Walking through the streets of Hanoi, one quickly learns that the city is stitched together not only by its roads and markets but also by its many lakes. They appear almost unexpectedly, tucked between boulevards and neighborhoods, each with its own character. Around them, life unfolds in a way that feels both casual and timeless—couples stroll hand in hand, old men sip tea while playing chess, and small cafés spill onto the sidewalks, offering buttery croissants and rich Vietnamese coffee. At times, it feels like Paris has quietly borrowed a corner of Hanoi and left its charm behind.
But among all of these lakes, there is one that holds a far different weight on my bucket list: Huu Tiep Lake, more commonly known as the B-52 Lake. Unlike the romantic air of the others, this lake carries with it the heavy hand of history. In its center, jutting out of the still water like a clenched fist, are the twisted remains of a U.S. B-52 bomber. Its landing gear and broken fuselage still protrude above the surface, scarred with bullet holes, its metal body rusted and weathered by decades.
The story is stark. This plane was shot down during the height of the Vietnam War, crashing into the lake in the middle of battle. I cannot—and perhaps should not—imagine what became of the soldiers who were inside, but standing there, I felt both awe and solemnity. There’s something undeniably raw about how the wreckage remains untouched, left exactly as it fell. It is not hidden, not polished into a museum piece, but allowed to rest there in the open, a quiet yet powerful reminder of sacrifice, loss, and resilience.
I found it strangely admirable—badass, even—that the Vietnamese government chose not to remove it, but instead to let it serve as a commemoration. It speaks both to the bravery of the American soldiers who fought and to the determination of the Vietnamese people who defended their homeland. It is, at once, a memorial and a victory marker.
Sitting in a nearby café, sipping coffee with the sight of a downed bomber just meters away, was a surreal experience. It felt dark, yes, even a little morbid—but also profound. To drink something warm and sweet, to hear the chatter of everyday life, while looking at the twisted remains of war—it was a reminder of how far the world has come, how history lingers quietly within the lives we now take for granted.
This is why B-52 Lake holds a special place on my bucket list. It is not beautiful in the conventional sense, but it is powerful. It forces you to pause, to think, to reconcile the weight of history with the ordinary simplicity of a modern café morning. And perhaps that contrast—the clash between past violence and present peace—is what makes it unforgettable.
