VIETNAM - DA NANG - DEPARTURE & ARRIVAL

Assalamualaikum and may peace be upon you.

A Tapestry of My Travels

🌍Decades of My Journeys Across Continents, Cultures, and Memories.

From Budapest to Muscat, from the historic Lucerne to the souqs of Marrakech, the years have unfolded like pages in a well-worn atlas - each destination a chapter, each journey a verse in the long poem of my travels. Since 1998, I’ve wandered through bustling cities and quiet villages, across deserts, mountains, and seas, chasing the scent of spices, the echo of ancient stories, and the warmth of human connection.

Travel has been my teacher, my companion, my mirror. I’ve stood beneath the minarets of Madinah and the minarets of Cordoba, traced the silk threads of Moroccan carpets and the stone paths of Cinque Terre, tasted tagine in Fes and tom yum in Bangkok, and watched the sun rise over Petra and set behind Mount Fuji. In every place, I’ve found a new rhythm, a new flavor, a new way of seeing.

The early flights, the long layovers, the unexpected delays - they’ve become part of the ritual. I’ve learned to embrace the discomforts as preludes to discovery. Even when far from home, I’ve felt at home in the kindness of fellow travellers and strangers, in the shared laughter over street food, in the quiet reverence of sacred sites. And though the years have passed, my appetite for exploration remains undiminished.

If health and fortune allow, I will continue to journey - seeking not just new places, but new ways to understand the world and my place within it. For in every border crossed, every language heard, every landscape admired, I find renewal. I find joy. I find myself.

My Travel Infographics - My Travels at a Glance

Across continents and decades, my travels have woven a tapestry of discovery - Asia’s vibrant streets, Europe’s timeless cities, the Middle East’s sacred journeys, Africa’s ancient wonders, and Oceania’s far horizons. Some countries became anchors I returned to again and again, while others offered fleeting yet unforgettable encounters. Together, they form the living map of my wanderings.

And so, with the echoes of past journeys still alive in memory, I step once more into the rhythm of discovery. The calendar turns, the map unfolds, and another country beckons - its landscapes waiting to be walked, its flavors waiting to be savored, its stories waiting to be heard.

In 2025, after Qatar and Oman, next I turned toward Vietnam - a land where history breathes through imperial citadels, where rivers carry stories as old as dynasties, and where the fragrance of herbs and spices drifts through bustling markets.

From the coastal charm of Danang and the misty heights of Bana Hills, to the lantern-lit streets of Hoi An and the regal echoes of Hue, Vietnam unfolded as a tapestry of contrasts - modern yet ancient, serene yet vibrant. Each stop revealed not only landscapes of beauty but also layers of culture, resilience, and hospitality that left a lasting imprint on my heart.

Our original plan was to embark on a long journey through Scandinavia, tracing fjords and northern lights. Yet, as travel often teaches us, obstacles can reshape the path. When circumstances forced us to postpone that adventure, we turned instead to a destination closer to home - Vietnam.

Vietnam was not unfamiliar to us. Back in 2011, my wife and I had wandered through Hanoi’s bustling streets and sailed the emerald waters of Halong Bay in the north. This time, however, we set our sights on Central Vietnam, eager to discover its imperial cities, coastal charms, and cultural treasures.

These are our memories of Vietnam from 2011.

To keep expenses manageable, we decided to join a group tour. Among the many travel agencies offering packages, Suka Kembara stood out. Their itinerary included not only Danang, Bana Hills, and Hoi An, but also the historic city of Hue - a rare addition that immediately caught our attention.

Booking at the last minute nearly cost us the chance to join. Only one seat remained, and we were determined to travel together. A private tour was an option, but the cost - almost double - made it impractical. Thankfully, the agency managed to secure an extra seat. One of us joined at the standard group rate, while the other paid a slightly higher fare. In the end, what mattered most was not the price, but the joy of journeying side by side.

