April 2025

Happy Reunification Day. Today marks 50 years since the fall of Saigon in 1975, which ended the Vietnam War and led to the reunification of North and South Vietnam under communist control. It also happened to be my last full day in Vietnam—and it was a very chill one. I woke up super late, still exhausted from my month-long motorbiking trip and the accident. The wound on my knee has scabbed over and makes me walk with a bit of a limp, so I end up using more energy just getting around. After finally getting out of bed, I found a coffee shop that served kombucha, then took a private transfer to Da Nang. Walking around Da Nang really surprised me. The city has tons of viber cafes, Western restaurants, and a noticeable expat presence. I had one of the best poke bowls of my life for lunch. The beach here is also solid—long, clean, and backed by pretty mountains. It was packed today thanks to domestic travelers celebrating the holiday. I could actually see myself investing in Da Nang in the future. I even saw a sign for a future Nobu under construction. In the evening, I met up with my fraternity brother, Jared Peters, who moved to Da Nang almost two years ago. Even though we hadn't seen or spoken to each other in over four years, it was amazing hearing his story. He started a similar backpacking trip to mine two years ago—backpacking Asia after getting tired of corporate life in St. Pete, Florida. After six months of traveling, he landed in Vietnam on a 90-day visa to figure out his next move. Things unfolded serendipitously. He began working as a surf instructor in Da Nang and, eight months ago, opened his own business. It's inspiring to see people follow their passions and build something from scratch. I hope to do that one day, too. We chatted about how travel changes you and how different it would feel returning to the U.S. It was great catching up with him and seeing where life has taken him. Tomorrow, I fly to Singapore for two days before a month of island hopping in the Philippines. Vietnam has been one of my favorite places on this journey. The people are so warm and friendly, the food is delicious and cheap, and the natural beauty is otherworldly. Riding a motorbike around the country for a month was one of the most adventurous things I've ever done. It was tough at times, but I grew as a man and a human being. I got to see countless smiling, beautiful faces in remote parts of the country—places many people never get the chance to visit. There are amazing people and places in every corner of the globe. You just have to go looking.

Today, I sold my motorbike. I wasn't too stressed about it—I always knew I'd sell it eventually—but I wasn't sure how it would go down. Would I lose money? Could I break even? Maybe even make a profit? Turns out, the answer revealed some fascinating lessons in both microeconomics and real-world negotiation strategy. I bought the bike for 7 million dong (around $275). Throughout my trip, I asked locals and travelers how much I could resell it for. The feedback was all over the place—some said 7M was a fair price; others told me I'd be lucky to get 5M. I started to realize that in informal markets like this, price discovery is decentralized and subjective. There's no Kelley Blue Book—just supply, demand, and perception. When I got to Hoi An, I began seriously searching for buyers. The first offer I got was 2 million dong. The guy told me the engine was messed up. A classic lowball—possibly true, but definitely an anchoring tactic designed to reset my expectations. (I rejected it, obviously.) The next buyer gave another low offer, citing mileage. I wasn't convinced by his reasoning, but I started sensing a pattern: everyone was using some version of asymmetric information to justify lower offers. They'd highlight imperfections (some real, some exaggerated) because they had more experience with bikes than I did, and they knew I was trying to sell fast. This is a textbook information asymmetry problem that shifts bargaining power to the buyer. Later that day, I got a Facebook message from someone offering 5.5 million dong. I was happy with that—still under what I wanted, but reasonable. He test-drove the bike, then pointed out a rattling sound in the engine. This made me nervous, because I'd noticed it too after a minor crash involving a dog. Even if the bike functioned fine, that noise was a negative signal—a psychological red flag that could lower the perceived value, regardless of actual mechanical damage. Buyers get skittish when they hear unexpected sounds. So I took it to a Honda dealership. They confirmed the rattling but told me they'd take a look first and wouldn't charge me unless they fixed something. I sat down with a free ginger tea from their café (top-tier dealership), called my friend Juwan, and waited. Thirty minutes later, they told me it was fixed—and the cost? One dollar. That repair probably saved me 1 to 2 million dong in lost value. It's a classic example of investment to protect an asset's resale value—a microeconomic decision where a small input drastically preserves final utility. Armed with a quiet engine, I resumed my hunt. One dealer offered me 3.8M dong, citing crash damage and alignment issues (he even checked the serial number—respect). I knew I could do better. At this point, I had decided on the lowest price I'd accept: 4.5 million dong. In negotiation terms, this is called your reservation price—the number below which you walk away. It's different for everyone, based on how much time you have, how badly you need the money, and what other options you've got. My best alternative—if I didn't sell the bike—was to wait a few more days or ride it to the next town, which wasn't ideal but still an option. That backup plan is known as your BATNA (Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement). Knowing both your reservation price and your BATNA gives you power in a negotiation because you're not making decisions out of desperation. I went to another shop, asked for 6M. He offered 4. I countered with 5. We settled at 4.5M. He was eager, cash-ready, and I could tell the negotiation was tilting toward a close. This was a great example of anchoring and midpoint movement. I set the price high, he anchored low, and we met in between. Mathematically, anchoring even just 500K higher than your real target can net you significant gains in markets like this. In the end, I lost about $100 on the bike—but considering the 1 month trip and the freedom I had, it was still cheaper than renting. And beyond that, I gained valuable firsthand experience in negotiation psychology, market asymmetry, and the dynamics of informal international resale markets. The bike itself became a live case study in applied economics. Also, a side note: a lot of friends have reached out lately, saying my posts are inspiring them to travel. Maybe one day I'll build a business around that idea—helping more Americans realize this life is not only possible, but practical. After getting the 4.5 million dong in cash, I had one last move to make: convert it to dollars. This opened up another interesting economic question—what's the best way to exchange money in a foreign country, especially when the local currency is weak? Right now, the Vietnamese dong is at a historic low against the dollar. That's largely due to a combination of U.S. interest rate hikes (which strengthen the dollar), weaker domestic inflation controls in Vietnam, and broader capital flows toward the safety of developed currencies. In simple terms: people want dollars, not dong, and that weakens the latter's value. When I looked around, two money changers were offering wildly different rates. One quoted 26,000 dong per dollar. Another, just a block away, offered 25,500. That 500 dong spread may not seem like much—but when you're exchanging 4.5 million, it adds up. At 26,000, I'd get about $173. At 25,500, I'd walk away with only $176. That's a $3 difference just by choosing one window over another. This is classic arbitrage territory. These shops operate in fragmented micro-markets where they can set their own spreads based on foot traffic, tourist desperation, or even just psychological cues (a fancier sign can imply a "safer" rate). And they rely on information asymmetry: most people don't do the math on the spot. The economics of it are simple—each booth is its own tiny FX market, where buyers and sellers meet in a temporary equilibrium skewed by urgency, perception, and confidence. It drove home the fact that every interaction—whether selling a bike or exchanging currency—is a negotiation. You're always navigating between perceived value and actual value. And often, the difference comes down to how prepared you are, how informed you are, and how comfortable you are walking away. On a lighter note, today wasn't just about economics and negotiations—I also picked up my tailor-made linen shirt and pants, plus a custom pair of Birkenstocks. Both turned out great. Lastly, one thing I'll really miss about Southeast Asia are the incredibly affordable gyms. I trained today at a local spot for just two dollars—shirtless, shoeless, with a sauna included. Can't beat that.

