Letters from Indochina (Part 26)

This entry is part 26 of 44 in the series Letters from Indochina

April 25, 2025

Letters from Indochina (Part 26)

By Simon J. Lau

This morning I left Pu Luong. While waiting for my van, I spent a bit more time chatting with my host. He told me he purchased this stilt home from another village and had it carefully disassembled, transported, and reassembled at its current site. When I asked why he didn’t just build something new, he explained that it would be difficult to replicate this traditional Thai style from scratch.

He went on to say how proud he was that it’s now the largest stilt home in the area, perched near the top of the mountain. I thought the homestay was beautifully done and made sure to thank him and his wife for their warm hospitality. I left feeling genuinely pleased with my stay.

My van ride to Mai Chau, on the other hand, was a full-blown horror story. The driver might’ve been the worst I’ve had in all of Vietnam, and that’s saying something. (Plenty of my drivers have been reckless, but this guy was in a league of his own.) The narrow mountain road could barely fit 1.5 vehicles, yet he flew past trucks, threaded between scooters going in opposite directions, and unbelievably, accelerated into tight, downhill hairpin turns. The van fishtailed more than once. So yeah, you can imagine how relieved I was to have that journey end well.

Mai Chau is a peaceful valley town just a short ride from Pu Luong, offering a similar glimpse into rural Vietnamese life, but with a few key differences. While Pu Luong is more rugged and remote, Mai Chau is slightly more accessible and developed, making it a great choice for travelers who want to experience the landscape of rice paddies and stilt houses without venturing too far off the beaten path. (For me, it was a notable stop on the way to my next destination, Hanoi.) It still feels quiet and unhurried, but it’s much easier to navigate.

As I walked around the village, I saw many handmade textiles on display. This area is known for its weaving traditions, carried on primarily by women from the Thai ethnic minority group. (I’d seen them in Pu Luong too, but this was the first time I actually saw women making them.)

Using wooden looms, they create vibrant fabrics adorned with geometric patterns and dyed with natural pigments. These textiles are often crafted into scarves, table runners, and clothing, and you’ll find them hanging outside stilt houses or for sale at the local market. It’s a skill passed down through generations and still deeply tied to both cultural identity and the local economy.

I also saw a lot of gamecocks, roosters bred and trained for cockfighting. I’ve never attended a match myself, and while I know it’s a controversial tradition, it remains a deeply rooted pastime in many rural parts of Vietnam. Someday, I’d be curious to witness one firsthand, if only to better understand the cultural context behind it.

For dinner, I wanted to try something a little more adventurous. I’d seen several signs advertising horse meat, which is considered a delicacy in parts of northern Vietnam and is often eaten in group settings or to celebrate special occasions. Unfortunately, the only horse meat option on the menu was a platter designed for large groups. So instead, I ordered grilled chicken.

As I sat down, a dog from across the street wandered over and flopped under my table. Expecting it to beg for scraps, I offered some chicken and rice, but to my surprise, he refused both. I’ve never seen that before. Maybe it just came over for the company.

Finally, while I don’t travel lavishly, I do try to keep things somewhat comfortable. That said, tonight’s setup might be my humblest yet: a small, basic room with a shared bathroom. I hadn’t realized that’s what I’d booked until I arrived. It’s perfectly manageable, but here’s hoping my next stop comes with a bit more space and a few creature comforts… like air conditioning.

That said, my host was kind and upfront. She noticed I had accidentally booked for two people and let me know the rate for one was a third less. She told me she’d only charge me for one person at checkout.

This isn’t the first time a Vietnamese person has gone out of their way to be honest. Once, in Da Nang, I mistakenly handed a vendor a 100K VND bill instead of a 10K one. He chased after me to return the extra, and I sheepishly thanked him. I gave him the proper amount, plus another 10K as a small gesture of appreciation. Moments like these remind me why I keep coming back to Vietnam. The people here strike me as genuinely warm and honest, and that stays with you long after the trip ends.