Vietnam: where everything moves fast, and somehow stays slow

Vietnam is a country that moves fast (really fast), but somehow seems to live slow.

At first, it’s overwhelming. The cities are a blur of hundreds of scooters going everywhere with constant beeping. Everyone’s trying to get ahead, cutting corners, slipping through the tiniest gaps, not letting a single scooter pass without a challenge. It feels like the whole place is sprinting, chaotic and loud.

And then, somehow, it all slows down. You order a bowl of phở and end up waiting forever on a tiny plastic stool - so long it’s almost exhausting.

That is the paradox of Vietnam. It is a country of contrasts: in its rhythm, its sounds, its colours, and its tastes. It’s the clang of traffic followed by the hush of a pagoda courtyard. It’s concrete buildings and hanging vines, neon lights and candle-lit altars. The food, too, is a contradiction that somehow makes sense. A bowl of phở is sweet, salty, herbal, spicy… all at once. Coffee is brewed strong and slow, then poured over ice with condensed milk, thick as syrup. 

Through it all, Vietnam feels deeply human. It’s a country that carries centuries of resilience in one hand and a steaming bowl of phở in the other.

I came to Vietnam not knowing what I was looking for and I didn’t find any neat answers. But I found something better: a different sense of rhythm. Maybe they’ve got it right: this idea of taking things easy when it matters, of not obsessing over the clock, of letting the day stretch a little. You don’t always “get” Vietnam, but I hope I finally did now.

Vietnam left me with memories of street food smells mixed with strong incense, the sound of motorbikes fading into the night, and a feeling that sometimes life is about embracing the rhythm you don’t fully understand, but learn to trust anyway.