And so, with relief and excitement, we found ourselves part of the group - ready to uncover the wonders of Central Vietnam together.

Our Malaysia Airlines flight to Danang was set for noon, yet the rhythm of group travel required us to gather at KLIA1 by 8 a.m for the check‑in process. The early call meant that the journey began long before the plane ever left the ground. To spare ourselves the fatigue of a predawn departure from home, my wife and I chose to spend the night at Tune Hotel KLIA2. 

The convenience over fatigue that we chose allowed us to begin our travels rested, ready, and already immersed in the anticipation of Vietnam.

The evening was quiet, broken only by the distant roar of aircraft engines and the glow of runway lights beyond the window. We packed and repacked, checked documents, and let the excitement of Vietnam seep into our thoughts. Even in the stillness of the hotel room, the journey felt alive, waiting just beyond the horizon.

We boarded the ERL from KLIA2 to KLIA1 in the stillness of dawn. The station lay almost deserted, its platforms echoing only with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the distant whir of escalators. In those hushed hours, the air was cool and crisp, wrapping us in a cocoon of calm.

There was a quiet poetry in that emptiness - the absence of crowds, the rhythm of our footsteps, the gentle anticipation that seemed to hang in the air. As the train glided forward, its windows framed the awakening horizon, and we felt the subtle thrill of departure. It was the kind of silence that doesn’t weigh heavy, but instead heightens expectation, reminding us that every journey begins not with motion, but with stillness and waiting.

 The calm before the adventure.

To the Food Garden.

Before the group gathering, breakfast felt essential - a quiet ritual to steady us before the day’s unfolding adventure. My wife chose fried rice, while I savored fried noodles with a steaming cup of teh tarik. Somehow, that simple meal tasted richer than usual. The noodles carried a comforting warmth, the rice a familiar fragrance, and the frothy, aromatic teh tarik seemed to glow with satisfaction.

Perhaps it was the anticipation of embarking on yet another journey together that made every bite more delicious. Travel has always been our shared language, the glue that binds us in joy and discovery. Sitting across from her in that modest airport café, I felt the happiness that only comes when the road ahead is walked side by side.

For me, nothing compares to the delight of traveling with my wife. Each journey becomes more than a list of places - it becomes a tapestry of shared laughter, quiet moments, and memories that deepen our bond. To explore the world with your loved one is to carry home with you, wherever you go.

Airports have a way of magnifying anticipation. The shuffle of boarding passes, the scent of coffee at dawn, the quiet fatigue of travelers waiting in rows - it all became part of our ritual.

And so, beneath the hum of departure boards and the glow of runway lights, we stepped into the rhythm of travel once more. The familiar tug of early flights, the hush of late-night departures, the thrill of boarding as the cabin lights dimmed - all of it reminded us why we had never grown tired of wandering. Together, hand in hand, we crossed into another chapter - ready to let Vietnam unfold its wonders before us.

Before gathering with the group, we made a familiar stop at the Roaming Man counter to collect our rental Pocket WiFi device. It had become something of a ritual for us - an invisible companion on so many journeys, always reliable, always ready. Each time we rented it, the service proved superb, and with it came a quiet sense of security and elation, knowing we would remain connected wherever our footsteps carried us.

That little device had often been our compass while wandering unfamiliar streets, guiding us through winding alleys and across bustling boulevards with precision. It shortened distances, pointed us toward landmarks, and sometimes revealed hidden gems we hadn’t even known were nearby. More than just a tool, it became part of the adventure itself - helping us discover not only the places we planned to see, but also the surprises waiting just beyond the path.

There is always a certain magic in airports - the hum of anticipation, the quiet patience of queues, the sudden rush when boarding is called. For us, the relief of being together, side by side, outweighed the minor inconveniences of group check‑in. As we moved toward the gate, passports in hand, the journey ahead unfolded like a promise.

