Vung Tau

Scrambling up the rugged slopes of Minh Dam Bases is precisely the kind of sweaty historical pilgrimage nobody warned you about-half guerrilla warfare hideout, half nature extravaganza, and entirely worth the mosquito bites and gentle ridicule you'll receive afterward. Nestled sneakily in the hills near Long Hai, these mountains sheltered a scrappy band of Vietnamese resistance fighters during WWII, folks who clearly knew how to choose dramatic backdrops for covert plotting. To dodge both tropical heatstroke and busloads of overly organized tourists, aim for a sunrise start-ideally planned a day or two ahead, so your procrastination doesn't leave you stranded and snack-less on the mountain. Budget-wise, your wallet will hardly feel a pinch (aside from necessary rations of banh mi sandwiches or a cheeky flask of rice liquor), but pack sturdy shoes, insect repellent strong enough to melt plastic, and a sense of humor for unexpected detours among jungle trails that appear intentionally confusing. Why bother? Because trekking sweaty-kneed through tangled forest to poke around abandoned bunkers and hidden caves is precisely the sort of semi-reckless adventure that makes travel stories worth telling, elevating your dinner party banter from dull to deliciously irreverent.

At Lam Son Stadium in Ward 1, there's a wonderfully peculiar blend of Saigonese nightlife: the neon buzz meets the eager yelps of greyhounds readying for their sprint. Dog racing-brought to Vietnam by Australians (who else?) in the early 2000s-is now embraced with unmistakably Vietnamese gusto, combining the gritty thrill of gambling with the convivial intensity of a street market. Turn up around dusk, when locals flood in, clutching betting slips and ice-cold Saigon beers. No need for tuxedos-flip-flops and shorts will blend right in-but do bring a wad of dong, roughly 200,000-300,000 VND ($8-12 USD), enough for a couple casual bets and enough bia hơi to make losing tolerable. Planning? No need to book weeks ahead; walking in spontaneously is part of the charm, though arriving half an hour early secures prime viewing real estate. And sure, the animal lover in you might squirm slightly-but there's no denying the sheer fascinating absurdity of a balmy evening spent urging your adopted canine hero (named something like Phở Flash or Hanoi Lightning) onward at breakneck speeds. Even if betting isn't your scene, watching impassioned locals erupt into theatrical laughter-or despair-is a thrill and a spectacle. Love it or cringe at it, dog racing at Lam Son Stadium is an offbeat night out worth experiencing, at least once, if only so you can regale future dinner parties about that one night in Vietnam you cheered yourself hoarse, convinced your luck rested squarely on the speedy paws of a wiry greyhound named Banh Mi Bullet.

At the Monkey Pagoda tucked away in the sun-drenched backstreets of Long Hai, you're not just sightseeing-you're stepping into a slightly chaotic parliament of furry mischief. Built centuries ago as a serene haven for meditation, the pagoda quickly became known less for spiritual clarity and more for monkey-driven turmoil. Go early in the morning to beat the midday heat (and before the monkeys grow lethargic and mildly irritable), armed with a firm grip on your snacks, sunglasses, and dignity, because rest assured, these primates have long mastered the art of confident pilfering. Budget a modest sum (the equivalent of about five dollars should cover entry and bananas), and don't wear anything too flashy- the monkey council has a magpie-like appreciation for shiny things. Yes, you'll probably leave with paw prints on your shirt and a heightened mistrust of seemingly adorable baby monkeys, but you'll also have a tale brimming with absurdity and delight, perfectly suited for dinner-party bravado. After all, not everyone can claim to have been robbed blind by a band of smug primates in the shadow of a centuries-old pagoda.

Vung Tau Highlands mountain biking is the kind of sweat-soaked, grit-in-your-teeth joyride that reminds you exactly why band-aids and travel insurance were invented. Just a short escape from the neon-flecked bars and seafood stalls of Vung Tau proper, these lush coastal mountains are riddled with rugged dirt tracks and sneaky turns that practically dare your spokes to betray you. Start obscenely early-sunrise over the hills offers both hypnotic views and mercifully cooler conditions. At a modest forty bucks for a rental and guide, it's cheaper than therapy and infinitely more effective. Pack spare tubes, hydration, insect repellent, and more optimism than common sense. Historically, rumor has it these mountains once sheltered Viet Cong guerrillas, so you'll feel the weight of history as you rocket down trails that were once traversed stealthily rather than recklessly. Even if you end the adventure aching, muddy, and promising the universe you'll never again mock spandex shorts, the spectacular panoramas, bragging rights, and shameless battle scars you'll carry home make it thoroughly worth the punishment.

Nestled deep in the sultry green folds of Xuyen Moc, the Binh Chau Hot Springs bubble up from the earth like nature's own cosmic crockpot, steaming gently and defiantly, blissfully unconcerned with life's trivial irritations. Listen, dipping your weary bones here is the bathing equivalent of gently sauteing yourself in mineral-rich broth-odd, yes, but strangely irresistible, considering locals have sworn by these curative waters for generations (and no one's melted yet). Arrive in the early morning, around sunrise, before hordes of selfie-stick-wielding crowds descend and disrupt your Zen. Plot your escape at least a day in advance, pack a swimsuit (or risk seriously offending grandma), a towel, and a modest stash-budget about 200,000 to 400,000 VND ($8-$17)-and prepare to leave skepticism behind as you simmer into an outrageously soothing human soup. Sure, you'll smell faintly volcanic, and sure, someone might jokingly ask if you're practicing for your future as a ramen topping, but trust me, it's worth it-not just for the silky skin, but because saying you've bathed in Vietnam's therapeutic, volcanic mineral stew is a story that practically begs retelling, preferably over drinks.