Phu Quoc

Swirling a glass of Sim wine in Duong To isn't just tasting-it's a refreshing rebellion against the predictable lineup of grape-centric libations. Born from the island's scrappy wild rose myrtle berries, this quirky concoction was once the mischievous secret of Phu Quoc locals-probably for good reason. Think tart meets sweet meets "I-didn't-see-that-coming" earthy notes, a flavor rollercoaster best boarded around late afternoon, when the tropical sun dips low and your palate feels bravely experimental (or conveniently numbed by the day's humidity). Plan just a day ahead-the islanders are delightfully casual about nearly everything-and expect to spend around ten bucks for a full tasting adventure that'll leave your tongue confused but oddly grateful. Bring an open mind, a camera to capture your skeptical first sip, and some snacks to soothe your startled tastebuds afterward. Is Sim wine going to dethrone your Bordeaux obsession? Doubtful. But it's unquestionably worth sipping for the bragging rights alone, because let's face it, saying you've tasted rose myrtle berry wine makes you infinitely more interesting at parties.

Stepping into a fish sauce factory in Duong Dong is akin to plunging nose-first into Dante's Inferno, if Hell had a pungent, salty finish and oddly satisfying aftertaste. Phu Quoc, this idyllic Vietnamese island paradise, is paradoxically famous for producing nước mắm-the deep amber liquid that is both beloved condiment and culinary intimidation in equal measure. After all, in a culture that perfected pho and banh mi, why wouldn't they master the art of fermented anchovies? Arrive mid-morning, before the heat turns fermentation barrels into fragrant ticking time bombs, and arrange your visit a day ahead to give factory guides warning-because nobody likes a surprise guest when there's fermented fish involved. Budget barely $5 for entry, but pack bravery, breathable clothing, and perhaps a handkerchief steeped in lavender oil to subtly counter the glorious pungency. Ultimately, stepping bravely into this temple of umami mastery is worth every overwhelming aroma and suspicious splash-because back home, at dinner parties, you'll forever wield the unbeatable opening line, "Let me tell you about the day I survived Vietnam's fish sauce factory..."

Dangling precariously in a glass bubble above the turquoise waters south of Phu Quoc, the Hon Thom Cable Car is the ride Indiana Jones would book if he swapped his whip for Instagram stories. At nearly 8 kilometers, this world record-holding spectacle is equal parts impressive engineering feat and mild insanity, soaring above fishing boats, lush islands scattered like emerald breadcrumbs, and occasional tourists questioning life choices. Head there early-around 9 AM-before the selfie-stick wielding crowds descend, or late afternoon to watch the sunset ignite the sky in a blaze of crimson and tangerine. Tickets hover around $20 per person, peanuts considering you're effectively leasing a private box seat to paradise. Bring sunscreen, steady nerves, and a friend who's afraid of heights, just for sport. Book online a day or two ahead, and pack a spare battery charger because your camera will be working overtime. And yes, although dangling hundreds of feet in the air isn't everyone's idea of relaxation, you'd be mad to miss it-if only for the bragging rights, and the lifetime supply of casually impressive anecdotes.

At first glance, Sunset Sanato Beach Club in Duong To might strike you as Instagram bait on steroids-an unapologetic blend of avant-garde sculptures, barefoot chic vibes, and a beachfront soundtrack that feels suspiciously designed by algorithms. Yet, despite the inevitable selfie-stick collisions, there's genuinely something enchanting about sipping a cocktail under giant, surreal elephant sculptures that seem plucked straight from Salvador Dali's personal daydream. Arrive roughly an hour before sunset, or risk jostling impatiently behind a sea of influencers who practiced "spontaneous" poses for hours. Book your tickets a day ahead to dodge peak-hour disappointment, and plan on budgeting around $15-20 per person, depending on your appetite for craft cocktails and trendy snacks. Pack sunglasses, mosquito repellent, and a healthy dose of irony-the surreal surrounds practically demand it. But cynicism aside, when the sun dips behind Phu Quoc's horizon in a blaze of pink and orange, all snark evaporates; even the most hardened traveler will quietly admit that yes, it was worth it-if not for the art or ambiance, then certainly for the absurd, whimsical story you'll inevitably tell back home.

Ah, Fingernail Island-less a beach getaway than a gloriously stubborn punctuation mark bobbing defiantly in the turquoise grammar of southern Vietnam's An Thoi archipelago. Camping overnight here feels mildly clandestine, as if you're smuggling yourself onto a postcard scene that nature forgot to copyright. Plan your foray prudently-arrive mid-afternoon to snag prime real estate, pitch your tent before dusk turns the place into an obstacle course, and brace yourself for sudden philosophical revelations brought on by a spectacular lack of Wi-Fi. Pack basics like insect repellent (because paradise isn't mosquito-proof), snacks (since haute cuisine means whatever you can spear or unwrap), and bottled water-hydration is key when marooned on a glorified sandbar. Budget-wise, we're talking modest island-hopping fare plus a minor bribe of charm or dong to your boat captain, who may regard your overnight mission with equal parts amusement and resignation. Still, the experience is priceless: beneath a vast, dizzying dome of stars, serenaded by waves and the occasional existentially confused crab, you'll discover that discomfort-like authenticity-makes one hell of a good story.