Russian woman enjoys retired life in daughter-in-law’s native Vietnam

However, at 78, she is now enjoying a "busy yet happy" retired life with her son’s family and new Vietnamese friends.

In March, in her small apartment in Thu Duc City, HCMC, Avdeeva and her 34-year-old daughter-in-law Do Kieu are preparing dinner.

Despite living in Vietnam for over a year, Avdeeva still uses a fork to eat, a habit from her home country. But she has learned how to prepare a "standard Vietnamese meal" with a bowl of fish sauce and chili in the middle of the table and sour fish soup next to a plate of fresh vegetables.

After dinner she stays to teach her granddaughter Russian before returning to her apartment a few minutes’ walk away.

"Every day I spend here is filled with the warmth of family," she says.

Valentina Avdeeva (second from L) and her son's family in HCMC, March 2025. Photo courtesy of Avdeeva

All this had never been part of Avdeeva’s plan. After retiring in Sochi, she lived alone by the Black Sea. Her son Roman Avdeeva had moved to HCMC in 2010, married Kieu, and made this city his second home.

Avdeeva’s plan had been to eventually move into a nursing home when she could no longer care for herself.

In Sochi, where summers are short and winters are long and harsh, the cold exacerbated her joint pain, especially when she was alone. At the same time the image of her lonely, aging mother-in-law weighed heavily on Kieu.

"A mother-in-law is also like a mother to me, so I want to take care of her the way Vietnamese people do," she says.

Kieu and her husband invited Avdeeva to come live with them in Vietnam. However, convincing her took a decade. Avdeeva was hesitant to start over in a completely different culture and language.

The turning point came during the 2023 Lunar New Year, when Avdeeva visited HCMC to see her son’s family. They had a small gathering that allowed her to bond more with her granddaughter. In the joyful atmosphere, Kieu asked her mother-in-law to relocate to Vietnam once again.

This time Avdeeva was moved by her daughter-in-law’s sincerity, the joy of family reunions and perhaps curiosity about a new life. A year later she agreed to move to Vietnam on the condition that she would have her own apartment in the same building to maintain her independence.

The first few months in Vietnam were a real challenge, far different from what Avdeeva had imagined.

"In the first three months I almost packed my bags to go back home more than 10 times," she recalls.

The first hurdle was the time difference, which threw off her biological clock. Her east-facing apartment, which caught the morning sun, forced her to keep the curtains closed at all times.

After decades living in colder climates, she struggled with the hot and humid weather in HCMC. The heat caused her skin to frequently break out in rashes, dryness and cracks. Just a walk around the park would leave her drenched in sweat.

Food also proved to be a major barrier. Despite her children trying to mix in Russian meals with Vietnamese ones, she had trouble adjusting. Her taste buds, accustomed to potatoes, rye bread and beetroot soup, had to adapt to rice, strong-flavored stews, stir-fried vegetables, and spices that were sometimes quite pungent.

She was particularly surprised to see Vietnamese people eat the skin, tendons, and bones of pork, parts that are typically discarded in Russia. As a result, she lost over five kilograms in her first three months.

Cultural differences also posed challenges. The first time she was invited to her daughter-in-law’s parents’ home, she was taken aback when Kieu’s mother warmly hugged her and kissed her on the cheek—an unfamiliar gesture for a Russian. Her son had to explain that this was a common way for Vietnamese people to show affection.

Another instance occurred when she struggled with joint pain while walking up the stairs and a security guard offered to help her. Avdeeva was embarrassed and waved him off, uncomfortable with the idea of being helped in that manner.

The most difficult moment came when she suffered from food poisoning and diarrhea throughout the night. She summoned her son and daughter-in-law and declared firmly: "I can’t live here anymore. I need to go back to Russia."

At that point her son tried to persuade her to stay for a few more months since they had already paid the year’s lease for the apartment.

Avdeeva says: "But the main reason I stayed back was my granddaughter. She is so attached to me, which made me not want to leave."

Seeing her struggles, Kieu and her husband worked even harder to make her feel at home. Though Kieu could only communicate with her mother-in-law through Google Translate or gestures, she patiently took her shopping to find clothes that fit her larger frame, carefully noted her food allergies and applied medicine to her skin when it had problems due to the weather.

"On many occasions, seeing my daughter-in-law take care of me, I couldn’t hold back my tears," Avdeeva says.

But the clincher was an incident one morning. She was walking around her apartment complex one morning when she noticed a dozen elderly people practicing tai chi together.

This was something she had never seen in Russia. In Sochi, she would often walk alone by the beach before heading back home. Her friends there rarely gathered for social activities like this.

She asked Kieu to introduce her to the group, and at first was surprised by the attention she received as a "western woman." People greeted her warmly, asked to take photos with her and even handed her snacks.

At first she hesitated to accept, but when Kieu explained it was a gesture of kindness, she understood. Over time she became a regular member of the tai chi group.

Avdeeva especially enjoyed the Vietnamese philosophy of "neighbors help each other" and "a neighbor is like family." Every morning she would make Russian-style pancakes and bring them to share with the group, receiving warm smiles, genuine greetings and small, simple gifts in return.

Her days became busier and happier.

To offer her more company, Kieu also brought her mother over to live with them. The two women, one speaking Vietnamese and the other Russian, chatted happily all day long using Google Translate.

"Without realizing it, I fell in love with Vietnam," Avdeeva says.

Observing life around her, she has come to realize that elderly people in Vietnam are happy because they are always surrounded by the care of their children and a close-knit community.

In turn, her Vietnamese friends admire her independence at nearly 80. Every morning she still makes a list of things to do and buy. When she needs to see a doctor, she gets a taxi herself. She even fixes minor things around the house like light bulbs and wooden shelves.

Her independence and organization are also an inspiration for her, Kieu says.

"I’ve learned so much from my mother-in-law, from how to organize life to her attention to detail."

After more than a year in Vietnam Avdeeva has found a new rhythm to life, balancing cultural integration with the preservation of her identity and personality.

"The key to happiness is still living life on your own terms no matter where you are," she says.