Yesterday I came back from a three-week trip to Europe. We landed in Paris and spent six days there, then rode the Eurostar train to Brussels for a day before taking the bus to the Netherlands, where we stayed in Eindhoven with relatives and took day trips to Rotterdam, Amsterdam, and Cologne, Germany. Then, we explored Florence and Rome.
It had been a while since I took a vacation of this length. Europe was beautiful — a dream, to say the least — and felt like a world apart from Asia. The foods, the winter weather — practically nonexistent in Sài Gòn — the streets, architecture, arts, history, and people all felt amazing and wonderfully different. Paris, especially, was everything I had imagined and more. It was even more special because my fiancée and I shared many new first-time experiences together.
As much as I enjoyed having all the bread, butter, tartare, oysters, and duck confit every day, I started to miss Vietnamese food by the time we were about to leave Paris, which was a week into the trip. By the time we got to Florence, Italy — nearing the end of our second week of constant movement — I seriously felt homesick. I craved my routines in Sài Gòn, a hot bowl of phở, and the organized chaos. I actually missed going to work, running, reading, writing, coding. Then I realized that what I was longing for was structure, comfort, and familiarity. I wasn’t expecting travel fatigue, at least not this early, but it was real. Even though I was having one of the best times of my life, the lack of my daily rituals, the change in social rhythms, the cultural shifts, the constant decision making, and emotional and sensory overload started to feel disruptive. New sights, sounds, cultures, foods — the novelty of it all — were exciting at first, then became overwhelming and tiring to me. What a paradox.
I didn’t want my temporary state of mind to cloud the rest of our trip, so my fiancée — who was very understanding — and I worked out a plan where Florence was going to be a pit stop for me: for a couple of days I would stay in our Airbnb during the day to catch up on reading and journaling while she would happily visit museums and explore shops by herself, and we would meet each other in the early evening for early dinner then strolls around town before wrapping up the day. It worked — I felt refreshed and recharged, I enjoyed everything Rome had to offer in our last week.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling completely. While I was racking up at least ten thousand steps a day without feeling physically tired, the mental exhaustion from being in high-alert and exploration mode for weeks grew heavier by the day. If expanding our perspectives and immersing ourselves in new cultures isn’t always a pleasant and comfortable experience — and if travel is inherently chaotic — then perhaps I was experiencing it exactly as I should.
The bittersweet moment I had anticipated finally came after we checked our bags at the airport. I was so excited to be home, and felt immensely grateful for having had the chance to take a trip like this. The experiences, memories, perspectives, history lessons, and great foods — all we’ll reminisce about when we’re back in Sài Gòn, knowing it won’t be long until the next adventure. I also learned that two weeks is the sweet spot for me when it comes to travel.
Most of all, I realized that I’ve built a life at home that fulfills me and makes me genuinely happy to return to after being away. There’s comfort, too, in knowing that my relationship with travel has changed drastically over the years — it’s no longer a ticket to escape, but an extension of my day-to-day, one that lets me see more, feel more, and be more present.