Hoi An is a charming tourist town famous for tailor-made clothes and custom shoes. It's packed with viber cafes, Western restaurants, and most visibly, tailor shops—hundreds of them lined up side by side, almost indistinguishable from each other. I hadn't planned to buy anything, but after walking past over a hundred tailor stores, I eventually gave in. Seeing all of them made me wonder: how does the economics of this overwhelming supply and demand actually work? The basics are clear: supply is massive, and demand is strong, especially with the steady flow of tourists. But walking around looking for linen pants, I received over five different quotes—ranging from $8 to $40 for what looked like the exact same product. Why? This price variation highlights key forces at play: imperfect information, search costs, and price discrimination. Even though products appear identical, buyers can't instantly judge fabric quality, stitching, or durability. Vendors exploit this uncertainty, adjusting prices based on how they perceive each customer: How informed are they? How price-sensitive? How willing to negotiate? Because comparing dozens of shops is tiring and time-consuming, most buyers operate with incomplete information. High search costs prevent prices from collapsing toward true competitive equilibrium. Instead, the market fractures into hundreds of micro-markets: the rushed buyer who pays full price, the savvy negotiator who bargains hard, the casual shopper who splits the difference. In Hoi An, the customer's experience is the product, not just the clothes. Time, patience, and bargaining skill are commodities as much as the linen itself. Two tourists might leave with nearly identical pants—and yet one paid five times what the other did. I fall somewhere in the middle. I don't like haggling over a few dollars, especially when locals depend on tourist spending. But I also don't enjoy feeling like a fool. After about an hour of wandering, a woman approached me on the street and practically dragged me by the arm to her shop. I didn't mind—by that point, I was overwhelmed by options. She led me into a market hall where many tailors worked under the same roof. It felt like the right place: high supply, less competition for tourists' attention. I got fitted for a custom linen pants and button-down shirt set—my first tailor-made clothes. I paid $53 for the set, ready the next day. Sure, there were probably cheaper deals out there, but this felt fair given the quality, the experience, and the saved mental effort. After my fitting, another woman offered custom leather shoes. Ordinarily, I would have declined, but I genuinely needed new sandals. (I'd lost my Source sandals off the motorbike, and my Hokas tore during a crash.) She measured my feet, and I ordered custom Birkenstock-style sandals—also ready tomorrow. Looking back, Hoi An's tailoring scene perfectly illustrates a deeper economic truth about tourist hubs: markets in these places don't just sell products—they sell simplified decisions. With so much choice, tourists crave a way to end the uncertainty. Sellers who create trust quickly—or simply intercept customers before fatigue sets in—capture disproportionate value. In that sense, the "cost" of a linen shirt here isn't just measured in dollars, but in time, energy, and psychological bandwidth. It ended up being a great day: my first day off the motorbike in over ten days, exploring the city by foot. Tomorrow, a buyer is coming to see my bike. With any luck, it'll be a big day—selling the bike and picking up some fresh new clothes!

While I was leaving Hue today, an older Vietnamese man caught my attention. I was at a stoplight, just five minutes into my drive for the day, when he asked me where I was from. I told him I was American, and he mentioned he had family in the U.S. His English was really good, and he said I reminded him of his nephew or some other relative. He seemed like a sweet guy and asked if I wanted to grab a tea with him. I really wanted to start my drive, but he had such welcoming energy that I agreed. We drove about five minutes down the road and sat down for a green tea together. In the back of my mind, I was a little cautious — wondering if he was trying to take money from me — but we ended up having a great conversation. He was visiting Hue with his family for the weekend, though I wasn't entirely sure why. His daughter lives in San Francisco, so he was familiar with the U.S. He was genuinely kind, and I told him a bit about my life. At one point, he looked at my motorbike and said my chain was hanging too low and needed replacing. Again, I wasn't sure if he was being helpful or trying to get money out of me. He took me to a bike mechanic and tried to negotiate a price for me — but it was way too high, and I started to feel a little skeptical. Still, I offered to treat him to lunch since he had bought me tea. We couldn't find a pho place nearby, and eventually he said he had to get going. Before leaving, he asked if I would buy candies for children in a local village. I thought about it — and I still trusted him — so I donated some milkshakes for the kids instead. Supposedly. He said he doesn't use his phone from 11 to 4 because he's Buddhist, so we didn't take a picture together. I gave him my phone number on a piece of paper in case he needed it. After we parted ways, I drove a long stretch through the Hai Van Pass. It was beautiful — a winding seaside mountain route with incredible views. Hoi An is known for tailored clothing and custom leather shoes — maybe I'll get something made while I'm here. I'm definitely tired after so many long driving days. I think tomorrow will be my last day on the bike before I sell it. Overall, today reminded me that real travel and adventure is better than just visiting tourist spots. It's about the unexpected moments — like sitting with a stranger for tea.

