Neha Duseja
Two weeks ago, I was finally living a dream. Vietnam had been on my mind for months – its postcard-perfect landscapes, YouTube vlogs with dreamy drone shots, and Instagram stories filled with lanterns, lakes, and laughter. As someone who romanticises travel in her head long before boarding the flight, I had imagined it all – except one thing: the struggle of being a vegetarian abroad.
Now, let me confess something – food isn’t just a necessity for me. It’s therapy. It’s a celebration. It’s that warm hug at the end of a tiring day. I don’t eat just to survive. I eat to feel. I eat to enjoy. I eat because, honestly, food lifts my mood like nothing else can.
So, with this love for food packed safely in my suitcase, I landed in Vietnam.
The first day felt like the universe was already in my favour. Our Airbnb was cute and cosy, and by evening, we found a little Indian restaurant tucked away in a busy street. I ordered paneer lababdar with chapati – and let me tell you, after a long flight and an even longer cab ride, that food was nothing short of divine. It was like finding a bit of home on a foreign plate. That paneer was not just paneer; it was hope, wrapped in gravy and garnished with comfort. I went to bed that night thinking, “Ah, this won’t be that hard. I’ve got this.”
Enter day 2
We were off to Ninh Binh for a full-day trip. The landscape was breathtaking – limestone cliffs, winding rivers, and endless green rice paddies. My soul was full, but my stomach? Not so much. Still, I was optimistic. If I found Indian food on day one, how hard can it be on day two? I thought, a little too naïvely.
Lunchtime arrived, and the tour group was taken to a pre-decided restaurant. The menu was handed out. I opened mine, ready to scan it for the usual vegetarian savouries – perhaps some rice, tofu, or even plain noodles.
What I saw instead made my eyeballs widen and my appetite vanish.
Ostrich egg soup. Beef noodles. Grilled goat. Fried frog legs.
The menu was an exotic buffet of everything I couldn’t eat. And suddenly, I was just sitting there – hungry, confused, and slightly panicked – while everyone around me dived into their plates. I asked for something vegetarian. They gave me a sympathetic smile and handed me a bottle of water. That was it. My lunch for the day: water.
Since it was a fixed group tour, there was no stopping or detouring for food. We had to move as the group moved. So, I walked, explored, clicked pictures, and smiled for stories, all on an empty stomach. Hour after hour passed, and by evening, I had gone nearly 20 hours without food. My brain stopped working. My body gave up. The beauty around me blurred into the background because hunger had taken the front seat.
Finally, late that night, I found a banh–mi sandwich stand. My face lit up like a child offered candy – until I realised it was just a crusty bread roll with some salad, eggs, and mayonnaise. But that night, that modest sandwich felt like a Michelin-star meal.
I remembered what my mom always used to tell me when I refused to eat certain things as a kid: “Sab kuch khaana seekh lo, warna zindagi mein problem hogi” (Learn to eat everything, or life will be tough). That day, her words echoed louder than ever. From that day on, I made sure to carry packet food – chips, cup noodles, dry snacks, energy bars. Because I realised something important: when you’re a vegetarian, travelling outside India often comes with a food-shaped challenge.
The remaining days of my trip were better planned, but food-wise, they weren’t particularly memorable. I tried to explore local options, found a few vegetarian cafés in Hanoi and Hoi An, but the joy of food was missing. I wasn’t eating with excitement – I was eating to fill the void. And that, for someone like me, feels like betrayal. Because food, for me, is not just fuel. It’s a feeling. It’s the ghee on hot parathas in winters, it’s the rajma-chawal after a long Sunday nap, it’s the crispy samosa with chai on a rainy evening. It’s the thing that hugs me from inside when the world feels too much.
Vietnam taught me many things – how beautiful simplicity can be, how kind strangers can surprise you, how nature speaks without saying a word. But it also taught me the importance of being prepared, especially when you have dietary choices that not every culture accommodates. And most importantly, it reminded me – again and again – of how deeply food affects my mood. I can walk all day, take the best pictures, explore the most stunning places, but if I haven’t eaten something that satisfies not just my stomach but my soul – I don’t feel complete.
So, the next time I travel, I’ll pack not just my passport and sunscreen – but also the little things that remind me of home. Because sometimes, happiness is a chapati away.