When One Door Closes, Another Opens

The moment I discovered that every time I came out of the Hương River after my regular swim, I would have a runny nose and red eyes for the next dozen hours, I was puzzled. Before that, I had swum in the same river for five years without any problems. At first, I thought I was simply coming down with a cold or the flu, but the symptoms kept coming back every single time I swam. I became terrified, but I did not give up right away.

I tried swimming with my head held high, keeping my eyes, nose, and mouth out of the water. I thought I had found a way around the problem—but not quite. Tilting my head upward while swimming made my cervical spondylosis worse.

Eventually, I quit swimming in the river for a few years, but my thirst for the Hương River and for open-water swimming never went away. I felt rather hopeless until Auntie Dần, one of my swimming buddies and neighbours, told me that she sometimes went swimming at Thuận An Beach, about 17 kilometres from our homes. I hesitated at first, especially when she told me that she usually left home at around 4:30 a.m. to head for the sea. But I decided to give it a try. I had no other choice if I wanted to keep swimming.

Of course, I had swum in the waters along this beach before, but mostly in the afternoon—not at dawn like this time. We arrived at the beach at around 5:00 a.m. In the dim light before sunrise, with a few stars still lingering in the sky, several dozen people were already there. Some were walking along the shore; some were covering themselves with sand from the neck down—a practice that many regular beachgoers here believe can detoxify the body or help with rheumatic ailments; others were already taking a dip in the sea.

Leaving the familiar Hương River and making the ocean my new swimming home felt completely unfamiliar and exciting. Before long, I began to get to know Thuận An Sea and its morning community.

Most of the people who take a dip in the sea here at dawn are not swimmers, but people who turn to the ocean because of health problems. They simply consider the ocean their therapist—whether for their mind, body, or both. So it is hardly surprising to find them here in all kinds of weather, rain or shine, whether the sea is calm or the waves are big.

Sometimes, as I watch the sun rise above the horizon and think about my journey from the Hương River to Thuận An Sea, I feel like a salmon. I always laugh at the thought, but in a way, it is true. I began my love affair with open-water swimming in the fresh water of the Hương River, and now I swim in the ocean, which has become my second haven.

The Mother, the Teacher, and the Lessons Learned

The Hương River is like my second mother—tender, comforting, and steady—while Thuận An Sea is a great teacher: generous, mighty, and yet unpredictable. The river gives me a sense of belonging and being pampered, while the ocean gives me a sense of freedom, courage, and, sometimes, a touch of magic.

I have been moved almost to tears a few times when a brave little fish followed me through the water or when dozens of tiny krill tickled my face as they jumped around me. To me, every morning trip to the sea feels like a mini holiday, especially when I swim in warm rain, glide toward the rising sun, or suddenly find myself beneath a rainbow arching over the beach.

After swimming in Thuận An Sea almost every day for several years and witnessing the ocean’s changing moods and power through the seasons, I have learned to enjoy it with caution, humility, and respect. I have also had to learn about water safety and how to read wave forecasts. My learning journey with the ocean will probably never be complete, but deep down, I know that it has made me a stronger and better swimmer.

The Unexpected Rewards

The journey to the beach is quite a long one, but it is also exciting because there are always interesting things waiting for me to discover and photograph. I try to bring my camera whenever I can so that I can capture the special moments before and after sunrise along the way: fishermen on Thanh Lam Lagoon, farmers working in the paddy fields, sea-goers and buyers at Thuận An Seaport, bustling fish markets, dense mangrove forests, and so much more.

I have also gradually discovered that Thuận An is more than just a destination for swimming and sightseeing. It is also a watering hole for delicious local food. After an hour in the sea, I can satisfy my greedy appetite with fresh seafood from the early morning catch, tasty cơm hến (clam rice) from O Lệ, savoury bún riêu cua (rice vermicelli with crab broth, crab paste, tomato, and fresh herbs), spicy bún bò Huế (Huế-style beef noodle soup), and the list goes on.

Sometimes, I gently blame myself for có trăng quên đèn—forgetting the familiar light while chasing the moon—when I realize how much of my swimming time I now spend in the sea. But I know I shouldn’t. The Hương River still holds a very special place in my heart, and from time to time, when the river water is clean and clear, I still go for a swim there. Of course, I make sure to clean my nose and mouth with deep-sea saline spray before each swim.

The Hương River will always be my second mother, and the sea will forever be one of my greatest teachers.

And I love them both.

Lan Huế

August 31, 2026