On the Vietnamese riviera

The international airport in Nha Trang, Vietnam, was new. Once out of the parking lot, we drove on a recently built dual-lane highway with a swath of landscaped greenery between the roads. Colourful shrubbery undulated beneath neatly trimmed saplings.

Mega-resorts and multi-storey hotels, nearing completion or newly constructed, stood along the highway, their driveways lined with planted palms. The scene reminded me of resort playgrounds such as Cancún in Mexico, catering for wealthy tourists who want a pampered experience removed from the reality of the host country.

The reason for the resorts could be glimpsed occasionally from the car window, for below the winding coastal road was the sparkle of a dazzling blue sea, washing up onto empty, broad, silvery beaches — what is sometimes called the Vietnamese Riviera.

Tall, modern buildings and five-star international hotels fronted the meandering route overlooking Nha Trang Bay, which for its sheer beauty has been rated by Travel + Leisure magazine as one of the best beaches in the world. A tree-lined, landscaped promenade further reinforced the impression of a beach resort.

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My small boutique hotel was conveniently located a street away from the main road, in a back alley where small trendy hotels were beginning to replace traditional residences. It was not surprising, given the influx of tourist money and the location of the neighbourhood, just a few minutes’ walk from the beach.

The coastal road runs right through Nha Trang, separating the beach from the city on the other side, and making the cut across an exciting or unnerving experience, depending on your perspective.

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Heading to the beach, I learned to cross the busy road the Vietnamese way, walking steadily into traffic as motorcycles and cars adjusted their trajectories like an interconnected swarm, smoothly flowing around the pedestrian.

Umbrellas and lounge chairs lined the beach in neat rows. There was a brisk breeze, and a para-surfer executing acrobatics expertly in the bay. Most of the Caucasian tourists were Russian or Eastern European, judging by their accents. They had the shore to themselves in the heat and bright sunshine of the day. I was impressed by the cleanliness of the beach — in my days there, I never saw a single piece of litter, even though there were thousands of people.

In the early mornings and late evenings, though, the scene is quite different.

I woke up before dawn one day and wandered down to the sands. I was not the only one. Heading in the same direction in the gloom were local Vietnamese — barefoot elderly men in shorts, matronly ladies with clutch bags, small families; in other words, a cross-section of Nha Trang society.

The pink blush of day was just beginning to suffuse the Eastern sky, but the beach was alive with people, hundreds of them, in the sea, on the shore and the promenade. Groups of people were exercising to pumping music while some were engaged in calisthenics. There were cyclists, and people were taking a soak in the ocean waiting for the sunrise before wandering back, in ones and twos, to start the day.

I joined the hundreds of locals already in the water, which was cool, pleasant and clean. Although it was not bright yet, I could make out my toes and the patterns on the sandy bottom. There was no current, and it became deep a short distance from the shore, with some bathers wearing waist flotation devices. I emerged after a few minutes, feeling cleansed and refreshed, and a little more local.

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Tour of three religious sites

Away from the high-rises of the beachfront, Nha Trang is a traditional town of small, narrow buildings laid out in a logical grid. The centre is quite compact, making exploration on foot a very viable option, although there are also bicycle and motorcycle rentals, and Grab cars. When I wanted to visit the old Cham temple at Po Nagar, though, I caught the bus.

It was a 20-minute ride, over the Cai River and to the base of Po Nagar, which sits on a small hillock overlooking the waterway and has a good view of Nha Trang city.
Champa, a collection of independent states, flourished from the 2nd to the 19th centuries in what is now South and Central Vietnam, with its apogee in the 9th to 11th centuries. Ruins of Cham buildings can be seen in parts of the country, notably at My Son Sanctuary near Hoi An.

Champa gave way to Dai Viet, the precursor to modern-day Vietnam in the 15th century. Current-day Cham people who live in parts of Vietnam and Cambodia have mostly converted to Islam, although the religious practice of the kingdom was Hinduism.

Po Nagar is estimated to date from the 8th century or earlier and was a complex of religious buildings, since restored, with the new sections evident from the colour of the bricks. The place was packed with camera-toting, selfie-indulging tourists, crowding the entry staircase to the main platform, where a cool breeze brought relief from the stifling heat.

I could not enter the main shrine, as I was wearing shorts rather than long pants. The pediment of the doorway was engraved with the image of the Hindu goddess Durga. Within the inner chamber of a smaller shrine nearby was a black-stone lingam, while the centrepiece of a small museum nearby was a statue of a goddess with multiple arms.

From Po Nagar, I made my way by bus and on foot to the Long Son Temple a few kilometres away. I was refused admission to the main shrine for the same reason as before — wearing shorts. On a small hill behind the main temple was a large, peaceful reclining Buddha while a further flight of steps led to the top of the hill, crowned by a large and magnificent statue of the Buddha, which was cast in 1964.

I had vegetarian noodles in the busy restaurant on the temple grounds, before venturing out into the bustle of the street for a walk, past the Nha Trang railway station, with seamstresses in the shade of trees on the sidewalk busily working sewing machines, repairing any item that needed stitchwork.

Soon, I arrived at the Roman Catholic Nha Trang Cathedral, making it the third in a tour of three religious sites for the day.

Located on a small hill above the city, the 19th-century cathedral is a reminder of the French colonisation of Vietnam. One side of the driveway was a mosaic of 4,000 tombstones relocated in 1988 from the nearby cemetery, while a row of sculpted angels on the other side looked out over the city.

The church was an airy, all-stone affair of straightforward Gothic design, majestic and suitably solemn, with a high, arched roof within and stained-glass windows. A couple dressed in their wedding finery, posed for photographs in the wilting heat, and tourists took selfies in the corridors.

Delectable taste of Nha Trang

Street life in Nha Trang is vibrant, colourful and delicious. There is a night market selling touristy tchotchkes near the beach but, for the real deal, I visited the local Xoi Moi market, housed in a low-roofed building with stalls spilling out onto the adjoining streets, selling fresh fruit and vegetables, seafood, meats, dry foods and all manner of daily provisions.

Durians were in season. Small corner stalls and cafés served astonishingly good Vietnamese iced drip coffee. There were plenty of seafood restaurants to choose from, but street food held a special allure.

Armed with recommendations from the hotel staff, I wandered the city.

I ate bánh xèo — pancakes with beansprouts and meat or seafood topping, eaten with fresh herbs and a sweet dipping sauce — at a small restaurant improbably squeezed between a staircase and the street. One late evening, I sat on a small plastic stool for bánh căn, mini-pancakes freshly made over a charcoal stove on the sidewalk. I chowed down on bánh canh, Nha Trang’s speciality fish soup noodles, with variants such as jellyfish and fish sausage toppings, at a stall in a back alley.

I tried variations of bánh mì, Vietnamese baguette sandwiches, at various stalls that sold out by mid-morning, had bowls of steaming hot pho, and there was still plenty to taste and discover before I took my leave of Nha Trang.