During my stay in Australia, a fortuitous window between the 30th of April and the 8th of May 2026 afforded me the rare pleasure of visiting two of Southeast Asia’s most storied cities: Manila, the capital of the Philippines, and Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam. For any curious traveller, these two destinations offer far more than postcards and tourist trails. They offer a mirror held up to history itself.
Both Vietnam and the Philippines are children of the same geographical cradle, Southeast Asia, and that shared parentage reveals itself in unmistakable ways across their cultures, their cuisines, and the quiet rhythms of daily life. Yet each nation has been shaped by a distinctly different colonial hand. Vietnam bears the deep imprint of centuries of Chinese influence, while the Philippines carries the layered legacy of Spanish colonisation followed by American occupation. The result is two nations that are siblings in geography but cousins in character.
The Primacy of Language and Family
One of the first things a visitor notices in both countries is the mother tongue's confident centrality. English speakers are few, and those who do understand it are fewer still. There is no apology for this, nor should there be. Language, here, is identity.
Equally striking is the unshakeable importance of family. In both Vietnamese and Filipino society, the family unit remains the bedrock of existence. Multi-generational households are the norm rather than the exception, with grandparents and grandchildren living under the same roof as a matter of cultural common sense, not mere convenience. The West’s obsession with the nuclear family feels oddly diminished in comparison.
Long centuries of foreign rule have, of course, left their marks too. In the vocabulary, in the recipes, in the very way people carry themselves, the colonial past is never entirely absent.
A Table Set by the Sea
Food, as always, is where culture speaks most honestly.
Rice is the cornerstone of every meal in both countries, as fundamental as bread in a Parisian household. Noodle dishes command equal reverence: Vietnam’s celebrated Pho, a fragrant broth coaxing silken noodles into something close to poetry, finds its counterpart in the Philippines’ Pancit, a festive tangle of noodles that graces every table worth its salt. Eggs, chicken, and freshly caught seafood complete a culinary picture shaped by two coastlines and centuries of fishing tradition.
For the Indian traveller, however, navigating these menus can prove a quiet challenge. The flavours are unfamiliar, the spicing entirely different. That said, Ho Chi Minh City proved unexpectedly generous to the homesick Gujarati palate. Directly opposite my hotel, the Elagance d’Antique Bontek Hotel and Spa, sat not one but two Gujarati restaurants, serving food that would have been unremarkable on any street in Ahmedabad and was therefore, in that context, nothing short of miraculous.
Manila offered no such consolation. Indian food there is genuinely difficult to find. After considerable effort, I did locate one Indian restaurant, Queen of Bollywood, tucked away in the Makati district. It exists, which is itself a small triumph.
The Weight of War
Both nations fought through the First and Second World Wars, and neither has chosen to forget. Their history wears its wounds openly, and their museums and monuments invite visitors to sit with that weight rather than look away from it.
In Manila, the National Museum still houses bunkers reminiscent of those used during the Hitler era, preserved with an almost reverential exactness. Military plans, wartime equipment, and the architecture of urgency all remain intact, silent testimony to a period when the world tore itself apart and these islands were caught in the wreckage.
In Ho Chi Minh City, the Cu Chi tunnels tell a different but equally visceral story. These secret underground passages, along with weapons bunkers and rusting tanks, have become among the most visited sites in the country. The individual soldier’s bunkers are so narrow that a grown adult can barely squeeze inside and yet tourists line up enthusiastically to do precisely that, lowering themselves into the dark for photographs, perhaps trying in some small way to comprehend what it meant to live and fight in such conditions.
Getting Around: A Tale of Two Systems
Transport in Manila requires patience and a certain philosophical acceptance of uncertainty. Uber does not operate there. In its absence, taxi drivers set their own prices with considerable creative freedom. The taxi at my hotel, the I’M Hotel, quoted me 1,000 Philippine pesos for the journey to the airport. When the hotel eventually booked a car on my behalf, the fare came to just 270 pesos. The lesson was clear: always let the hotel make the call.
Ho Chi Minh City, by contrast, has embraced Grab, a Southeast Asian ride-hailing platform that covers cars, motorcycles, and even food delivery with impressive reliability. The risk of being overcharged is minimal, and the app works with the clean efficiency one hopes for. The city also runs Jeepney buses, the favoured transport of the local population, cheap and cheerful and always crowded in that particular way that reminds you the city is very much alive.
Most memorable, though, was the Biker, a three-wheeled motorcycle with room for two passengers at the back. I was fortunate enough to take the wheel myself for a stretch. It is, I can confirm, as ungainly and delightful as it sounds.
Grace Under Constraint
Poverty exists in both countries. It is not hidden. But what strikes the observant visitor is that it has not diminished the people. Both Filipino and Vietnamese society carries a dignity and a courtesy that puts wealthier nations to shame. Hospitality is not a transaction here but a reflex.
At my hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, the reception staff rose from their chairs the moment a guest approached. Not because it was policy, but because it was simply what one did. Warmth, food, and the gathering of family and friends at festivals and celebrations, these are not social obligations in Vietnam or the Philippines. They are pleasures, practised with genuine care.
