Another year in paradise has passed. A new one begins.

By AF Reeves - @afreeves23

Yes, this article is probably a fortnight late, but you must understand how absolutely essential it is that I write about Christmas every year. It’s tradition, apparently. This is, however, still a fine way to usher in a new year of my oft-misunderstood ramblings, dressed up as insights into ‘expat’ living, at least from a northern, urban perspective.

You may already have worked out the inspiration for this piece, and if so you are almost surely tired of the format. Do bear with me. At least some of the next few hundred words may contain morsels of truth. Apologies in advance to southern and central readers. While much of this will still be relevant, I just do not spend enough time away to fully consider you.

So here it is: your year in review, Hà Nội style.

Twelve months spent dodging puddles and sucking up carcinogens. No science, no algorithm, no research, just observations and a sprinkling of assumptions gathered from my narrow migrant worldview.

You travelled four real kilometres and forty ‘spiritual’ ones, mostly between Tây Hồ and Trúc Bạch. You would not go to Hà Đông unless somebody was literally paying you. But well done on unlocking the Long Biên section of the map. Those crêpes at Quinza really are worth the journey over the bridge. You can now almost make it to the bún chả place your weird Ba Đình buddy showed you without digital directions. Progress.

You are alive, having survived the great flood of 2025. For a moment there, VinFast bikes didn’t look too shabby. The average decibel level you endured was also an all-time high, along with the air quality index. We just cannot stop breaking records here. Your ears and your lungs will thank you later, a few decades after you have returned to the excessively priced or understaffed health system of your homeland.

Your cultural enrichment reached new heights. Despite still visiting Bao Wow on sixteen different occasions, you tried four new restaurants, and two of them were even Vietnamese. That still-tender, embarrassing memory prevented you from asking why those two dogs were stuck together, and you have finally ceased opening conversations with “eeeh, have you seen Đặng Thai Mai?”.

You said xin chào with verve and shouted em ơi with conviction. You wanted your bike repaired and received a yoghurt instead. The tones are hard, but the people were kind. You got there eventually. Security uncle called you by name and flat number. Trà đá auntie saved you a seat and served you with a smile. Your immune system finally seems to be adjusting, or is coughing season on the horizon?

You opened Grab 486 times, spent 65,700 seconds waiting at red lights, and by my cautiously conservative calculations drank over 500 glasses of bia hơi. You only had food poisoning once. These are all personal bests. Give yourself a pat on the back, and the next cốc is on me if you spot me at your local. Another year in paradise has passed. A new one begins. Drive safe, eat well, and embrace it, all of it.