I Followed a Pirate Flag to a Cheeseburger (And I’d Do It Again)
They say the early bird catches the worm, but in Central Vietnam, the early rider catches the only thirty minutes of “pleasant” air before the sun decides to turn the entire coastline into a convection oven. Yesterday, Tracy, Ray, and I embarked on a journey of high stakes, low gears, and the pursuit of the perfect patty.
The Caffeine Jumpstart
We rolled out around 7:00 AM, the exact time of day when my brain is still buffering. Our first mission: Cavalry Coffee. Unlike the sterile, quiet cafes back home, we were dropped right into the thick of the local morning rhythm. No hushed whispers here—just the rhythmic clink-clink of condensed milk spoons against glass and the hum of neighborhood gossip. It’s hard to feel like a “tourist” when you’re surrounded by locals who are clearly much better at being awake than you are.
The Sensory Scenic Route
Usually, riding here involves a certain level of “gladiator-style” defensive maneuvering, but yesterday was a rare gift. The roads were strangely peaceful, stretching out with almost no traffic.
We pulled over at a beach along the way, where the only sound was the rhythmic, gentle shush of waves hitting the sand. It was the kind of peace that makes you want to sell all your belongings and live in a hut—until the heat kicks back in.
As we cruised through the villages, the air would occasionally transform. One minute you’re breathing in dust, and the next, you get a concentrated whiff of someone’s kitchen… that unmistakable, savory aroma of a Vietnamese grandmother’s cooking. It’s the kind of smell that makes you want to pull over, knock on the door, and hope they have an extra chair and a high tolerance for hungry strangers.
Smiles and The Hello Committee
The highlight of the ride was passing a group of school kids heading out for their break. They were piled onto bicycles, two or sometimes three to a seat, balancing like circus performers while clutching bags of ice-cold drinks. Most of them seemed to be fueled by pure sugarcane juice and youthful joy. As soon as they spotted our foreign faces, the air was filled with a chorus of “Hellos!” shouted at maximum volume. I returned them just as eagerly, feeling like a minor celebrity for approximately four seconds.
We also took a quiet detour into a local cemetery. It sounds a bit morbid, but these grave sites are stunning—vibrant, intricate monuments more colorful than most modern living rooms. Standing in the middle of those silent, ornate structures, you can’t help but appreciate the craftsmanship, even if the residents don’t actually have an ocean view from where they’re resting.
George’s Beach Bar: Burgers and Blunders
Eventually, the road led us to George’s Beach Bar. If you’ve ever wondered what a pirate does when they retire from a life of plundering, apparently they open a bar and serve cheeseburgers.
Under the flapping Jolly Roger, I was presented with a burger so structurally ambitious it probably required a building permit. Between bites of beef and onions, we broke out a deck of cards. We spent the afternoon playing a few hands, laughing and poking fun at each other over every missed move and questionable play. There’s nothing quite like losing a hand of cards to keep you humble when you’re feeling like a king in paradise.
The “Scorched Earth” Return
If the morning ride was a dream, the ride back was a fever dream. We spent about an hour retracting our steps in the absolute scorching heat. At that point, the “beauty of the landscape” becomes secondary to the “beauty of an industrial-strength air conditioner.” We arrived home sun-baked, wind-swept, and roughly 40% composed of potato starch.
The Verdict: We heard the waves, smelled the ginger and fish sauce, and survived the sun. We’re already plotting the next adventure, though we’ll definitely be hitting the road even earlier next time to steal a few more moments of that sweet, cool morning air.
A Re-Discovered Life 