There are certain things you don’t go to for fun. The War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City is one of them. You don’t cross it off a bucket list with a grin, the way you might a theme park or a famous meal. You cross it off with a lump in your throat, maybe with your stomach in knots.
This place doesn’t pull its punches. It hits you square in the face with the cost of war—the real cost, the kind you don’t see in movies or glossy history books. There are rooms filled with photographs of mangled bodies, faces twisted in terror, landscapes scorched and broken. There are blood-stained clothes behind glass, rusted weapons, It’s heavy. It’s horrifying. And it’s necessary.
Walking through, you can’t help but feel the weight. It strips away the romance of battle, the heroics, the flag-waving nonsense. It forces you to see war for what it really is: a machine that grinds up human beings—soldiers, civilians, children—indiscriminately. And the worst part? You realize it’s not some distant, ancient tragedy. It happened here. Not long ago. To people who could be your parents, your neighbors, yourself.
When I was younger, I thought about joining the military. Adventure, discipline, a sense of purpose—it all sounded noble. But you grow up, you travel, and you see enough of the world to realize something: people everywhere want the same things. A roof over their heads. Food on the table. A little peace. A chance for their kids to live better than they did. That’s it. Strip away the politics, the borders, the propaganda, and we’re all running on the same human software.
And that’s what makes the museum important. It’s not fun. It’s not easy. But it’s grounding. It reminds you that war isn’t an abstraction—it’s shattered bodies, lost lives, and grief that echoes for generations. It’s what happens when we stop seeing that common humanity in each other.
By the time you leave, you’re not smiling. You’re not bragging. You’re quiet. You’re thinking about how lucky you are to never have lived through something like that. And maybe—if you’re paying attention—you’re thinking about how to make sure it never happens again.
Some places entertain. Some educate. This one confronts. And maybe that’s exactly why it deserves a place on your bucket list. Not to check a box, but to remind yourself of what’s at stake when we forget that, at the end of the day, we’re all just people trying to get by