At KLIA1, we gathered at Counter C, where the staff from Suka Kembara were already waiting to welcome the participants. Our group numbered twenty in total, each arriving from different corners of Peninsular Malaysia, yet united by the same anticipation of discovering Vietnam together.

As is often the case with group check‑ins, the initial seat assignments were scattered across the cabin - families separated, couples split apart. But the Suka Kembara staff showed thoughtful initiative, patiently rearranging the seating so that families could sit together. It was a small gesture, yet one that carried the warmth of care and set the tone for the journey ahead.

After check‑in, a short briefing was held. We learned that our Tour Leader, Rozana, would not be joining us on the same flight. Instead, she had departed earlier on an AirAsia flight and would be waiting to receive us at Danang airport. The news added a touch of curiosity - our guide was already ahead, preparing to welcome us into the rhythm of Central Vietnam.

Walking to Gate H10.

On the way to the gate, we paused at a small café - drawn not by hunger, but by the familiar comfort of our favorite drink, teh tarik. Its smooth, foamy crown and rich, aromatic warmth never fail to soothe me, a gentle calm that steadies the pulse of anticipation before a journey.

That morning, the cup felt especially satisfying. Perhaps it was the thrill of travel that heightened its flavor, or perhaps it was simply the ritual itself - the way a familiar taste anchors us amid the unknown. As I sipped, I thought of the days ahead in Vietnam and smiled at the notion of five mornings without this beloved companion. The absence would be felt, but in that moment, the sweetness of the drink seemed to carry me forward, a reminder that joy often lies in the smallest rituals.

Travel is made of such pauses: a cup of tea before departure, a glance at the runway lights, a shared smile across the table. For me, nothing brings greater happiness than savoring these moments together with my wife - each sip, each step, becoming part of the memory we carry home.

From the boarding gate, the world outside the glass became a stage of motion. Planes taxied with quiet determination, their wings glinting in the morning light. One by one, they gathered speed, lifted gracefully, and disappeared into the horizon - each departure carrying stories, reunions, and beginnings unknown to us.

Landings, by contrast, felt like homecomings. The roar softened into a glide, wheels touched the runway, and the aircraft slowed into stillness. Watching those arrivals was like witnessing journeys conclude, fatigue dissolve, and anticipation transform into belonging.

In that liminal space between departure and arrival, we sat with our own anticipation. The sight of planes rising and descending was more than spectacle - it was a reminder that travel is a rhythm, a constant punctuation of lift‑offs and touch‑downs. And soon, it would be our turn to step into that rhythm, to let the engines carry us toward Vietnam and the stories waiting there.

Part of the walk to Gate H10 led us through KLIA Heritage Lane, a corridor transformed into a living gallery of Malaysia’s past. Along the way stood replicas of familiar shopfronts: the bright façade of a Nasi Kandar restaurant, the nostalgic charm of a Kedai Runcit, and the classic barber poles of a Kedai Gunting Rambut.

Each display was more than decoration - it was a tribute to everyday life, the kind of places where stories unfold quietly, where communities gather, and where heritage lingers in the details of food, trade, and craft. The tiled floors, painted murals, and props created an immersive experience, inviting travelers to pause and glimpse the cultural heartbeat of Malaysia even within the modern bustle of an international airport.

Walking through Heritage Lane felt like stepping into memory. It reminded us that travel is not only about crossing borders, but also about carrying the essence of home with us. In that moment, the airport became more than a transit hub - it became a bridge between tradition and modernity, offering a glimpse of Malaysia’s rich history to every passerby.

Our departure gate to Danang was Gate H10, a quiet convenience that spared us the shuttle bus ride across the tarmac. There was something reassuring about walking directly to the gate, as if the journey had already smoothed its own path for us.

Standing there, waiting to board, the gate became more than a threshold. It was a marker of continuity - linking past journeys to present anticipation, Phuket to Vietnam, memory to discovery.

