explain where I wanted to go with broken English and even more broken Vietnamese, hands waving at a map that meant nothing to either of us.
Just tap your destination, accept the fixed price, and watch your driver's little icon crawl across the screen toward you.
Simple.
That little app probably saved me more money over the next few days than the SIM card itself had cost.
Surgery on the Pavement
Walking back towards the beach, I spotted something I'd never seen before.
An open-fronted barber's shop, spilling out onto the pavement.
Outside, two elderly Vietnamese men sat patiently in worn leather chairs while the barber cleaned their ears with tiny stainless-steel instruments, a bright headlamp strapped to his forehead like a miner.
It looked less like a haircut and more like delicate surgery.
I stood there watching, transfixed.
Curiosity got the better of me.
Five minutes later, I was sitting in the chair.
The barber wrapped a spotless white cloth around my neck, smiled warmly, and clicked on his headlamp.
Neither of us understood a word the other was saying.
We didn't need to.
With remarkable precision, he worked away with his tiny polished tools, gently cleaning both ears before reaching for an old-fashioned cut-throat razor — its blade catching the light as he flicked it open.
Every stroke was slow, careful, and incredibly confident. The scrape of steel against stubble was the only sound between us.
He tidied my beard.
Shaved my neck.
Trimmed stray hairs I'd forgotten existed.
And finished with a splash of cool aftershave that hit like a slap of ice water in the afternoon heat.
People wandered past, smiling at the spectacle. One elderly lady gave me an approving thumbs-up as she shuffled by.
The barber stood back to admire his handiwork before handing me the mirror.
I honestly looked fresher than I had in weeks.
The bill? About 70,000 dong. Just over two pounds.
Back home you'd struggle to get a barber to even acknowledge you for that.
Into the Traffic
Feeling like a new man, I opened Grab and booked my first motorbike ride.
Within minutes, my rider pulled up on a spotless blue Yamaha.
He handed me a green helmet, flashed a grin, and we disappeared into the organised madness of Nha Trang traffic.
Scooters flowed around us like a fast-moving river, weaving and merging without ever quite touching.
Palm trees blurred overhead.
Fishing boats rocked gently in the harbour, their hulls knocking against the jetty.
The South China Sea sparkled beyond the promenade while a warm, salty breeze cut through the heat — carrying the smell of the sea, street food, and two-stroke engine smoke all at once.
For once, I wasn't worrying about directions or whether I was being overcharged.
I sat back, closed my eyes for a second, and just enjoyed the ride.
What Actually Stayed With Me
Looking back, it wasn't the crocodile that stayed with me.
It wasn't even having my ears cleaned on a pavement in Vietnam.
It was the kindness of a stranger.
Michael didn't have to help me.
He could easily have finished his beer, wished me luck, and gone on his way.
Instead, he probably saved me a fair bit of money, showed me a side of Vietnam I'd never have discovered on my own, and reminded me why I still love travelling after all these years.
The places are unforgettable.
But it's the people you meet along the way who become part of the journey.
As for me, my backpack was packed once again.
This evening I board another sleeper bus, this time heading north to Da Nang.
Michael reckoned it was the Miami of Vietnam.
I was about to find out for myself.
July 22, 2026
TOMMY'S TRAVELS PART THREE