Part 2 - Gratitude Vietnam: Holding On, Letting Go

In the final months before leaving, I wrote about everything I was trying to do to keep Gratitude Vietnam still alive. The hope was to pivot, to adapt, to hold fast while the world shifted. But some things, even with the deepest love, and longest hours, cannot be held.

Alongside financial strain and shifting travel restrictions, we faced heartbreak among our retreat family. Rosie had arrived at the villa in a frail, sickly state, riddled with ticks, battling distemper and tick fever. She had regular seizures, and about six weeks before we departed, she had one that didn’t end. We lost her.

In January 2021, when the vet was preparing Rosie to be spayed, I said “yes” to adopting Dusty. It wasn’t part of the plan and I wasn't planning to return to the UK at that point, but there he was - a scrawny, anxious little pup that I just couldn't say no to! Over time he's grown into a gentle, emotionally wise companion who has been by my side ever since.

The Struggle to Leave

Letting go of Vietnam was a storm of uncertainty. I spent eighteen months strapped into remote work, juggling multiple contracts so I could continue paying staff, maintaining the villa, cleaning, gardening, and pool maintenance, always hoping for the next opening. Whenever I planned an event or invited guests, a new COVID wave would cancel it. The books were in the red, and there was no end in sight.

A COVID checkpoint in the rain!

When travel ended and flights evaporated, our only way out was overland travel. We drove the 18+ hours from Hoi An to Hanoi in a storm, through flooded roads, in the eye of a typhoon. We passed many COVID checkpoints which felt immensely threatening, and hid out for a week in the eerily quiet city.

We needed to reach Hanoi to get Dusty’s international travel certificate and the Da Nang office was locked down. In Hanoi we only ventured out the once to the vets, and once the paperwork was ready, went directly to the airport, Dusty stressed out by being in a crate and me on the verge of a panic attack. On landing in Dublin, though, he bounded free like nothing had happened and the surge of relief was overwhelming.

Home in Transit: Our RV Life

The ten-day self-isolation period in Ireland was scary and surreal. From Vietnam’s cautious, mask-wearing society to Dublin’s openness, the contrast was jarring. While quarantined, I arranged Dusty’s European passport, then we took the ferry over to Holyhead, made our way north, and I took my first vaccination en route.

'Hagrid' en route to Yorkshire (did I mention that it didn't drive?)

I’d arrived home to nowhere. My flat in the UK remained rented to a wonderful couple who had made it home during my decade in Asia, so while I was still in Vietnam, I bought a nine-and-a-half-metre American RV, unseen, on auction.

With Zoom coaching from my uncle, I got the electrics, plumbing and heating working and the RV (affectionately named "Hagrid!) turned into a refuge for us both with a kitchen, log burner, and separate bedroom.

Amanpuri (place of peace!) is currently for sale on gumtree - if you happen to be looking for a motorhome...

We stayed at a quiet campsite near Harrogate run by a vivacious lady named Margaret, whose kind, pragmatic, and open-minded outlook and infectious humour was beautiful! Later we moved to the south coast, then to Sudbury in Suffolk. A six-month visit extended to nearly four years (including an RV, a motorhome and a caravan!). During that time, I worked (a lot!), rekindled friendships, learned to accept help, found a wonderful community and came to deeply appreciate life a little more off-the-grid.

Life had found a rhythm again, simple but steady, until Dusty reminded me that even the best-laid plans need to slow down sometimes.

The Dusty Delay

I had flights booked for Costa Rica last September, but Dusty’s body said otherwise. He started limping, pausing on walks, looking to me. The scans revealed arthritis in his knee, and eventually we realised he is also hypermobile which causes transferred pain in his body. Our schedule froze.

Physiotherapy with the incredible Amber at Run Free Physiotherapy in Colchester became a weekly part of our lives (if you're in the area and your dog or horse needs a loving, healing pair of hands - Amber is the human to go to!). Under her patient guidance, I learned to massage his tight muscles, use infrared therapy for prevention, and watch for micro-changes in his walk. The next chapter was postponed, but not forever, and the timing was as it was meant to be!

The Beginning of a New Chapter

When Dusty and I finally landed in Costa Rica last week, it felt like both arrival and exhale. This move could never be a resurrection of Vietnam, but I hope it will become a new tapestry spun from every place I have been, every loss carried, and every lesson learned. Costa Rica feels alive, warm, and full of possibility. I carry in my hands the memory of Rosie’s soft body, the trust of Dusty’s presence, the struggle of working online through crisis, and the faith that what we build now can be gentler, wiser, and more resilient.

Resilience is something I have needed in spades these past two weeks! You'll see why in the posts to come...