A Holiday in Mai Châu

Hello and xin chào! Now that I'm basically settled in—phone fiasco behind me, regularly commuting on my beat-up Yamaha Nouvo motorbike, nearing my first full paycheck—I can post at a much faster clip than before. About a month ago, I had an extra day off for Vietnam's National Day, which commemorates Vietnam's Declaration of Independence from the French on September 2, 1945. Around Hanoi, lots of national flags were popping up (including on my street—see the header image of the blog), as were ample propaganda banners and posters. Since September 2 was a Sunday, both Sunday (one of my regular days off) and Monday were both holidays.

I took the opportunity to take a brief trip to a small town in the mountains called Mai Châu, which I had only read about on a whim in my Lonely Planet book. It was a four-hour van ride from Hanoi, complete with beautiful scenery and unrelenting Vietnamese EDM pumped out to the half-asleep passengers (for the benefit of the driver, I assume). It wasn't until I arrived that I realized how far off the beaten path I was straying.

Near the village I stayed in.

After dropping off most of the other passengers at their hotels and homestays, my driver pulled off on a barely paved road and stopped at a bridge that was too small to accommodate the van. I followed some handwritten signs through the village to the homestay. I could see probably fewer than two dozen basic, little homes along the dirt paths. The only remotely commercial establishment I could identify was an open-air table covered with some slabs of meat. Aghast—in an amused but positive way—I arrived at Minh Thơ Homestay for one of the most surreal travel experiences I've ever had.

My surprise bungalow.

Upon check-in, I was greeted by the eponymous Thơ—her husband being Minh. Her English was almost as limited as my Vietnamese, so some of the exchange happened over Google Translate (what a time to be alive). Since it was National Day, the large dorm in the stilt house was full, meaning that they were going to give me the bungalow for my two-night stay. Across the dirt path from the rest of the homestay was a private bamboo hut with a thatched roof. To enter, you had to cross a bridge over a fish pond, above which the bungalow was stilted.

My bed.

As for amenities, there were two lightbulbs and a ceiling fan. There were no windows per se—just shutters—and nothing was particularly sealed from the outside. Luckily there was a nice mosquito net, which insulated me from plenty of other bugs as well: on the first day I took a nap without it and woke up to find ants everywhere. Suffice to say, it was rustic, much more so than anywhere I've ever stayed before. That said, I thought it was so, so cool.

View from my bed.

I spent many hours over my two days in Mai Châu just lying on my bed next to the breeze and enjoying the scenery—as well as some rest from the insanity that was my first two weeks in Hanoi. There really wasn't anything to do besides relax, bike around the village, and eat the meals provided by the homestay. (Who knows where the nearest place to get food was.) At lunch on the first day, I discovered just how alone I was: staying there that night were about 40 Vietnamese people from Hanoi and me, the sole foreigner.

Because of this, I was invited to eat my meals with the owner, Minh, and his family. Luckily, there was a tour guide who brought a Dutch couple for lunch and spoke fluent English. He ate with me and a few family members, providing a crucial means for communication given the minimal English spoken by everyone else. At least a dozen plates were brought out, including fried fish, grilled buffalo, sautéed morning glory, and some leafy rolls filled with minced pork. In addition, I was invited to toast after toast of homemade rice liquor, or rượu đế. All of us at the table would chant "Một, hai, ba, dzô! Hai, ba, dzô! Hai, ba, uống!" ("One, two, three, dzô! Two, three, dzô! Two, three, drink!") and then take a mini-shot of the rice liquor.

Even further off the beaten path.

Later in the afternoon, I met a woman who worked for a travel agency in Hanoi. She was there to suss out the traveler experience and Mai Châu, so she invited me along on a walk heading out of the village. The path quickly grew narrow, and after 15 minutes it was practically impassable due to recent rains. We saw only one home, two or three people, and half a dozen cattle.

A woman tending to the rice(?).

I returned to find a small crowd collecting at the ponds just outside my bungalow. We all watched as a man from the homestay waded into the fish pond and caught a fish with his bare hands before resorting to a net.

Catching fish for dinner.

After a nice nap, the sun set, and dinner time approached. Again, I was served with the owner and a few of his family members rather than the other guests. I noticed among the impressive spread a plate of large insects, likely roasted grasshoppers. As soon as I saw them, I thought to myself, If not now, when? I began to steel myself to try one later in the meal.