I am using Cursor to code my website. Cursor is a programming environment integrated with AI. I asked the AI to summarize the biggest takeaways from all of my blog posts, and here is what it came up with: **1. Simplicity & Authenticity** - Consistent reflection on the value of simple living - Appreciation for local cultures and authentic experiences - Contrast between materialistic Western life and simpler lifestyles in developing countries - Finding joy in basic experiences and connections **2. Personal Growth & Self-Discovery** - Regular introspection about identity and purpose - Questioning conventional career paths and societal expectations - Evolution from corporate life to independent travel - Physical and mental challenges as growth opportunities **3. Cultural Observations & Contrasts** - Deep analysis of differences between Western and Eastern societies - Observations about American vs European/Asian lifestyles - Reflections on work-life balance across cultures - Interest in urban design and community structures **4. Human Connection** - Emphasis on meaningful conversations with fellow travelers - Appreciation for local hospitality and kindness - Value of sharing experiences versus solo adventures - Building relationships across cultural boundaries **Key Takeaways** **Professional/Career Insights** - Critical perspective on corporate America's impact on young professionals - Recognition of technology's role in modern life - Interest in entrepreneurial opportunities and international investments - Balance between technical skills and practical experiences **Personal Development** - Growing comfort with uncertainty and spontaneity - Evolution of travel style from rushed tourism to slower, meaningful experiences - Development of problem-solving skills through challenging situations - Balance between adventure and routine **Philosophical Growth** - Regular contemplation of purpose and meaning - Interest in spiritual and philosophical questions - Appreciation for different worldviews - Balance between materialism and minimalism **Interesting Patterns** **Writing Style Evolution** - Increasingly reflective and philosophical over time - Mix of daily experiences and deeper contemplations - Detailed observations of seemingly minor moments - Growing confidence in expressing personal views **Activity Preferences** - Regular physical activity (workouts, sports, hiking) - Interest in local transportation and infrastructure - Appreciation for both urban and natural environments - Balance between social activities and solitude **Cultural Adaptability** - Growing comfort with different cuisines and customs - Learning to navigate various transportation systems - Adaptation to different living conditions - Appreciation for local customs and traditions **Unique Observations** - The "Bus Battle" narrative shows excellent observational humor and writing skill - Regular references to Jewish identity and practices while traveling - Thoughtful analysis of economic and social systems in different countries - Strong interest in technology while simultaneously trying to disconnect - Consistent reflection on American identity while abroad - Detailed attention to infrastructure and urban development differences - Regular mentions of physical fitness and body maintenance during travel Your writing shows a clear evolution from typical travel observations to deeper cultural and philosophical insights, with a strong emphasis on personal growth and understanding of different ways of life. The balance between adventure seeking and meaningful reflection provides a unique perspective on long-term travel and its impact on personal development.

Another 5+ hour day on the bike. The past three days since leaving Hanoi have been absolutely grueling. This morning, I woke up sore all over and went looking for a place that does cupping therapy. After first experiencing cupping in Laos and then again in China, I've been on the hunt for more authentic spots. I found a small massage shop offering cupping for just over $3. The session really helped with my back soreness — plus, you get those cool marks all over your back, which I kind of love. Earlier that morning in Phong Nha, I stopped by a local pharmacist who bandaged up my wounds and gave me some disinfecting spray. One thing I really like about Asia is how many of the medicines are made from natural sources. The spray, similar to Neosporin, came with images of flowers and plants it was derived from. Throughout this trip, I've been moving away from synthetics and leaning into more natural living — herbal toothpaste, natural deodorants, cotton, silk, linen, and wool clothing. After seeing a Hadza chief in Tanzania with the whitest teeth I've ever seen, I've fully switched to herbal toothpaste. Now I only buy body wash and shampoo with no perfumes and with simple ingredients like goat's milk. After getting patched up, I made my way to the famous Duck Stop. For $4, you get to be a "Duck Leader" for 30 minutes — basically walking around feeding ducks while they nibble at your feet and clothes. It's a silly tourist thing that backpackers do, but it was honestly so ridiculous and fun that it was worth every penny. The ducks were adorable. By the afternoon, I was debating whether to take a rest day, drive deeper into the mountains for some epic views, or head straight to Hue. I decided to push on to Hue to give myself more time in Da Nang and Hoi An. Plus, the weather near Phong Nha wasn't looking great. It was a tough call — supposedly the best nature on the Ho Chi Minh Road is south of Phong Nha — but after everything I've seen this trip, I was content with my decision. The drive to Hue took 5 hours. I expected it to be 3, but the highway Google Maps sent me to was under construction. Somehow, even though I've only been in Vietnam for a month, it feels like a lifetime. A month is a long time when you're fully immersed. In both Laos and Vietnam, I've felt like I've genuinely integrated into the local culture through authentic experiences. I think that's what real traveling is about — when a place and its people leave a lasting imprint on your life and psyche. Once I made it to Hue, I treated myself to an incredible sushi dinner — much needed after living on endless bowls of phở. Later, I explored the walking street and was surprised by how charming the city felt. It was full of locals, and the vibe wasn't centered around drinking. One of the busiest spots was actually a milk tea shop — even at 9 PM on a Saturday night. The energy was young, vibrant, and refreshing. It's something I really appreciate about Vietnam. Tomorrow, I'll tackle the Hai Van Pass — a legendary seaside route that winds from Hue through Da Nang to Hoi An. I'm excited to slow things down a bit for my last few days in Vietnam. I'll also need to figure out how to sell my motorbike before I leave. Big days ahead.