Passports and boarding passes - two small documents that carry the weight of entire journeys. The passport, worn at the edges from years of stamps, feels like a diary written in ink and emblems. Each page whispers of places once visited, of borders crossed, of memories sealed beneath official stamps.

The boarding pass, by contrast, is fleeting. Printed crisp and temporary, it is a ticket not just to a seat on a plane but to the promise of arrival. Its codes and numbers may look ordinary, yet they hold the coordinates of adventure, the exact moment when anticipation becomes motion.

Together, they are the keys to travel - the enduring passport that chronicles a lifetime, and the ephemeral boarding pass that marks a single chapter. Handing them over at the counter, hearing the soft rip of paper or the beep of a scanner, is always a ritual of surrender and trust. In that instant, the journey is no longer imagined; it has begun.

 

Departure carries its familiar thrill - a pulse of anticipation as engines hum and the cabin tilts toward the sky. The runway lights blur into streaks, and with that upward surge, the world below becomes a patchwork of memory and possibility.

Arrival, by contrast, is a gentle embrace. The descent softens into stillness, wheels kiss the tarmac, and fatigue dissolves into the comfort of belonging. The air of a new city greets you like a host, carrying scents, sounds, and promises that remind you why you travel.

Perhaps that is why my writing lingers on lift‑offs and touch‑downs. They are not mere logistics, but punctuation marks in the story of movement - the commas that pause, the exclamation points that thrill, the full stops that anchor. In those moments, motion becomes memory, and every journey finds its rhythm between departure and arrival.

The flight information screen for MH0748 to Danang glowed brightly at Gate H10, its letters and numbers crisp against the dark panel. Boarding Time: 11:20. Departure: 12:00. Simple details, yet they carried the weight of anticipation.

Standing before the screen, I felt the familiar thrill of departure. The words “Pintu Buka” (Gate Open) were more than an instruction; they were an invitation. Soon, we would walk down the jet bridge, step into the cabin, and let the engines carry us skyward.

At first, the flight information screens seemed ordinary - just rows of numbers, destinations, and times. Yet over the years, they became more than logistics. Each brightly lit panel, each flicker of “Gate Open” or “Last Call,” became a trigger for memory. Each screen unlocks memories of past journeys and hinting at the stories yet to come. Casablanca, Taipei, Milan, Bangkok - names I had seen before, each tied to a chapter of travel. And now, Danang joined that constellation.

They remind me of departures I once took, of cities I once touched down in, of journeys that shaped me. Standing before them, I feel both the thrill of what lies ahead and the echo of what has already passed. The screens are like gateways, not just to flights, but to stories - each departure a sentence begun, each arrival a chapter closed.

For me, these glowing boards are not just signs. They are punctuation marks in the language of travel - each one a pause, a promise, a reminder that movement becomes memory. And as I looked at the Danang flight displayed in bright letters, I knew another chapter was about to begin.

And when the boarding call finally came, it was more than just a signal to step onto the aircraft - it was the moment our long‑awaited adventure to Central Vietnam truly began.

The glow of the Danang flight screen gave way to movement. Passengers began to stir, gathering their belongings, adjusting straps, and shuffling into the queue. The air filled with the quiet rhythm of anticipation - the rolling of luggage wheels, the murmur of voices, the soft rustle of boarding passes being unfolded.

At the counter, the ritual unfolded with its familiar cadence. Passports opened to well‑worn pages, boarding passes scanned with a gentle beep, and each traveler stepped forward carrying both identity and intention. For me, this moment always feels ceremonial: the handing over of documents is not just procedure, but a surrender to the journey, a trust in the path ahead.

Then came the jet bridge, that narrow passage where excitement builds with each step. The hum of the aircraft grew louder, the scent of cabin air drifted forward, and the threshold of adventure stood waiting. Crossing into the cabin, I felt the subtle shift - the world outside receding, the journey within beginning.

