In a lot of ways, this place is tourist hell. Fake neon lights bleeding into the night, camera flashes going off every three seconds, overpriced beer that tastes just fine but feels like robbery when you’re counting bills. It’s the kind of scene that makes you roll your eyes—and yet, here I am. Because despite the chaos, it’s an experience worth having, if only once.

I sat there with a cold bottle in my hand, waiting for the train to come barreling through, the tracks just a few feet away. Next to me, an impossibly beautiful woman, someone I barely knew but could talk to for hours, laughing over the noise, trading stories between sips. And in that moment, even in this circus, life felt good.

Then came the ritual. A few people around us started placing their empty Hanoi beer caps on the track. I found out it’s tradition here: let the train run them over, flatten them into souvenirs. Cheap, dangerous, and weirdly poetic. So of course, I had to do it. We ordered two more bottles, drained them quickly, and laid the caps down like offerings. When the train roared past, metal screaming against metal, it left behind two crushed keepsakes—proof we were there, proof we’d played along.

I’ve actually come back a couple of times since. Each time, I do the same thing. Some caps I keep for myself, others I carry home to friends and family. A strange little token from a place that doesn’t make sense, but somehow does.

It’s loud, it’s overpriced, it’s sweaty, it’s absurd. But sitting there, beer in hand, train shaking the ground under your feet—you can’t help but feel alive. And crossing it off the bucket list feels damn good.