Well, today it happened. I crashed my motorbike. Let me take you through the scene. I have been driving from Hanoi south towards Da Nang for two days now on the famous Ho Chi Minh Road. The Ho Chi Minh Road runs parallel to Vietnam's western border, stretching from north to south. It was originally based on the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail, which was a crucial supply route used by North Vietnamese forces during the Vietnam War. Today, it's been transformed into a scenic highway that slices through remote mountains, lush jungles, and peaceful rural villages. Over the past two days, I've driven over 650km, which means more than 6 hours of drive time. It's nice passing through rural villages on one road, not worrying about any turns. About 4 hours into my drive today, I was traveling 90 km/h on a straight road with no cars in sight. In the distance, I saw a yellow-gray figure meandering directly in the middle of the road. This is a view I have encountered numerous times on my month-long motorbiking trip in Vietnam. I have never once had an issue evading the many cows, dogs, chickens, water buffalo, goats, horses, or any other creatures. Typically, the dogs — the smartest of the bunch — get out of the way of bikes and cars. This time, though, the dog did not. As I continued on my path, expecting the dog to move, it did not. I tried veering left to avoid it as I got closer, noting that it was not budging. As I drifted left, the dog slowly walked right into the path of my bike, and BANG! I didn't just hit the dog — I baptized it in the unholy rite of Honda combustion, as if some twisted road demon demanded a toll. I didn't just hit the dog — I sent it to the afterlife with express shipping, postage paid by 110cc of accidental fury. I didn't just hit the dog — I high-fived entropy at 90 kilometers per hour. After a loud thud, I quickly fell off my motorbike, falling towards the right side. I remember sliding on the asphalt for about 1.5 meters with my bike on top of me. After I came to a halt, I lay on the road writhing in pain, with the motorbike on top of me, trying to assess the damage. Within 10 seconds, a Vietnamese man from a local shop came over to me, lifted the motorbike off my right leg, and got it out of the road. I lay open on the road, surrendered to the universe, trying to understand how badly I was injured. I didn't know if my foot was broken or where I was hurt, but adrenaline coursed through my veins. I didn't stand up immediately because I knew my right leg was injured. I rolled up my pants and saw blood on my knee and my ankle, which was black and bruised. It wasn't super painful, so I assumed it wasn't broken. After laying on the road for a minute and letting my right leg rest, I reached out my hand to a man to help me up. I put some weight on my right foot, and it was able to stand some. While all this was happening, a crowd started to form around me. I was lucky this occurred in a small village rather than in the middle of nowhere. In a matter of 5 minutes, about 25 people surrounded me on all sides. I was sitting in a chair in the middle of the whole village. There were mostly kids around the age of 10, older women, and some middle-aged men. An older gentleman brought some bandages and band-aids to help fix me up. I was amazed by how quickly the local Vietnamese villagers came to the rescue of a foreigner. As I winced in pain, I could only laugh at the scene forming around me. The kids stared at me with big eyes, and I gave them fist bumps. To my right were three younger girls, maybe around 17 or 18. As I sat with blood dripping, they took it upon themselves to type on Google Translate that I was handsome. I mean, I guess it's worth a shot as a Vietnamese villager who rarely sees a foreigner. However, it was extremely tone-deaf to the situation. I laughed and gave them my Facebook and Instagram as I was bandaged up. The crowd grew and grew, and even though I was hurting, I enjoyed the friendliness and the hilarity of the event. Nobody spoke a word of English, and I sat there, entrusting the locals to bandage me up. They even brought some Neosporin-type spray to clean the wounds. I ended up with a knee scratch, a scratch on my right elbow, and a pretty bad gash on my right hip, which hurt the most. I was worried I wouldn't be able to drive and would be stuck in the local village. I rested for about 20 minutes and concluded I wasn't hurt that badly, so I continued to drive for another 1.5 hours. I was in pain, but not enough to stop me. I drove super slowly and passed many more dogs, which spooked me. My bike suffered practically no damage. The right mirror fell off, but I can put that back on. These Honda bikes are practically indestructible. I didn't kill the dog on impact. When I got up from the road, I heard the dog winching in pain and hobbling off the road. It must be dead by now — I hit it pretty hard. I am sorry, doggy. I am extremely grateful the accident wasn't worse. It could have gone way worse; I don't even want to imagine it. ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, this was probably the best-case scenario. I am annoyed, frustrated, and sad about the events. I have to remind myself that I can't let it ruin my mood. I'm still driving through beautiful Vietnam, surrounded by such kind locals and amazing food. The kindness of the Vietnamese people has really been above and beyond. They are probably the friendliest and most welcoming people I have ever encountered. Last night, the daughter of the homestay I was staying at asked me about my dream. I was stumped because I haven't thought about it in a while. But now I know I am living my dream, and I am grateful to share it with you.

It's official, folks — I'm 7 months into my worldwide travels. I'm so grateful for all the amazing experiences I've had so far. I just arrived back in Hanoi after 3.5 weeks of motorbiking through the north of Vietnam. These past few weeks have been some of the most adventurous, spontaneous, and best moments of my whole trip. My favorite places in the north were Pu Luong Nature Reserve, the Ha Giang Loop, and Cao Bang. I spent three days and two nights in the Cao Bang region after Ha Giang. During that time, I evaded police, learned traditional papermaking techniques, got lost in the mountains, did a backflip with local children — among many other things. After navigating the curvy, mountainous roads of Northern Vietnam, it felt surreal to return to the chaos of driving in urban Hanoi. It also felt strange to be a part of society again. As my friend Zach and I pondered: Is the creation of modern society really better than living the rural, nature-based lifestyle? Was urbanization and modernization really all worth it? Living off the grid with farmers and traditional indigenous communities makes you appreciate the simple things in life. You don't have endless options of where to eat, what clothes to wear, or which car to buy. You simply live, laugh, and be one with nature, all while tending to your farm. I really like this way of life — it's so peaceful and easy on the mind. When you return to the noise and air pollution of the city, it clouds your thoughts. And you're hit with constant decision-making: where to eat, what to wear, what to do. So again… is modern society really worth it? Tomorrow I continue my motorbike journey south toward Da Nang, in central Vietnam. Unfortunately, I won't have time to explore Southern Vietnam, but I'd love to return someday. Today I drove over 200 km in 5 hours, and I'm exhausted. The next couple of days will be similarly intense. I just booked my flights to Singapore and the Philippines five minutes ago. I'm looking forward to some beach time and moving on from French Indochina. Over the past 3.5 weeks, I've ridden more than 3,000 km — close to 2,000 miles. I love the feeling of the wind in my face and the freedom of the open road. Listening to Rascal Flatts' "Life is a Highway" while driving hits perfectly. It's such a great metaphor for both this trip and life itself. Once I'm home, I'm definitely getting my motorcycle license. As I've said before, I hope to never own a car again. That means I'll either live in a walkable city with good public transport or in a smaller town where I can ride a motorbike — ideally with a surfboard rack attached.

