You Can Travel Vietnam in a Luxury Train Car With a 3-Course Lunch

In its heyday over a century ago, American rail travel might have been grand — or at a minimum exciting — but a recent turn on the New Jersey Transit felt anything but. On the way to Newark Airport to catch the first of several flights to Vietnam, I nabbed the last seat in a commuter-packed car. The carriage screeched as it lurched out of Penn Station at a worrisome pitch. A grimy film climbed the train’s interior like toxic black mold in a leaky house. Seated next to me, a British traveler shared his disdain with us all. “This may be the worst train I’ve ever seen,” he uttered with Notting Hill conviction. I shrugged, unable to muster a defense. So it was, with this recent memory of America’s crumbling infrastructure, that I boarded The Vietage by Anantara. 

The brainchild of Bill Heinecke, founder of the Anantara Hotel group, The Vietage launched to connect Anantara’s beloved property in historic Hoi An with its newer all-villa beach resort in Quy Nhon. The luxury carriage, attached like a caboose to Vietnam’s North-South railway line, would transport well-heeled guests to the lesser visited province of Binh Dinh by connecting its capital city of Quy Nhon to Da Nang, the gateway to Hoi An. 

The Vietage took four years to evolve from an idea to reality with the inaugural journey on July 1, 2020. Given the growing popularity of train transport, a mode that allows tourists to see a country while skipping the carnage and carbon footprint of airports, Heinecke decided to add a second leg to Nha Trang. The result: The Vietage will link three cities across an approximately 330-mile route in Central Vietnam by luxury rail. The new route launches on May 15. 

My trip began at Anantara Hoi An. After a two-day stay, I checked out around 7 a.m. and took a private car transfer to Da Nang station. The Vietage makes two trips a day. I booked the six-hour morning itinerary out of Da Nang to Quy Nhon.

At the station, a young man in a flax linen jacket bearing a sign for The Vietage escorted our small group into a waiting room where another staff member offered cold towels and hibiscus tea. Once the train whistled into the platform, the team accompanied us to the end of the line where two cars bearing The Vietage name awaited.

Clutching my novelty ticket, I stepped aboard and scanned the space. Each carriage featured six private compartments with two seats (or one sleeper on the night journey) to accommodate a total of 12 passengers. Gray upholstered banquettes framed in dark wood were partly shielded by rattan cane screens and thick cream-colored curtains. The elegant design nodded at Indochine style, thanks to Hoang Le Ha, director of ShapeUs Studio in Ho Chi Minh City. 

After settling in, staff delivered a light breakfast of warm pastries. I plucked a buttery croissant and a pain au chocolat from the basket and ordered a cappuccino.

Through a big picture window, I watched rural life unfurl. The train passed through thinning cityscapes, emerging into an emerald-hued countryside of rice fields cut by irrigation channels. Motorbikes piled up at railroad crossings; sampans, or traditional wooden fishing boats, traversed rivers and waterways; farmers donning conical nón lá hats made of woven leaves, worked the rice paddies.

In the backdrop, wooded mountains hinted at the hinterland’s topography, while red brick towers rising from distant fields informed its history. The region, along with swaths of Laos and Cambodia, was once the domain of the forgotten kingdom of Champa, the towers its former citadels and temples. At its peak between the 7th and 10th centuries, the Cham controlled key routes of the spice and silk trade, eventually falling to the Vietnamese in the 1400s.

After breakfast, a young woman dressed in a robin’s egg blue Ao Dai informed me I could have a 15-minute shoulder rub in the massage room. Following her through the well-appointed bar car, I noted the inviting space with its semi-circular stone slab framed in black leather stools.

Around 11 a.m., staff began prepping the three-course lunch menu. I had selected my choices via email in advance. Dishes took inspiration from regional flavors and ingredients. Starters included a Quy Nhon seafood salad with green papaya, carrot and mint; a duck terrine drizzled in a sweet, tart sauce of Da Lat strawberries topped with cranberry jam infused with Hoi An spices; or a green bean and quinoa salad peppered with lemongrass, tofu, peanuts and Hoi An chili sauce. I chose the latter as a fan of the bright citrus-scented grass paired to bean curd.

For mains, the menu had two meat options: a Hoi An chicken rice and a braised wagyu beef neck. I went with beef and was treated to tender meat steeped in green tea and sesame jus accented with matchsticks of local veggies. Desserts highlighted the Vietnamese predilection for tropical fruits as a sweet course, like fuchsia-hued dragon fruit served in a compote atop a passion fruit tart or strawberries layered atop a creamy coconut yogurt trimmed with local basil. 

I had a preview of the wine list over email, so I knew it would be good. I started with a brisk sparkling from Australia, sampled a grassy Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, then moved to a creamy Chardonnay from Chile, before finishing with Italian Primitivo, served with the beef. Bend-over-backwards service handled any request, including my wish for half glass pours so I could taste the wines without wasting or over-imbibing.

Vietnam boasts several craft gin producers who infuse the white spirit with local botanicals, a fact I discovered on The Vietage. Guests can sample them neat or try one in a specialty cocktail or a classic gin and tonic. For an additional cost, the reserve wine list sells Champagne, Burgundy, Barolo, and Bordeaux.

After lunch, I checked the complimentary Wi-Fi which proved functional and fast. Then I decided to savor the moment by disconnecting. With slippers on my feet and a neck pillow behind my head, I curled up and let the scenery unspool, knowing I had a rude ride on the New Jersey Transit waiting upon my return.