Ho Chi Minh City

Nothing quite prepares you for wedging your well-fed Western posterior into the dark, damp labyrinth of Cu Chi's tunnels-an expansive subterranean warren that gave the Viet Cong the ultimate advantage of stealth and survival. Beneath the lush countryside just outside bustling Saigon, a mind-boggling 150-mile network once housed guerrilla fighters, booby traps, hospitals, and even kitchens-all ingeniously hidden from American forces who were inches above, cluelessly tromping by in tropical fatigues. Visit early in the morning, before the tourist buses disgorge hordes of sweaty backpackers, and book ahead a few days if you prefer not getting stuck behind Nigel from Nottingham, who's questioning his life choices halfway down a claustrophobic crawl-space. Bring curiosity, a compact flashlight, insect repellent, and certainly no ego (you'll be humbled quickly). About $20 covers your entrance fee and perhaps a celebratory cold beer afterward. There's something wickedly surreal-and maybe slightly perverse-about squeezing through history. Even if your knees protest and your dignity remains down there, somewhere in the darkness, you'll emerge coated in red soil and perspiration, heart pumping, absurdly grateful for daylight, freedom, and a truly unbeatable story.

If you've ever wondered if your taste buds could actually pull their weight without your eyeballs bossing them around, Dining in the Dark Saigon in District 1 is your ticket to sensory rebellion. You're guided-trustingly or nervously, depending on your disposition-into pitch-blackness by visually impaired staff who navigate the darkness as casually as Saigonese motorcyclists zip through rush-hour traffic. Historically, Saigon thrives on sensory overload, from sizzling street eats to neon-soaked sidewalks; here, the city dares you to savor the chaos stripped down entirely to taste and texture. Book at least a few days ahead for an evening slot (darkness doesn't discriminate, but your timing should), budget around 700,000 VND per person, and leave your glow-in-the-dark sneakers at home-these folks take their blackouts seriously. Pro-tip: bring a sense of humor and abandon any pride at the door-fork mishaps are inevitable, and judgmental eyes, conveniently, nonexistent. It's worth every fumbling bite-not just for the surprisingly vibrant flavors you never knew lay dormant in your favorite dishes, but also for the bragging rights of confidently declaring you've conquered dinner blindfolded.

To truly appreciate the organized chaos of Cai Be's floating market, you need to surrender your sleep-in ambitions and join the fray at dawn, when vendors in wooden boats stacked precariously with dragon fruit, coconuts, and jackfruit shout gleefully across the murky Mekong waters. Dating back centuries to when waterways were Vietnam's highways, this floating produce exchange is now equal parts history lesson and sensory assault-think Wall Street trading floor meets tropical farmers' market on canoes. Pack small bills, sunscreen, a sturdy hat, and enough patience to dodge aggressive durian sales pitches; budgeting around $15-$30 for boat fare, snacks, and the inevitable impulse buy is wise. Book a local guide a day or two in advance (never trust anyone who claims they can arrange it on the spot-that rarely goes well), and brace yourself for constantly maneuvering sampans, animated haggling, and old ladies who steer with one foot while casually slicing mangoes. Sure, it's sweaty, noisy, and occasionally absurd, but how many times in your life will you negotiate passionately over the price of a pineapple in the shadow of a floating noodle stand?

Imagine cruising across murky waters to Monkey Island, a remote, leafy enclave in Can Gio where you can pretend, just for a day, that humans aren't the most obnoxious primates on Earth. Once a base for guerrilla fighters during the Vietnam War, and now mercifully reclaimed by nature (though colonized by cheeky macaques who have zero respect for personal property), the island offers a surreal mix of wildlife adventure and post-apocalyptic scenery. You'll want to go early in the morning-when the monkeys are most active, and when the midday heat hasn't yet transformed the forest into a humid, mosquito-filled steam bath. Book at least one day ahead, budget around $25-$40 for boat fees, entrance, and snacks (some bananas for your furry overlords), and definitely pack insect repellent, closed-toed shoes, and a dash of humility-because the monkeys will steal your sunglasses and dignity faster than you can say "rabies shot." Yet despite its quirks-or precisely because of them-Monkey Island is a must-do experience. After all, who doesn't want to return home boasting a gripping tale about the time you squared off against an adorable primate gang and lived to upload the photos?