Ha Giang Loop —> RATED. I returned from the legendary 4 day three night Ha Giang loop two days ago and it was absolutely incredible. I thought it would be over rated since so many people talked about it throughout SE Asia, but it was well worth the hype. I have been motorbiking Vietnam for 2.5 weeks and the Ha Giang Loop is for sure some of the greatest scenes I have seen all trip. I did the Ha Giang Loop with a famous company called "Jasmine Tours" per the recommendations of my good friends Max and Kyle. I did the loop with a company for two reasons: 1. Police - The police have checkpoints throughout the loop and if you do not have an international drivers license they fine you a lot of money 2. More fun - It is more fun to do it with a group to meet people and have fun activities at night. There are over 100 companies which do the Ha Giang Loop tour and Jasmine is known for being on the "younger and party side". I was skeptical about this at first but it turned out to be not too young or party for me! Also different companies drive the loop at different speeds. My group was zooming up and down the curvy roads of the mountain side. I drive fast and I could barely keep up! On the tour through Jasmine there were about 15 groups with 10 people each. My group was the last out of all the groups. They space out when each group goes to different sites so it doesn't get too crowded. I honestly was so happy and lucky we were the last group because at each site it was completely empty. Some people complain the loop was too crowded, but for me it felt like I was all alone at some times. Another note was that Jasmine gave me a really good discount for driving myself and bringing my own bike. Another important thing to know about the Ha Giang Loop is that >99% of people use an "easy driver". This means that they do not drive the loop themselves, they sit on the back of a Vietnamese man's bike the whole time. Some people say it is better to take pictures and enjoy the views. I think if you do not drive the loop yourself you are soft and weak. I was looking at all these men in their early 20s doing dick in ass with their Vietnamese driver all day and just thought how emasculating that is! Also whenever you are on a group trip you always learn about the group dynamic and where you lie within it. In my group there were: two Canadian female friends, an Irish couple, two young British girls, a cool older British guy, a Dutch girl and myself. Some takeaways from the group dynamic within my small group and the greater 150 person tour. I am still so amazed by how much Europeans smoke, specifically UK, French, and Spanish. They smoke for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They are smoking cigarettes nonstop. My favorite people I met from the group were from Norway and South Africa. As I mentioned before I do not connect well with most mainland Europeans and this trip reaffirmed this fact. I realized I believe in Peninsula supremacy, I think people raised on peninsulas are superior species. That is just a joke but I do believe people raised near the water and beaches are typically more adventurous, outgoing, cool and down to earth. That is why I liked the Norwegians and South Africans I met. I also met a 28 year old guy from Lao who is a tech startup founder. We had a long and nice technical conversation. Next another big takeaway from the trip was how I was always late, the last person to return to the group after our activities. For example, the leader of our 9 person group would say "40 minutes to explore the waterfall" and I would come back 1.5 hrs later. This happened at every stop. It is an interesting phenomena I will dissect now. I have been in a lot of group dynamics, mostly due to attending Camp Coleman summer camp for 5+ years growing up. As a kid I always feared and respected authority. I was always the guy who wanted to be back on time and not anger the adults. My friends were more rebellious than me and laughed in authorities face. I learned from them and took some of their energy and learned the benefits and drawbacks of this approach over time. Now that I am an adult, traveling the world on my own dime, I do not want someone telling me when or where you have to be. Of course I understand going on a group trip you have to respect other's time and this is what I signed up for, however I still did everything on my own and own time. It was interesting seeing how my friends when I was 11 years old could teach me so much at 25. This also means you always must keep childish energy alive. Don't be too serious and have fun in life! Some people just follow authority blindly and are so serious. This is also why I hope to never work for someone else again or at least have a sense of real freedom of expression and fun within the work environment. People tell so many white lies, including myself, just to be politically correct or make someone feel better. I am committed to an era of unfiltered honesty. I think you can see that and understand that from this blog. Well that was a really fun post. Today I drove over 200 km from Ha Giang to lake Ba Be. I have been motorbiking for 20 days and will keep on kicking!

After a much-needed four-night rest in Sapa, I'm drove 250-kilometers today to Ha Giang to start the legendary Ha Giang Loop tomorrow. In Sapa, I did some trekking through the local indigenous communities , had some good food, and got to go back to the gym. One thing I really like about Vietnam, and I think is poised for great economic and social growth in the future, is how many babies there are. When you look at the data online, Vietnam's median age is 35, and everybody knows a young workforce is very beneficial for the economy. In the U.S. or Japan, an aging workforce really puts a strain on the economic well-being. Even in the streets, you see babies on the back of motorcycles in a little sack being carried by their mom, or even kids as young as six or seven years old carrying baby siblings as well. It's crazy to see. It's really awesome how much life there is here. One of the most lively countries, I think, just because of how young and how many babies there are. While being in Sapa, I let my mind wander about the future of the world and what society needs. When I was on the top of my homestay in the middle of the mountains in rural Vietnam you still get lightning-fast Wi-Fi. Even the most rural indigenous communities are connected to the Internet and have phones. As society scales into the future, more and more people will be connected to the Internet, and then that means more and more people will need to have access to AI and other cutting-edge technologies. I think almost everybody in the world has access to some form of Internet, but how will AI accessibility be brought into the world? I mean, anybody can download ChatGPT right now, but I want to think about this deeper. Also, the need for fuel. There's so many motorbikes here, and every gas station is always slammed. As we go into the future, more and more people are going to need to consume more and more fuel to fuel vehicles, industry, manufacturing… There's so many different methods of producing energy, and I'm definitely a big proponent of clean energy, the biggest fan of nuclear energy. In a later post I will do a deep dive on the various clean energy forms and my takes. Lastly, I have been thinking of various freelancing methods to make money. Things that have come to mind are tutoring, pub design, website design. It is important to do something you enjoy. Your time should be spent enjoying rather than slaving away at something you do not care about. Happy Pesach, this year I really think I embodied the theme of leaving Egypt and slavery and venturing out into the unknown. I want to give a full detailed post to this idea as well. 4 Days, 3 nights on the legendary Ha Giang Loop starts tomorrow. I will see you all then!