Seats awaited, windows framed the sky, and the engines whispered of departure. In that instant, the shuffle of passengers and the ritual of documents transformed into memory. The chapter of Vietnam had begun, not with the roar of takeoff, but with the quiet grace of stepping aboard.

Once seated, the cabin settled into its rhythm. The shuffle of boarding gave way to the soft chime of announcements, the click of seatbelts fastening, and the gentle hum of engines preparing for ascent. Outside the window, the runway stretched like a promise, lined with lights that shimmered against the midday sky.

Once the cabin doors closed, the crew moved gracefully down the aisle, Cabin Manager voice calm and practiced. With synchronized gestures, they demonstrated the pre-flight safety procedures - seatbelts, oxygen masks, life vests - reminders that every journey carries both care and preparation. Though familiar, the ritual always feels reassuring, a quiet choreography that steadies the mind before the engines roar.

As scheduled, Malaysia Airlines flight MH 748 departed from KLIA to Danang at exactly 12 noon. The aircraft - a Boeing 737‑800 - lifted smoothly into the sky, its engines carrying us toward Central Vietnam.

The flight was expected to take 2 hours and 20 minutes, a span of time that felt both brief and expansive. It was, in fact, almost identical to the journey from KLIA to Miri in Sarawak - a reminder of how distances, though measured in hours, can carry us across cultures, languages, and landscapes.

The moment of takeoff always feels suspended - wheels rolling faster, the cabin tilting, the sudden lift as gravity loosens its hold. Malaysia slipped beneath us, its patchwork of cities, towns, fields, rivers and sea, shrinking into abstraction. Clouds gathered like companions, drifting alongside as if to escort us toward Vietnam.

Inside, the atmosphere softened. Some passengers leaned back with closed eyes, others opened books or scrolled through screens. For me, the view from the window was enough: the endless sky, the faint curve of the horizon, the quiet reminder that every departure is also an arrival in waiting.

Soon after takeoff, the hum of the aircraft softened into its cruising rhythm. Trays appeared, meals were served - simple yet comforting. 

On our flight to Danang, Malaysia Airlines offered braised chicken with red dates in superior sauce - a dish that felt both comforting and refined.

The aroma rose first, warm and inviting, carrying the sweetness of red dates balanced against the savory depth of the sauce. The chicken was tender, its flavors layered with the subtle elegance of Cantonese culinary tradition - an offering of culture carried across borders, a taste of home even as we flew toward new discoveries. At 30,000 feet, this was more than sustenance; it was a reminder of heritage, of cooking techniques honed to balance richness with harmony.

Outside, clouds drifted like companions, while anticipation grew with each passing minute.

Our plane continued its course across Southern and Central Vietnam, the view below unfolding into vast stretches of rice fields - green mosaics shimmering under the sun, dotted with irrigation canals and village clusters. It was a sight that spoke of tradition and sustenance, a reminder of how deeply rice is woven into Vietnam’s identity.

I recalled our first visit to Hanoi in 2011, when we were told that Vietnam stood proudly as the second largest rice producer in the world, just behind Thailand. That fact carried a sense of pride, reflecting the country’s agricultural strength. Yet, as the years passed, the global picture shifted.

Today, the title of the largest rice producer belongs to China, followed closely by India. Bangladesh has risen to third place, while Indonesia now holds fourth. Vietnam, though still a powerhouse, ranks fifth. Thailand, once second, has slipped further down the list.

Watching the rice fields from above, I felt the continuity of Vietnam’s role in feeding the world. Rankings may shift, but the sight of those endless paddies reminds us that rice is more than statistics - it is heritage, livelihood, and daily sustenance.

They were so good I had to ask for more 😄.

As the aircraft tilted gently toward Danang, anticipation swelled. The safety demonstration, the meal, the hum of engines - all gave way to this moment: the first glimpse of Vietnam, a land waiting to be touched, walked, and remembered.

