The real Nha Trang in Vietnam isn’t just the line of luxury hotels along the waterfront. In a city caught between a scarred history and a modern future, Nha Trang’s true spirit is with the people who call it home.
Wanting to catch the early-morning sunrise, I got to Nha Trang beach at 5am.
I was not the only one – the waterfront was like an open-air gym, with everyone busy doing their dawn exercises. Elderly women and men were wading in the sea; other men, in deep concentration, were practising what looked like graceful tai chi movements.
Mesmerised, I watched groups of young women dancing and stretching; it was like being in a dance studio, watching everyone follow a choreographed routine.
The tourists were all asleep, mostly in the chic high-rise buildings along the coast. The beach belonged to the people who live here, a comfortable thought that made me smile.
This beach, seven kilometres in all, has had some past lives: first a resort for the French, then a site of grief and sadness during the US war, and today it has become a package-tour destination for Russians.
My ears were so used to hearing Vietnamese these last two weeks in Hanoi and Hue; now I had to get used to Russian. Nha Trang has become such a haven for Russians that even menus printed in Cyrillic, the Russian alphabet, are a common sight.
This boom in tourism has led Russian investors to become long-term residents. Investing here has its rewards in terms of economic growth for the city, for both its businesses and its people.
I didn’t come here to stay in one of those chic resorts: I somehow knew there were more non-touristy things to explore. I wanted to experience the markets and local culture and understand the modern tourism industry during my three-day stay.
Luckily, I met Hien, a French teacher and a lifelong resident. She understood my needs: “You must let me show you around,” she said, smiling. We met later on. Putting on the helmet she’d handed me, in no time, I was weaving through the city’s traffic on the back of her motorbike.
With her, I wasn’t just observing; I was part of the traffic, with real people, making real connections.
Hien’s first stop wasn’t a famous landmark but Xom Moi Market. I marvelled at the maze of narrow aisles of fresh fish: buckets overflowed with live shellfish, with vendors calling out prices and occasionally stopping to chat.
This wasn’t a market staged for tourists; it was everyday life unfolding, with buying locally caught fresh seafood high on the agenda. It was obvious this must be a paradise for top chefs.
Watching the elderly ladies tend to their customers, I wondered about the future of this local market in the rapidly growing Nha Trang. Would the younger, more affluent generation turn to more modern retail? How would the tourist boom affect traditional livelihoods?
Our next stop was Nha Trang’s oldest temple, Long Son Pagoda, where the famous 24-meter-tall seated White Buddha statue overlooks the city. Originally built in 1886, it has been restored several times due to damage from storms and wars.
To get close to the massive statue, you need to climb around 150 stone steps, but first I admired the main hall, a mix of Vietnamese and Buddhist cultural styles, and the 700-kg bronze statue.
Equally stunning was the reclining Buddha around the 44th step up. Thanks to Hien, I learned of the less-visited memorial area dedicated to monks, a quiet space to commemorate monks and other leaders who served the community.
“We should go out on your last night. Beer, a restaurant and great views,” Hien suggested.
We had dinner at a beachfront brewhouse amongst local craft beer enthusiasts, Vietnamese families, and international visitors. And even better, the beach setting was perfect for a last photo together.
She was right: a perfect ending to a beautiful city with historical charm, modern comforts, and, most of all, delightful people.