Today was a much-needed rest day from riding my bike. When I woke up, I had a great FaceTime call with Zach and Jared. It's amazing having close friends you can always share your life and laugh with. Life is meant for sharing. In the past, I wasn't as open about my inner world. I used to think people had to "earn" the right to get to know me better. But through my travels — and especially through this blog — I've learned to put myself out there. I feel like I have so much to give, to share, and to teach. I've realized I'm a natural teacher. I loved tutoring and coaching math teams growing up. Through this blog, many people have reached out to me saying it's helped them or challenged their perspectives. Life is like a beautiful canvas waiting to be designed. And a beautiful painting isn't meant to hang alone in your bedroom — it's meant to be shared and enjoyed by everyone. People have different tastes in art, of course. That's why I'm hesitant to give advice. Everyone is so different. I can only share what has worked for me, based on my own experiences. That, to me, is a big sign of personal growth. In university, I used to tell people how to meditate or how they should spend less time on their phones. Even though those things are important, there's no one-size-fits-all solution. Today, I met up with Rachel again and shared everything that's happened to me over the past month. It was surreal having a real, in-person conversation after not having one for almost a month. As my good friend Kyle and I once discovered, talking and sharing your experiences out loud helps you fully realize how wild your journey has been. Riding my bike alone through the countryside of Vietnam for the past 10 days, I hadn't fully processed how cool and adventurous it really was. But when I shared even the small stories with someone else, I could finally embody just how meaningful it all was. Verbalizing experiences is powerful. The power of words is powerful. And hopefully, sharing it all through this blog is just as impactful. If you've been following this site over the past six months, you may have noticed a big update to the design. This is the third iteration, and I'm really happy with how it looks. I hope you enjoy it too. I even bought a domain name, and I'll be posting it on Google so more people can discover it and hopefully share in the experience. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you.

So, I turned 25 on Monday. Twenty-five is, I think, a strong age. Birthdays are always a good time for reflection. Humans love marking milestones, and I think it's important. If there were no cycles in life, there would be nothing to look forward to. The cyclical nature of the planets and stars literally dictates our mindsets. If there were no patterns, we'd just be floating aimlessly. So, I began writing down some things I care about at the age of 25. These things make up my current ego. Here's what I've got so far: - Sleep: Become professional sleeper - Sports - basketball, soccer, surf, snowboard, pickleball, pádel, weightlifting - Water- drink ample water - Fruit shakes - coconut, mango, passion fruit - Tea - really dive into benefits of tea culture - Sauna - Sun- live my the beach, sun keeps you energized - Adventure and travel - Sushi - Judaism - Read/write - Music: karaoke, guitar, dance There is no real reason or deep explanation behind these things. While riding my bike, I thought about aspects of my life that I like and want to continue improving upon, and these came up. I'll elaborate a little on the first one, "Sleep," because it might seem odd at first. Sleeping in dorm rooms around the world for half a year made me truly appreciate the necessity of a good night's rest to tackle the following day with energy. I've experienced some extremely uncomfortable sleeps. When I don't sleep well, I wake up cranky and tired, and I can't give my best self to the world. I've realized the importance of becoming a professional sleeper. Now, let me also comment on the importance of the sun. I've been in Vietnam for just under two weeks. The weather is mild but cloudy, and I feel less energized when the sun isn't shining. I really hope to live somewhere sunny year-round and close to nature. I'm very grateful I was raised in Florida, but I took that sun for granted. Okay, now about today: I drove for five hours, quite far and long. The past ten days on my bike, I've been out of civilization. This has happened throughout my trip. Today, I arrived in Sapa, a major city in Northern Vietnam. It's always weird readjusting to civilization. Everything is easier. You can go to a grocery store or have a well-cooked meal. On the adventure away from society, these things aren't a given. It makes you appreciate modern society, but also realize its drawbacks. I hear so much street noise while writing this, which is a stark contrast to the quietness and serenity of the mountains. But the mountains don't have Snickers and coconut water at convenience stores downstairs. There are pros and cons to organized society and culture. I think being able to move between the wild and the tame is a beautiful tango.

Today was amazing. It was my favorite day riding my bike so far. It started off with waking up after one of the best sleeps I've had on my whole trip. I treated myself to a private room in a resort for my birthday. The bed was comfy, the temperature was perfect, and my room was by a river. I slept throughout the night and didn't have to be concerned with obnoxious roommates. After waking up refreshed, I turned on the University of Florida vs. University of Houston NCAA Basketball championship. I was able to stream it on Streameast easily. I watched the whole game. UF won the national title, and I was so happy. I almost cried, but I didn't. I wish I had been watching the game with friends at a crowded sports bar. One of the first things I'm going to do when I get home is go to a Gator football game. After watching the game, I checked out and continued my journey. I wanted to go to a gym, but all of the gyms in the area were closed. I had some of the best beef pho of my whole trip for lunch. I drove through beautiful villages and terraced rice fields. I swerved around the mountainside, going up and down with the wind in my face. What an awesome feeling. I found a cheap homestay on Booking.com and tried to drive to it. Google Maps took me up a mountain and through dirt roads. It said I was 5 minutes away from the homestay when I approached a path I could not navigate with my bike. I decided to turn around and head back down the mountain. Night was about to fall, so I wanted to get off the mountain quickly. I checked my email, and the homestay had given clearer instructions on how to get there. I drove another 30 minutes back up the mountain, but in a different direction. My bike barely made it. I had to go up literal 45-degree inclines. I safely arrived just before nightfall. I am now far up in the mountains with a Hmong family. Somehow, they have Wi-Fi. This is probably the most authentic experience I've had. I've hunted with the Hadza in Tanzania, trekked through rural Nepalese villages, and lived on a local Lao farm, but this homestay is truly unique. I am the only one here, high up on the hills in the middle of nowhere, Vietnam. Pigs are oinking outside my door. I ate dinner with the family. They made chicken, sweet potatoes, lots of rice, and some other things I have no clue about. I tried chicken blood, and it wasn't bad. As I'm writing this, I realize I'm not giving the day full justice. I'll never be able to put into words what I'm seeing and experiencing. I'm doing the best I can to share my experiences and learnings with anyone reading this. Thanks for sticking with me, and I'm sorry I can't fully convey the scenes.