A Final Note on Money
A word of practical warning for the arithmetically unguarded: the currencies of these two nations are as different as their histories. The Philippines uses the Peso, manageable enough in its denominations. Vietnam, however, operates in Dong, and the figures involved are staggering. Every day transactions run into hundreds of thousands; a decent meal might cost several million. For any Indian visitor accustomed to rupees, the mental recalibration required is considerable, and errors of zeroes are made with startling regularity.
It is, in its own small way, a fitting metaphor for travel itself: the constant effort to recalibrate, to understand a different scale of things, and to find, beneath all the differences, something recognisably human
The Primacy of Language and Family
One of the first things a visitor notices in both countries is the mother tongue's confident centrality. English speakers are few, and those who do understand it are fewer still. There is no apology for this, nor should there be. Language, here, is identity.
Equally striking is the unshakeable importance of family. In both Vietnamese and Filipino society, the family unit remains the bedrock of existence. Multi-generational households are the norm rather than the exception, with grandparents and grandchildren living under the same roof as a matter of cultural common sense, not mere convenience. The West’s obsession with the nuclear family feels oddly diminished in comparison.
Long centuries of foreign rule have, of course, left their marks too. In the vocabulary, in the recipes, in the very way people carry themselves, the colonial past is never entirely absent.
A Table Set by the Sea
Food, as always, is where culture speaks most honestly.
Rice is the cornerstone of every meal in both countries, as fundamental as bread in a Parisian household. Noodle dishes command equal reverence: Vietnam’s celebrated Pho, a fragrant broth coaxing silken noodles into something close to poetry, finds its counterpart in the Philippines’ Pancit, a festive tangle of noodles that graces every table worth its salt. Eggs, chicken, and freshly caught seafood complete a culinary picture shaped by two coastlines and centuries of fishing tradition.
For the Indian traveller, however, navigating these menus can prove a quiet challenge. The flavours are unfamiliar, the spicing entirely different. That said, Ho Chi Minh City proved unexpectedly generous to the homesick Gujarati palate. Directly opposite my hotel, the Elagance d’Antique Bontek Hotel and Spa, sat not one but two Gujarati restaurants, serving food that would have been unremarkable on any street in Ahmedabad and was therefore, in that context, nothing short of miraculous.
Manila offered no such consolation. Indian food there is genuinely difficult to find. After considerable effort, I did locate one Indian restaurant, Queen of Bollywood, tucked away in the Makati district. It exists, which is itself a small triumph.
The Weight of War
Both nations fought through the First and Second World Wars, and neither has chosen to forget. Their history wears its wounds openly, and their museums and monuments invite visitors to sit with that weight rather than look away from it.
In Manila, the National Museum still houses bunkers reminiscent of those used during the Hitler era, preserved with an almost reverential exactness. Military plans, wartime equipment, and the architecture of urgency all remain intact, silent testimony to a period when the world tore itself apart and these islands were caught in the wreckage.
In Ho Chi Minh City, the Cu Chi tunnels tell a different but equally visceral story. These secret underground passages, along with weapons bunkers and rusting tanks, have become among the most visited sites in the country. The individual soldier’s bunkers are so narrow that a grown adult can barely squeeze inside and yet tourists line up enthusiastically to do precisely that, lowering themselves into the dark for photographs, perhaps trying in some small way to comprehend what it meant to live and fight in such conditions.
Getting Around: A Tale of Two Systems
Transport in Manila requires patience and a certain philosophical acceptance of uncertainty. Uber does not operate there. In its absence, taxi drivers set their own prices with considerable creative freedom. The taxi at my hotel, the I’M Hotel, quoted me 1,000 Philippine pesos for the journey to the airport. When the hotel eventually booked a car on my behalf, the fare came to just 270 pesos. The lesson was clear: always let the hotel make the call.
Ho Chi Minh City, by contrast, has embraced Grab, a Southeast Asian ride-hailing platform that covers cars, motorcycles, and even food delivery with impressive reliability. The risk of being overcharged is minimal, and the app works with the clean efficiency one hopes for. The city also runs Jeepney buses, the favoured transport of the local population, cheap and cheerful and always crowded in that particular way that reminds you the city is very much alive.
Most memorable, though, was the Biker, a three-wheeled motorcycle with room for two passengers at the back. I was fortunate enough to take the wheel myself for a stretch. It is, I can confirm, as ungainly and delightful as it sounds.
Grace Under Constraint
Poverty exists in both countries. It is not hidden. But what strikes the observant visitor is that it has not diminished the people. Both Filipino and Vietnamese society carries a dignity and a courtesy that puts wealthier nations to shame. Hospitality is not a transaction here but a reflex.
At my hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, the reception staff rose from their chairs the moment a guest approached. Not because it was policy, but because it was simply what one did. Warmth, food, and the gathering of family and friends at festivals and celebrations, these are not social obligations in Vietnam or the Philippines. They are pleasures, practised with genuine care.
A Final Note on Money
A word of practical warning for the arithmetically unguarded: the currencies of these two nations are as different as their histories. The Philippines uses the Peso, manageable enough in its denominations. Vietnam, however, operates in Dong, and the figures involved are staggering. Every day transactions run into hundreds of thousands; a decent meal might cost several million. For any Indian visitor accustomed to rupees, the mental recalibration required is considerable, and errors of zeroes are made with startling regularity.
It is, in its own small way, a fitting metaphor for travel itself: the constant effort to recalibrate, to understand a different scale of things, and to find, beneath all the differences, something recognisably human
