April 23, 2025
Letters from Indochina (Part 24)
By Simon J. Lau
This morning, I visited a local market in Ninh Binh. I’ve always enjoyed morning markets, there’s something about watching locals shop for their daily groceries that feels more genuine than the curated tourist experiences. One vendor stood out to me in particular: she had two cages full of chickens, one on the ground and the other strapped to the back of her moped. When I passed by a second time, a customer had already bought nearly half of her stock, including her only rooster.
Given how popular chicken is across Asia, I was surprised she was the only one selling live poultry. Clearly, demand wasn’t an issue. Compared to the already-harvested meat nearby, her birds were flying off the shelves, figuratively speaking. I imagine her mornings wrap up faster than most.
Before leaving Ninh Binh, I had breakfast at my homestay. My host, a middle-aged woman, had lived in Taiwan for nine years and spoke fluent Mandarin. That made everything, from getting my laundry done to ordering food, so much easier.
I also got the sense she found me endearing. Jean says I have that effect on middle-aged Asian women. My host ended up making me a full spread for breakfast (nicer than what the other guests got) and even packed me a little takeout box for my van ride to Pu Luong. What can I say, I’m a charmer, especially with Asian aunties.
By noon, I made it to Pu Luong, a rural nature reserve tucked away in the mountains of northern Vietnam. It’s known for its terraced rice paddies, bamboo forests, and misty hillsides that seem to roll on forever. While many travelers flock to more famous mountain destinations like Sapa, Pu Luong offers a quieter alternative, less developed, less crowded, and more reflective of everyday rural life. Small villages are scattered across the reserve, often connected by winding dirt paths, and the pace here feels slower, more personal, and wonderfully unhurried.
What made it even more special was being reunited with the Ho Chi Minh Road, which cuts through the reserve. After all the miles I’ve already spent on that road further south, it felt like crossing paths with an old friend. Another quiet stretch through the hills, before the next chapter begins.
While exploring the fields, I was invited into a homestay for tea with the family. Two older men seemed especially curious about me, and we ended up chatting for a while. I told them about my travels, and one of them asked if I thought life in Vietnam was hard. I said yes, the lifestyle is tough, but their country is beautiful.
What’s struck me about the Vietnamese is how gregarious and social they are. Unlike the more reserved demeanor I’ve often encountered in other parts of Asia, which can sometimes come off as distant, the Vietnamese are quick to smile, eager to chat, and unafraid to connect.
For example, while the average Chinese person might speak better English than the average Vietnamese, there’s often a cultural hesitation to use it. In Chinese culture, there’s a strong stigma around making mistakes. (I would know, having grown up in a Chinese household.) Many would rather stay silent than risk saying something wrong. The Vietnamese, on the other hand, are refreshingly unselfconscious. They’ll happily whip out a translation app mid-conversation just to keep things flowing. It makes every interaction feel warm, open, and human.
I’ve also gotten a serious tan, and many locals now assume I’m either Vietnamese or overseas Vietnamese, only to be slightly let down when they realize I can’t speak a word of the language. Sadly, disappointing Asian people continues to be a running theme in my life.
In the evening, I had stir fried bamboo shoots and buffalo. Specifically, grilled buffalo cooked inside bamboo tubes. It’s a popular dish in northern Vietnam, especially in mountainous regions like Pu Luong. The meat is typically marinated with lemongrass, garlic, and chili, then stuffed into bamboo and grilled over an open flame. The bamboo infuses the meat with a subtle, earthy aroma that deepens the smoky, slightly spicy flavor. It’s leaner and chewier than beef, but when done right, it’s satisfying and pairs perfectly with a cold beer. Which, of course, I had by my side.
When I ordered it, the wait stretched well over an hour. At first, I figured something had gotten lost in translation, or maybe they’d simply forgotten. But when I stepped back to my room to stash my laptop, I spotted a woman outside, patiently fanning my meal over an open flame. I was floored. It hadn’t been forgotten, it just took that long to cook! I’d also braced myself to pay $14 USD, which is steep by local standards, but when the bill arrived, it was only $8. Why? No idea, maybe it was a happy hour special, or maybe they just liked me. Either way, I’m not one to question good fortune.
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