Why did the chicken cross the road? I never really knew where this age-old saying came from—until I bought a motorbike and drove through rural Vietnam. Picture this: you're riding through mountainous landscapes, past beautiful terraced rice fields and lush jungle. You weave up and down hills while dodging wildlife at every turn. First, the cows. They're the easiest to avoid—slow and usually hanging out on the side of the road, minding their business. Second, the dogs. These dogs are unbothered. They lie in the middle of the road and don't flinch when a bike approaches. They're like big, hairy rocks. I think they're just so malnourished that they lie there, tired and unmoving. Finally, the most lethal: the chickens. Chickens are skittish and travel in groups, usually one mama and a bunch of chicks. For some reason, they always run across the road—always! Just as you're riding by, they sprint directly in front of your bike. It's wild. Super dangerous for them, and for me. I'll be cruising along and suddenly—six chickens dart across the road. Sometimes they even take flight if it's too close. The worst thing would be to annihilate a chicken and crash. I've had a few close calls, all involving chickens. There are also water buffalo, goats, and horses out here, but they're no threat—they usually stay off in the grass, far from the road. Today I drove three hours to the very mountainous region of Tà Xùa. Last night I stayed at a nice homestay where I was the only guest. This morning, I even had to board a boat to cross a river—pretty cool. Tà Xùa is famous for cloud hunting, or săn mây in Vietnamese. It sounds strange, but it's actually a big thing here. Since it's a Vietnamese holiday this weekend, a lot of young locals have flocked to Tà Xùa. Vietnamese youth love going phượt, which means backpacking or motorbiking to wild places. It's really cool to see domestic tourism like that. This region is also home to many Hmong people—an ethnic minority originally from the mountainous areas of China. They're recognizable by their elaborate, colorful embroidered scarves. Just before dark, I managed to catch a glimpse of the famed sea of clouds. It was nice, but not mind-blowing. The roads, though? Absolutely brutal. Imagine riding at a 55-degree incline over rocks and sludge, inside clouds and mist. Not for the weak. It's crazy being out here all alone. One of my friends asked if I feel lonely. I don't. I don't even feel out of place. I feel like I was born to do this. Tomorrow is my birthday—I'll be turning 25. I'm very grateful for this adventure and this beautiful life. Maybe I'll splurge on a nice private room to celebrate. I'm not a big birthday person, but it's always interesting to see who reaches out. Tomorrow? I drive—and drive some more.

They fixed my drone in Hanoi yesterday! I drove a total of 9 hours on the bike yesterday. That means today I chilled heavy. I am currently in the Mai Chau district. It's a nice area in a valley surrounded by beautiful rice fields. There are a lot of Israeli backpackers here — it seems like a secret Israeli spot. I drove back to Pu Luong today to see the beautiful mountainous terraced rice fields. I ran in the morning but not very well. The altitude really makes running hard. I want to say some things about countries, cultures, and ethnicities. Many times when I think of a country — for example, "Vietnam" — I group all the people together as "Vietnamese people." This is a very 2025 limited worldview. Traveling throughout SE Asia, I've learned about the complexity of ethnic, cultural, and national identities. It's very stupid to view people purely by their nationality — especially in countries where the nations themselves are less than 100 years old. This hit home while traveling in the mountains. You pass various ethnic minority villages, which are not "Vietnamese" per se. Vietnam is home to 54 officially recognized ethnic groups, with the Kinh (Viet) being the largest, making up about 85% of the population. The remaining 53 ethnic minorities include groups with distinct languages, traditions, and histories. Through my travels, it seems that people identify most closely with their ethnicity. I can say that's true even for myself. When you take a look at yourself and ask "Who am I?", what do you think? Your ethnicity greatly influences your culture and customs — much more than your nationality, I'd argue. I want to integrate into the culture here more. I think that comes with understanding the diverse ethnic and cultural history. Riding a motorbike for so many hours alone is great for some introspection. My birthday is in three days. I think life is about never being satisfied. You can always improve. You can improve your mind, body, spirituality, emotions. I'm not satisfied. I want to improve in all my faculties. That being said, you have to have respect and happiness for the current state of things — and recognize how far you've come.

In the morning, I was a rural Vietnamese schoolgirl. In the afternoon, I was a local bike mechanic. Now, I am a big-city tech guy. These are the various faces and walks of life I encountered today. I woke up at 5:45 AM on a mission—to fix MR Drone! I left Pu Luong for Hanoi, driving through beautiful rural villages, passing all the little kids on their way to school. They were riding small electric bikes. It was cute, and I felt like one of them. It reminded me of when I used to drive to school at 6 AM in high school. I was so tired I almost crashed every day—but somehow, I never did. I stopped for gas and coffee. The lady gave me drip coffee, which I had never had before. I was in a rush, so I barely drank any of it before continuing my drive. Slowly, I exited the rural mountains and entered the lowlands. About two hours in, I stopped for an oil change. The guy who sold me my bike told me to get one every 600 km. It had been 600 km, so I stopped to be safe. I want to take good care of it. I pulled up to a random bike shop, and the guy changed my oil. Another guy in the shop was holding and petting the most beautiful chicken I have ever seen. I continued my journey. The first 2.5 hours were adrenaline-filled and went by quickly. The last two hours were grueling. As I got closer to Hanoi, I found myself stuck behind so many trucks, dirt kicking up in my face. The city traffic was nauseating. I swerved in and out between vehicles. I was on a mission. You can't stop a man on a mission. It feels good to be a man on a mission. To be a man on a mission, you have to care a lot about the cause. I really felt like I was in a video game—starting at the crack of dawn in the rural mountains of Vietnam, speeding down winding roads, and now navigating the chaos of the city, dodging cars and bikes. I was frustrated I had to do this. But I told myself I couldn't complain. How could I? I had bought a bike, was riding through Vietnam with no real destination, no deadlines, and was heading to fix a really nice drone! I arrived in Hanoi at 11 AM. It was a five-hour journey. I took the drone to the shop. At first, they told me it would take 2–3 days to fix. I told them I'd just go to another shop. No way were they that busy. They ended up taking the drone. Then, they told me I needed to replace the entire PCB—for a hefty price. Since I studied EE, I knew they were yanking my chain. I asked to speak with the technician. He explained the issue: the USB-C connector was broken, and the top layer of copper was ripped off. I knew some people at TI who could have soldered the connector back on—granted, these are probably some of the best PCB technicians in the world. But I obliged, agreeing to replace the whole PCB for the price. I just really wanted the drone back, and quickly. It wasn't worth my time or effort to find someone to fix it by hand. That brings up an interesting idea about cost and economics. Pricing is a function of demand but also of how badly the consumer wants something and how quickly. These repair shops must have insane profit margins. People will pay a premium for speed. I'm now waiting for the drone. Hopefully, he finishes soon with no problems. I want to drive back to the mountains today—I don't want to stay in Hanoi. The weather here is nice for the first time since I've been here, and yet, I'm sitting in a drone shop. Oh well. I can't complain!

