Fever and Stone: What Vietnam Taught Me About Illness, Surrender, and Scent

Scent Trail – Episode 8: Vietnam

Some places whisper. Others demand.

Vietnam didn’t ask me to slow down, it stopped me entirely.

In the middle of a solo journey, I arrived in Hanoi with a fever and no plan.

I thought I came for inspiration. Instead, I was stripped down to my senses.

This is what illness taught me about surrender, and how a scent, anchored in water, smoke, and stone, can still carry a story forward.

The Descent

It began in stillness.

A quiet hotel room. A body unraveling.

Outside, the rain fell in sheets. Motorbikes sliced through mist. A train arrived like a ritual, horn first, then thunder.

I watched from a fever dream, my body aching, temples pounding.

And yet… there were moments. A woman by the lake selling lotus seeds with quiet grace. Lanterns glowing in the trees. The sharp red flash of a flag in the storm.

Everything was soaked. Including me.

The Stillness

I left Hanoi to find rest, and instead met awe.

Boarding a boat into Ha Long Bay felt like boarding myself. The version I had forgotten in the noise.

Massive stone rose from the water, silent and holy. Gray-green monoliths, holding centuries in stillness.

The scent was sea and shadow. Limestone and oyster. Rain on skin. Salt on soul.

There were no answers out there on the water, just space. And in that space, I softened.

The Return

I came back to the streets weaker in body, but steadier in spirit.

Temples burned with incense. French balconies leaned over market chaos. Statues stood still and watching.

In Vietnam, I lost my strength, and found it again. Not in power, but in surrender.

How This Lives in My Work

At Artisane, I work with scent as memory. With wax as a way to hold emotion.

What I lived in Vietnam is exactly what I try to bottle, not just a fragrance, but a feeling.

Fever and Stone became a chapter in me, and perhaps soon, a candle too. Something that smells of rain, salt, and silence. Of being broken open. Of being changed.

Because sometimes the most powerful transformation doesn’t come in fire or celebration, but in the quiet drip of surrender, in the shadowy places where we remember who we are.

For Those Who Know

This episode is for anyone who’s had to break down in order to return to themselves.

For those who know that beauty sometimes waits behind fever.

For those learning to find strength, not in pushing forward, but in letting go.

With ash, water, and memory,

Mélanie