After finishing up our second visit to Hoi An, we head back to Da Nang for a few days. And we’re going back to the same Airbnb we stayed at a week earlier, making a sort of Da Nang and Hoi An sandwich. When we arrive, even though it’s quite earlier than our arranged check-in time, we contact the host, who informs us that the apartment is ready for us, so we proceed ahead of schedule. And we’re right back in the lodgings next to the Catholic church with a weird replica of the Lourdes Grotto right up against the side of our building. (Unlike the relative quiet the church afforded us on our previous visit, this time, on the first morning, it begins pealing its bells at 4:45.)

Once we’re settled in, Dennis hikes to the marketplace about a mile away to buy produce. In the process, he finds a pair of new sandals that exactly match the description of what he’s been looking for, at a price of only about 9 dollars. None of which is particularly noteworthy, but it gives us an excuse to report that along the way, he spots a man giving his rooster a bath. And that, friends, just might be the experience of a lifetime.

In the afternoon we both take a long stroll down to Dragon Bridge, which demands your tribute every time you’re in Da Nang. This rather short (about half a mile) but entirely unique — it really is, or at least impersonates, a dragon — has been captivating visitors (and maybe even locals) since its completion in 2013. The world’s biggest dragon-shaped bridge (how’s that for a Guinness distinction) actually breathes fire and water on certain nights, a spectacle we’ve witnessed for ourselves. This time, around, however, we’re content to cozy up to the dragon in its more docile daytime hours.

After that, we stroll even more to rendezvous with our dinner. We don’t eat out often; and when we do, it’s often difficult to find good vegetarian fare, depending on the country/ city we’re in. But Da Nang has just the ticket. We know because we’ve been there before — in fact, that’s the reason we’re eating out tonight.

Combining imaginative gourmet vegetarian cuisine and elegant decor, Sangha is an experience not to be missed — especially since it’s very reasonably priced. The approach features a stepping stone walkway on a gravel path, lined with exotic plants fed with mist that gives you the impression of walking through a foggy enchanted landscape. And for good measure, there’s a swing.

And once you step inside, what you find measures up to the promise implied by the exterior. The esthetically pleasing dining area is a satisfying place to savor the grub, which is even more pleasing, both to the eye and the palate. The only drawback is that the portions are a bit meager; so we each order two entrees (still leaving the total bill light on the pocketbook). These include a type of mushroom soup, a type of salad, and some kind of delightful dish with tofu, avocado and lime sauce. All of which, like everything else about this establishment, is top notch. Sangha is one of our favorite restaurants in the whole world. Maybe not the absolute favorite (that one is in Phnom Penh), but definitely in contention for a close second.

On the way out, we pass a table where a little birthday celebration is in progress– a 64th, says the cake. The dozen or so guests start singing Happy Birthday (in English) to the gentleman reaching this Beatle-esque milestone, and Dennis stops to join them on the last line, which they get a kick out of.

Another must-go on our list this time is Red Beach, especially since it’s only a mile or so from our homestay. Part of our motive for wanting to see it is its historical significance: it’s the location where 3500 U.S. Marines landed in March 1965, the first American troops in Vietnam during the notorious conflict. They were warmly welcomed by the locals at the time. (Ironically, it was almost exactly 3 years later, and a few miles south of here that American troops horrifically massacred hundreds of innocent and unarmed civilians near the village of Son My — a location long misidentified as My Lai.)

There are no historical markers of this event, and even though it’s a really long beach, it’s now hard to imagine it being stormed by troops. It’s quite tranquil and well maintained. There aren’t even very many swimmers out today — about a dozen is all we see during the entire stretch. But there is a fair number of fishermen — some hauling their catch in with nets (while one man beats the water with a club to chase the fish toward it), and some wading out into the water with poles. There are a few boats, including some little round ones that look like oversized bathtubs. But all in all, the beach seems (at least from our brief exposure to it) very underutilized, a huge, well-kept secret.

Too bad, because it deserves to be better used. And perhaps it is at times, since the facilities and amenities seem prepared for crowds. There are lifeguards and concession stands. There are foot washing stations, shaped like surfboards, with an attendant. And there is ample signage posting rules and information. One of the more eye-catching rules is “No bombing” — which, as clarified by the accompanying illustration, means no diving. The water, the sand, the mountain scenery, the boats and the fisherpeople make Red Beach a nice scenic way to wrap up this, our third excursion to Da Nang.

Leaving Da Nang, we catch an overnight train to Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon), scheduled to leave at 2:55 p.m.. When we arrive at the station, we find that it’s much more crowded than the last time we were here — in fact, it’s just about the most crowded we’ve scene any train station (and we’ve spent a lot of time traveling in India). Furthermore, we have to wait in the packed foyer until 2:00 before we are admitted to the actual waiting area. Our train is about half an hour late, but finally we can settle in for the journey.

Our compartment this time is older and not as comfortable as the one on the train coming down from Hanoi to Da Nang. The air conditioner is cranked up even frostier. And there are no complimentary snacks this time. Still, not the worst train ride we’ve ever had.

Our bunkmates are two ladies from Austria. At first there is confusion about whose bunk is whose, but we finally sort out our preferences. An Austrian man comes in, the significant other of one of the ladies; and he asks us if it’s okay with us if he shares her bunk rather than stay in his own compartment. Well, we’re not terribly thrilled about having another body to exhale germs and snore and fart, but we don’t object. So after we all bed down, he stays — for about an hour, then he evidently realizes it wasn’t going to be as comfortable as he’d thought, and leaves.

Meanwhile, our door is rattling like a TV talk show host, and is interfering with the sleep of even the heaviest dozers among us. Dennis rummages around and finds a couple of things to use to jam it: some folded up paper, and a cheap rubber phone cover that he’d acquired before he found a good cover for his new phone. Those two things combined do the trick. Which just leaves the speaker outside our door, from which announcements about upcoming stops and so forth are blared like a TV with a talk show host on it. Fortunately, the speaker has a knob on it, so we can adjust the volume. And then it’s off to railway slumberland.

Events occurred: 7/24-28/2025