I took the morning slow. I had a comfy bed and a nice private room for 8 dollars. I got to do some pushups, stretches, and abs. The owner of the homestay told me a route to take to get to my next destination. I followed his advice, hoping to see some stunning views. I drove for about 30 minutes through very remote villages. It was so cool. I drove until I noticed the road stopped. I was in a local village and tried to ask for directions. I didn't know if I should keep going or turn around. Sometimes you have to drive on unpaved roads to reach the good views, and I thought this was one of those. I managed to communicate with a local farmer. She told me to turn around. I did so and checked the map to see where I went wrong. I'd gone down the wrong road. The journey is all about getting lost anyway. Before I started driving again, I stopped for some coffee. I was sitting on a beautiful patio overlooking rice fields. I ate crackers. Some local guys invited me to sit with them. I joined them, and they made me drink beer. I obliged. It's fun laughing with each other when you have no idea what the other is saying. I thanked them and headed off north. I continued to drive and passed through the terraced rice fields the homestay owner had talked about. I took out my drone and got some awesome footage. I noticed my drone's battery was dying, so I plugged it into my portable charger. The drone slipped from my hand, but the charging cord stayed attached. When I grabbed it to store it, I noticed the USB-C port had detached. I could no longer charge my drone. I was actually really sad. I've been loving flying the drone and want it for my biking adventure. I didn't know what to do. I redownloaded WeChat and asked the DJI rep. Long story short, I spent the rest of the afternoon driving around town, trying to find a place to fix it. I went to local electronics stores to see if they could help. I know it's an easy fix, having soldered many PCBs before. I used a translator to explain the issue. People were willing to help. The problem was that the screws connecting the case, which covers the internal circuitry, were very small, and nobody could find the right size bit. Someone eventually found the right bit, but after messing with it so much, they ended up stripping the screws. So close, yet so far. I contemplated what to do. I researched and found a DJI-authorized drone repair shop in Hanoi. I decided tomorrow I'll wake up early and drive 4 hours to get it fixed, hopefully. I found a homestay near the beautiful terraced rice fields. The owner wanted 150,000 dong, or almost 6 dollars. On Booking.com, it was 3 dollars! I showed her, and she gave me the three-dollar price. Tomorrow morning, I'll start my mission to fix my drone. Nothing can stop a man on a mission. I hope they can fix it and that it's worth it so I can take amazing footage throughout northern Vietnam.

Yesterday was cool, but today was way cooler. I slept pretty well and left touristy Ninh Binh to head north. This was my first biking experience in the mountains and rural Vietnam. I felt so grateful, riding with the wind in my face through unbelievably beautiful landscapes. I felt energized and free. Rice fields and mountains surrounded me on all sides. I put my destination into Google Maps, which offered a couple of different routes. I asked ChatGPT which one I should take for the most beautiful scenery, and it recommended the slightly longer one. When I reached the intersection between the two routes, I decided to take the longer one with no large cars. It led me through small villages and roads with no other tourists—or even other vehicles—in sight. The scenery was incredible. I rode fast and confidently. About an hour and a half in, I was hyped, flying downhill. Out of nowhere, the nice paved road turned to gravel, dirt, and stones. Anyone who has ridden a motorbike knows that gravel is your worst enemy. I didn't have enough time to slow down. I slammed on the brakes, but I had too much momentum going downhill. My back wheel lost traction and started swerving left and right. I lost control. When I finally regained control, I thought I was safe—but I still couldn't slow down. Since I was riding a semi-automatic bike, shifting gears was crucial. I tried to shift down to regain control. A lower gear helps slow you down naturally without relying too much on the brakes, preventing skidding. It also gives you better stability and traction, which is crucial on loose gravel. Anyway, I was absolutely booking it down this hill at about 60 km/h, my back wheel still swerving side to side. Somehow, I didn't crash and made it safely. Not to toot my own horn, but I think this cements me as one of the greatest all-terrain motorbike riders in history. I told you back in Gainesville that I was UF's top rider—now my accolades just keep stacking up. After this adrenaline-filled experience, I was still shocked that I didn't totally eat it. I pulled off to the side of the road and found a beautiful hidden rice field. I took out my drone and got some amazing shots. Some Vietnamese guy tried to talk to me, but he didn't understand that I didn't speak a lick of Vietnamese. I continued driving. Then, about five minutes later, the phone holder on my motorbike broke. I caught my phone between my legs just in time. The phone holder is absolutely essential for maps and navigating through the mountains of Vietnam. I thought I was screwed. But I literally drove 100 meters, asked the first shop if they had a phone holder, and they did! The woman helped me install it, and I was able to head off with no problems. Well, actually, I did notice that my rack, where I store my bags, had snapped a little—but I don't think it will affect its functionality. I kept driving through insane landscapes, stopping a couple more times to fly my drone. Around 5:00 PM, I made it to Pu Luong. The views kept getting better and better—terraced rice fields and the coolest villages I had ever driven through. I turned down some random roads and was continually amazed by the landscapes. I found a nice homestay before dark and negotiated the price down by 1,000,000 dong. Now, I'm in a nice private room. I drank rice wine with the owner, and we chatted a little bit. Today was amazing.