I love Da Nang. I love being able to walk 10 minutes to the beach. I love how everyone is nice and polite and I don’t have to be grumpy or bitchy for people to take me seriously. I love that I can forget to put my scooter inside at night and it’s still there on the sidewalk the next morning. In Hanoi or Saigon, it’d be gone in less than 2 minutes.

Da Nang is provincial.

And I’m ready for something else.

I yearn for photo exhibits and indie music acts and plays and art films.

I yearn for small bars with delicious drinks and sensible music not dominated by rowdy foreigners and working girls.

I yearn for bún chả, bún mọc, bún thang, bún ốc (and normal ốc, not ốc hút), bún riêu, mì hoành thánh, mì vịt tiềm, dimsum, and once in a while affordable Korean and pasta and pizzas.

I yearn for company: people my age that are still not married and with children and interested in talking about philosophy and arts and technology.

I yearn for diversity. I can already millions of my neurons dying each day from the lack of stimulation.