As the engines steadied into their cruising hum, I felt the shift - the familiar land receding, the anticipation of Danang drawing closer. In that suspended space between earth and sky, the journey became real. It was no longer about documents, gates, or queues. It was about motion, memory, and the promise of discovery waiting just beyond the clouds.

The coastline stretched endlessly, a ribbon of sand meeting the sea. From above, the beach shimmered under the sun, while urban development pressed close to the shore. The wing of the aircraft framed the scene, reminding us that we were suspended between sky and land, watching Vietnam’s coast welcome us from afar.

A river curled through the landscape like a silver thread, weaving past fields and clusters of houses. Its bends carried the rhythm of life - boats drifting, bridges connecting, villages gathered along its banks. The view spoke of continuity, of water binding communities together across generations.

The horizon shifted into rugged silhouettes, mountains rising beneath a dramatic sky. Clouds layered themselves like brushstrokes, casting shadows across the terrain. It was a reminder that Vietnam is not only fertile plains but also landscapes of resilience, where peaks stand as guardians over valleys below.

Closer now, the river widened, flanked by lush green fields. The geometry of agriculture stretched outward - rectangles of rice paddies glistening with water, their order contrasting with the organic curves of the river. It was a living mosaic, a testament to the country’s role as a rice heartland.

The descent revealed the city itself. Buildings clustered along the river, their rooftops catching the light, while hills rose gently in the background. The blend of urban and natural landscapes gave Danang its character - modern yet framed by timeless geography.

Touchdown was a soft embrace - the wheels kissed the tarmac, the engines roared briefly, then slowed into calm. Fatigue dissolved into belonging. We had arrived.

Finally, the airport came into view. The tarmac stretched wide, dotted with aircraft, including the familiar livery of Malaysia Airlines. Beyond, mountains stood watch, their presence grounding the scene. The sight of the runway was both practical and poetic - the threshold where anticipation ended and arrival began.

The aircraft slowed to a gentle halt, engines humming as we taxied toward the terminal. Through the window, the modern façade of Danang International Airport came into view - glass walls gleaming under the coastal light, ground vehicles moving briskly across the tarmac.

Inside, the terminal was spacious and bright. Corridors lined with digital displays guided us forward, their colors reflecting on polished floors. The air carried a mix of excitement and calm, the rhythm of travelers arriving from different corners of the world.

At the baggage claim, greeted by a large illuminated sign: WELCOME TO DA NANG, the carousel turned steadily, suitcases sliding into view one by one. Travelers leaned forward, eyes scanning for familiar shapes and colors. For us, the moment was both practical and symbolic - retrieving not just luggage, but the continuity of our journey, the belongings that would accompany us through Vietnam.

Finally, we stepped into the arrivals. Voices mingled, tour leaders waited with placards, and the bustle of movement carried the energy of arrival. Beyond the glass doors, the coastal air awaited, warm and inviting, ready to wrap us in the rhythm of Central Vietnam.

Looking back, I realize how far my travels have carried me. From the early journeys that first awakened my curiosity, to the many departures that have since become part of my rhythm, each trip has left its mark. I once imagined Scandinavia as the next chapter, yet life’s compass pointed me instead toward Vietnam - a choice that felt both unexpected and deeply rewarding.

As I reflect, I see how departure and arrival have changed their meaning for me. Departure is no longer just about leaving; it is about anticipation, the thrill of stepping into possibility. Arrival is no longer just about reaching; it is about belonging, about letting a new place fold me into its rhythm. Together, they form the heartbeat of travel - the pulse that carries me from one story to the next.

And so, the flight to Danang was more than a journey across the sky. It was a continuation of memory, a bridge between past and present, a reminder that every trip is both an ending and a beginning. The screens, the gates, the meals, the landscapes - all became part of the narrative.

Travel, I realize, is not measured only in miles or hours. It is measured in the moments that linger - the choices we make, the rituals we keep, and the meanings we discover along the way.

To be continued.

Till the next coming entry, inshaAllah. Meanwhile do take care.

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