Da Nang

Stumbling through the emerald-green jungle of Vietnam's Quang Nam Province at sunrise to explore the moss-draped temples of the My Son Sanctuary feels suspiciously like crashing a private party thrown by ancient gods. Here, the mighty Champa civilization-those tasteful Hindu enthusiasts who thrived from roughly the 4th through the 14th centuries-did their best work, erecting elaborate brick temples that manage to remain enigmatically intact despite centuries of humid weather, colonial curiosity, and ill-tempered bombing runs in the 1960s. Go early-ideally just after sunrise-to dodge both the oppressive midday heat and convoys of tourists with selfie sticks aimed like hungry spears. Book your journey a day or two ahead, bring sunscreen, sturdy shoes, and bug spray strong enough to repel creatures that have surely evolved to snack exclusively on hapless sightseers. Budget around 150,000 VND (about $6.50 USD) for entrance, plus some extra money for a local guide who will expertly merge myth, history, and gossip into a cocktail of irresistible storytelling. Sure, at some point sweating profusely while deciphering a thousand-year-old carving might seem absurd, but trust me-when you're back home, slightly sunburned and armed with anecdotes about lost kingdoms, spiritual intrigue, and temple complexes haunted by history itself, nobody will dare question why you went wandering into a jungle sanctuary at dawn.

High atop Vietnam's misty mountains, ensconced within the unabashedly surreal Ba Na Hills, sits a bridge cradled by gigantic stone hands-like something Salvador Dali sketched on a cocktail napkin after one too many absinthes. Welcome to the Golden Bridge, where tourists stroll suspended in mid-air, gazing out onto lush valleys below, surrounded by selfie sticks and existential awe. Originally established as a hill station by French colonialists seeking respite from the coastal humidity (because nothing says imperialism like a cool breeze and a baguette), Ba Na Hills is now an amusement park that channels Disneyland via Da Nang, complete with European fairytale architecture that makes you question your geographical sanity. For ideal Instagrammable mystique, arrive early (think sunrise early) before the buses dump hordes of tour groups-otherwise, you'll find yourself unwillingly photobombing someone's honeymoon shoot. Book tickets and cable car rides online at least one day ahead to dodge lengthy queues, budget around $35 per ticket, and dress in layers; the mountain weather reveals mood swings rivaling your teenage self. Is it touristy? Absolutely. Slightly absurd? Delightfully so. But walking this improbable bridge is worth it-if only to claim, casually and forever after, you've strolled through the clouds cradled by a giant pair of hands.

Hoi An Ancient Town is the kind of place that makes even the most jaded traveler grin foolishly, before promptly emptying their wallet-usually in exchange for a custom-made silk suit they'll probably never wear back home. Meandering through the lantern-lit streets at dusk feels achingly romantic, until you realize you've accidentally photobombed seven honeymoon selfies and stepped into a puddle that may date back to the 15th century. Speaking of ancient, the iconic Japanese Bridge-built by merchants who surely didn't consider selfie sticks and Instagram influencers in their careful architectural planning-remains absurdly photogenic nonetheless. To beat the crowds, stroll the ginger-hued alleyways early in the morning, before the heat and hordes gather speed. Plan at least a day or two ahead if you're hoping a tailor can stitch you something stylish, and set aside $30 to $100 depending on whether you want simple summer apparel or a full-blown tuxedo a la James Bond. Pack sunscreen, comfy shoes, and a sense of humor-because while navigating Hoi An at peak hour may feel like herding cats through a silk bazaar, the sights, smells, and street food alone (hello banh mi!) absolutely justify the chaos. Even if your tailored clothes end up stuffed in the back of your closet, at least you'll be able to regale friends with tales of your adventures and claim casual, worldly sophistication at cocktail parties for years to come.

An Bang Beach, just a short, breezy scooter spin from the lantern-lit charmfest of downtown Hoi An, is the kind of place where your lofty itinerary dissolves faster than ice in your coconut rum cocktail. Once a sleepy fishing village before backpackers discovered its white sands in their pilgrimage for Instagram glory and cheap beer, this beach retains its mellow soul beneath a thin crust of chic cafes, boho bars, and ambitious food stalls touting "authentic banh mi" even as Ed Sheeran plays softly from the speakers. Get there early, preferably around breakfast time, to snag one of the shaded loungers before the sunbathing horde descends, armed with selfie sticks and coconut-branded sunscreen. Budget a handful of dong for lunch (the crispy calamari is shockingly good), beach chair rentals, and ice-cold bottles of Larue beer; planning ahead isn't crucial, but sunscreen, sunglasses, and a towel definitely are-unless your idea of a fun story includes sunburning so spectacularly lobster-red that locals offer condolences. Even if beaches aren't your typical thing, An Bang is worth the sand-in-everything inconvenience, if only for the opportunity to philosophize about life's absurdities while lazily bobbing in turquoise water beneath the watchful gaze of unimpressed local fishermen.

If you've ever wondered what it's like to stumble through an intoxicating maze of grilled street delights, questionable life choices, and artisanal trinkets you didn't know you needed, Hai Chau's Helio Night Market is your chaotic paradise. Emerging nightly around dusk, this buzzing spectacle channels equal parts neon-lit carnival and Anthony Bourdain fever dream. Historically, Vietnamese night markets began as humble gatherings, but Helio takes it up a notch-think sizzling skewers, pungent durian stalls, and boisterous vendors eager to introduce your taste buds to something spectacularly unfamiliar. Arrive just after sunset; earlier, and you'll feel awkwardly polite, later and you'll elbow your way through hordes bargaining passionately over handmade jewelry. Budget around 200,000-300,000 VND (roughly $9-$13)-enough to feast shamelessly and score souvenirs that scream "exotic adventure" when you casually gift them to friends back home. Pack your appetite, curiosity, and perhaps an antacid or two. Helio Night Market is a sensory riot worth experiencing at least once, if only to say you've boldly eaten grilled squid from a stick beneath a flickering neon sign in Hai Chau-because isn't that why we travel in the first place?