The insects are in the upper right corner, to the left of the soup and above the plate with tomatoes and cucumbers.

Only a few minutes into my mental preparations I was invited to try one. I picked it up, dipped it in chili sauce, and ate it whole. The flavor was actually quite decent, but the texture was not my favorite. Obviously it was crunchy, but some pieces were really tough, which made it unsettlingly easy to distinguish between its outer shell/body and its insides. The legs were especially noticeable, as they were sort of like fish bones but brittle. Nonetheless, I thought the grasshopper was quite alright overall.

So, to be polite and avail myself of the full experience, I had a second one.

Towards the end of the meal, a there was a small dance performance in traditional dress for National Day. After the rehearsed portions of the performance, many of the other guests joined in dancing.

One of the dances involved a sort of jump rope situation with clacking bamboo shoots (see video). I was invited to join, but given my total lack of physical coordination and desire not to stick out any more than I already did, I declined. Even so, it was really fun to witness.

As the dancing wrapped up, a middle-aged Vietnamese man approached me with a few of his kids and started asking me questions in English. He wanted to practice English with him as well as his children. Eventually several more kids and adults showed up and circled around me asking all sorts of questions in English. (A popular question that I received that night—and have continued to receive here—was whether or not I was married or had a girlfriend, followed by the suggestion that I find a Vietnamese girlfriend. Amusing but super awkward, to say the least.)

I sat and talked to this veritable cast of characters—including a man with a severe lazy eye who called himself Mr. 4, a pair of identical twins in tears because their father yelled at them to come practice their English, a boy who extolled the beauty of his roughly 12-year-old sister and kept insisting I eat more longans—until nearly midnight. Of course, all of the adults wanted to do a shot of rice liquor with me, eventually escalating to one man wanting to drink a full glass with me. Then at the end of the night, someone pulled out a full-size vase covered with plastic wrap and long bamboo straws sticking out. I found out later that it was probably mulberry wine. Why it was served with in a vase is beyond me, but when we all retired for bed, one of the men ceremoniously gave me two of the bamboo straws.

As you might guess, I ended up very drunk that night, still trying to converse in comprehensible English with all these people. At one point, one of the older kids, probably 14 or 15, asked me what I thought of communism. So there I was, drunkenly trying to explain my thoughts about communism—in an officially communist country—using language that was sufficiently basic for everyone to understand.

I was happy to get to bed that, but shortly before doing so I agreed with a group of kids that I would go swimming with them in the homestay's small pool the next morning. We had agreed on a 9:30 meeting time, but of course they came knocking at about 8:30. With a splitting headache, I dragged myself out of bed and joined them in the pool at 8:45. After 30-40 minutes, the kids decided they wanted to go on a bike ride with me.

The first of many pictures.

Biking down the paths out of the village, we basically just had a photo shoot out among the rice paddies. For whatever reason, everyone wanted a picture with me on both my phone and their parents' phone.

The identical twins are on the right.

Out in the paddy.

A selfie with everyone.

His siblings struggled to the get him to look at the camera.

Once we all returned to the homestay, I said goodbye to everyone headed back to Hanoi and took a greatly-needed nap. The atmosphere was totally different when all of the Vietnamese guests left. On my second and final night, there was only a Dutch couple and two French girls. It was way more peaceful but definitely less interesting. I spent the afternoon taking a bike out on my own, passing through a couple small villages and seeing more amazing scenery.

More scenery.

Another small village.

Cattle that weren't roaming the village.

A woman working in the rice paddy.

I spent some more time in the pool, ate some more food, and spent the evening chatting with the French girls. It felt so much more empty than the night before, and I had a glimpse at how different my experience would have been if I hadn't come on a Vietnamese holiday. The next morning, someone from the homestay drove me on his motorbike half an hour to the highway junction where I got my van back to Hanoi in all its clamor and chaos.

I generally hate it when travelers emphasize something's "authenticity"—or lack thereof—because (1) it's used so arbitrarily that it's meaningless, and (2) there's something inherently inauthentic about travel in the first place, especially international travel. That said, if there was ever an authentic travel experience to be had, this one was it. In all 22 countries I've traveled in, I don't think I've ever felt so transported but also connected to a place and its culture. And for that, I am unspeakably grateful.

Check out more pictures here.

Till next time,
Gray