Bourdain was living the life that most people can’t even dare to fathom. Yet, he killed himself.

The lanterns lining the streets of Hoi An and the waters of the Hoai River lit up the night sky. On the fourteenth day of every lunar month, when the full moon shines the brightest, the ancient city of Hoi An lights up in celebration of its monthly lantern festival. Thousands of colorful silk lanterns lining the streets and floating paper lanterns across the Hoai River illuminate the entire ancient town, bringing joy to the visual senses and a sense of calm to the soul in a chaotic country.

I was lucky enough to witness it in February 2024, still considered winter in Northern Vietnam. I arrived in Hoi An from Da Nang, and as I checked in to my modest accommodation, I was told about the lantern festival that night and that I shouldn’t miss going to the old town. Following instructions from a local like a good traveler, I went to the old town in the evening to walk around and familiarize myself with the area. As the sun started setting, the lanterns began lighting up one after another, and soon enough, the entire old town looked like a beautiful painting. I walked around taking in all the beauty, and as my stomach started a low rumble, I knew I had to get a bite to eat.

While researching Hoi An, I found that this town was home to the famous Banh Mi place that Bourdain ate at, the one where he famously called the banh mi a “symphony in a sandwich.”

Of course, I had to have that sandwich on my first night in Hoi An.

So, I walked through the beautifully lit streets, anticipating the taste of my banh mi. Once I got there, I was surprised to see that the restaurant still maintained its original look. It was still a sweet little traditional spot with 15 different kinds of Banh Mi on the menu. The only thing that stood out was a giant poster of Anthony Bourdain eating a Banh Mi right next to the sign showing the restaurant’s name. The place was packed, with a line stretching outside as people waited to be seated. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one eager to try the sandwich Bourdain had praised so highly.

I decided to get a Bánh mì thập cẩm, a mixed sandwich loaded with pork, house-made pâté, onions, and their secret homemade sauce. In less than five minutes, I had my sandwich in a small brown paper bag with a picture of Bourdain on it.

I gladly paid the 35,000 Vietnamese dong (equivalent to about $1.50 USD at the time), took my sandwich, and found a small bench under a tree overlooking the restaurant. I sat down, unwrapped the delicious-smelling sandwich, and took a big bite, trying to get all the fillings in one mouth. It was a perfect bite: the crisp crackle of the outer crust, followed by my teeth sinking into the soft, chewy, airy inside of the bread. The aroma and taste of the cold cuts and soft pâté, combined with the delicious crunch of caramelized onions gently mixed with the sauce—it was an orgy of flavors in my mouth. I took another bite, and the flavors started settling into my senses like a well-practiced orchestra.

I imagined Bourdain, a global culinary guru, sitting there and taking his first bite. I thought about the sensory stimulation he must have felt and the emotions he might have experienced. That’s one of my favorite parts about traveling: the immersion in local cuisine.

And then, my thoughts shifted to Bourdain’s life.

This man, quite literally, lived a life a lot of people can’t even dare to fathom. He traveled around the world in luxury, tasting delicious food from humble street corners to Michelin-starred restaurants, meeting chefs, learning where ingredients were sourced, staying in five-star hotels, and getting paid a pretty penny for all of it. He was a household name across the globe, not just among travelers or foodies. With his well-groomed good looks and charming screen presence, he was known even to people who didn’t know where Vietnam was or what a banh mi was.

Yet one day, just like that, he took his own life.

It made me think about what is really important. He had money, comfort, luxury, fame, and something most people lack: the sheer joy of doing what he loved every single day. And still, he decided to cease existing.

Most reports say his death was over a woman who didn’t love him back the way he wanted her to. I don’t want to sit here and judge, nor do I want to dissect someone else’s personal love life, but I do believe loneliness is a dark weight that consumes every inch of joy in a person without asking for permission. No matter how much you have in life: a dream job, a dream home, and a bank account that is amply full—if you don’t have someone to share it with, someone who will look at you with love in their eyes and care for you with a genuine heart, your existence can feel like a heavy burden. A weight on your chest that no amount of cardio could clear.

Loneliness leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that no amount of secret homemade sauce can cleanse.

With this heavy thought in my head, I looked down to see that I had finished my banh mi. I was left holding the empty brown paper bag, the handsome man printed on it taking a bite of his sandwich with eyes full of anticipation. I neatly folded the paper bag and slid it into my daypack to stick into my travel journal later.

I sipped some water, wiped my mouth, and walked back quietly to sleep in my empty room, which was waiting for me to return.