When Lisa’s life took a detour and she found herself facing divorce, the future suddenly felt uncertain. But she knew one thing for sure: when it came to the division of assets, she was getting the family trip to Southeast Asia.
The year my marriage fell apart, I flew to Hanoi. Twelve months prior, our family of three had calendared the next year’s trips, each choosing a destination. My husband chose Spain, our 15-year-old daughter, Sophie, chose Italy and I chose Vietnam and Cambodia.
We’d travelled to Spain, eating crisp-skinned suckling pig in the shadow of the Alhambra. We’d travelled to Italy, bathing in the scent of lemon blossoms on the Amalfi Coast. Then, over dinner one January night, seemingly out of nowhere, my husband said ‘My soul is deeply unhappy. I want a divorce.’
The gutting of our 20-year coupling left me gasping for air. Our plans for the future, once discussed over morning cappuccinos at home in New Jersey, were now hatched between lawyers whose aim was transactional: extinguish the marriage and divide its assets. I felt powerless as drafts of a settlement agreement volleyed between lawyers who seemed more in control of my life than I was.
‘What do you want from your future?’ A friend asked one day as I sobbed on her sofa.
I hesitated. It had been a long time since I’d been anything but a wife and mother. I wasn’t accustomed to considering my own desires.
‘I want to travel,’ I said, feeling the weighty truth of my words. I thought of my lost trip to Vietnam and Cambodia. It had fallen away in the implosion of our marriage.
I Googled trips to the region and found Intrepid’s Best of Vietnam and Cambodia. I’d never taken a group trip and wasn’t sure I’d like the format – my husband and I had always travelled independently. But, in the stupor of divorce, the heady logistics of trip-planning felt impossible.
I asked my lawyer to add the tour to our settlement agreement. ‘It’s non-negotiable,’ I said. Anticipating the trip gave me something to hold onto – something that was mine.
A journey of self rediscovery
Sophie and I landed in Hanoi on a blazing hot day in June. Our Intrepid group was a mix of friendly travellers from New Zealand, the UK and Australia. I liked them immediately. The stories we shared over dinner were real – one couple had lost their son; a young woman was struggling with the challenges of her job. Their vulnerability allowed me to share that I was getting divorced, which set an authentic tone for the trip. I could be myself.
We travelled first to Halong Bay, boarding a wooden ‘junk boat’ whose name belied its luxurious cabins and delicious meals. With a magician’s sleight of hand, the chef carved carrot strips into intricate rosebuds, adding them to a sumptuous lunch of spongy fish cake, savoury pork, and squid seared with onions and peppers.
After lunch, we slipped into the clear, green waters of the bay. A year ago, I wouldn’t have done it – wildly self-conscious of my middle-aged body in a swimsuit. But I’d fought hard for this trip, and I was committed to experiencing every bit of it. Pushing past my insecurity I waded in, welcomed by the water’s healing embrace.
Moving on to Hue, we took a motorbike tour of the ancient imperial city. After my long marriage, I felt awkward wrapping my arms around the cigarette-scented driver.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, bike jumping to life. ‘Lisa,’ I told him.
‘My name is Ku,’ he said, taking my hand.
Ku was a retired high school French and English teacher, living in the mountains above Hue. ‘It’s cheaper up there,’ he said, pointing to the green hills framing the city. ‘I save my earnings for my children’s education.’
‘Me too!’ I said, smiling at the universal connection of parenthood.
I held onto Ku’s waist, exhilarated by the hot wind in my hair as we careened through narrow streets, stopping at temples and tombs. My heart lurched when we turned sharply on loose gravel, but Ku made me feel safe as he gently strapped my helmet under my chin each time we got on and off the bike.
The group spent two nights in Hoi An, where darkened alleys glowed with paper lanterns, colours vivid like candies in a dish. Wishing on lit candles, we sent them floating downriver. I wished that my path forward would be illuminated, like the candescent waterway. With our new Aussie friends, we scoured the night market for banana-printed bucket hats, laughing when Sophie negotiated the best price. For the first time in months, divorce took a backseat to the pleasure of the moment.
From the urban bustle of Ho Chi Minh City, we took a day trip to the Cu Chi tunnels. Dug by the South Vietnamese Army, they are an elaborate web of subterranean passages, bedrooms, kitchens and even birthing rooms. At their apex, they housed 16,000 people. The tunnels felt claustrophobic. Like my marriage, I realised for the first time as I hoisted myself out of the tiny hole with my own strong arms.
A new dawn
On 2 July, our wedding anniversary, an alarm of roosters and barking dogs woke me at 4:30 am. Now in Siem Reap, Cambodia, we’d toured Angkor Wat‘s temples the day before and were returning today for the iconic sunrise view of the conical towers in the reflecting pool.
‘I’m staying in bed,’ Sophie said. It was early for a teen. I left her asleep and hopped in a tuk-tuk with the others.
Our group dispersed at the temple complex, leaving me alone to watch the undersides of clouds transform from foggy grey to cream to peach to pink. With the rising sun, the reflection of Angkor Wat developed like a slow Polaroid, its plump asparagus-like heads materialising in the murky water. For the first time since the breakup, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
After the steamy sunrise, I sought refuge from the heat inside a temple. As I sat cross-legged on the warm sandstone floor, the sky, now aquamarine, poured through the open ceiling. It had been the same colour on my wedding day. I’d dreaded this anniversary since we separated but now that it was here, I didn’t feel despair. I’d watched the day dawn at Angkor Wat. I made this happen.
Nearby, an orange-swaddled knee poked out from behind a pillar. A young monk began his day, chanting a melodic prayer that rose and fell in rhythmic waves. I would begin again, too.
As the sun rose through the fog that day, I glimpsed, for the first time, the possibilities awaiting me as a solo female traveller. In my darkest days, this trip had been a ray of hope, showing me the transformative power of living on my own terms.
Since then, I’ve travelled with Intrepid on three continents. I’ve also travelled independently, with friends, with Sophie and alone. The trip to Vietnam and Cambodia taught me I was brave enough to go anywhere I wanted. That the future wasn’t going to be what I’d anticipated, but it was mine.
Lisa and Sophie explored the Best of Vietnam and Cambodia on a small group adventure. Browse more trips in Asia or learn more about solo travel with Intrepid.
