| Mingling with the locals of this small fishing village provided just the right dose of karaoke and cultural insight to renew my faith in the good-hearted hospitality of the Vietnamese. Under the blanketing heat of a burning midday sun, we followed the two grinning boys down a narrow alley where, within minutes, we were joined by six of their friends. The shell-and-rock-strewn beach at the end of this path was not much to look at, but the boys continued down a ledge along the water, so we followed. We soon emerged onto a large, enclosed concrete platform on which older boys worked in the shade at detangling small shells and crustaceans from lengthy fishing nets. No one spoke English, but after taking a few photos, we quickly learned that the boys were absolute camera hams. They especially loved the digital camera, never failing to giggle mercilessly at the sight of themselves posing with their pals. The two little girls living in the house at the platform’s edge eventually overcame their shyness to join in the fun, while their mother sat rocking her baby in the shade, seemingly pleased to have complete strangers photograph her children with such gusto. Such was our first encounter with the friendly villagers of Mui Ne, Vietnam. Fellow travelers, a couple from Barcelona we had met in Australia, had led my boyfriend and me here via a hand-drawn map of Southeast Asia highlighting favorite cities and towns. Two hundred kilometers north of Ho Chi Minh City on Vietnam’s south-central coast, Mui Ne was one of just three circled, “don’t-miss-it” locales on their map accompanied by scribbled acclaim: “Beautiful beaches, dunes, fishing village, $12 bungalow on the beach- rent a bike!” One week into our own Vietnam adventure, we began the journey south to Mui Ne from a place called Hoi An on the central coast, a charming town of ancient architecture, addictive custom-tailor shops and eager street vendors. To break up the long distance ahead, we purchased flights from nearby Danang to Nha Trang ($39) over 500km to the south, accomplishing in one hour what would have taken at least twelve by bus. We were feeling optimistic, but, having failed to do our homework on getting to Mui Ne, we learned at the bus station in Nha Trang that we had missed the day’s one and only direct bus to Phan Thiet/Mui Ne (a 5-6 hour ride). Rather than stay the night in the tourist-laden resort town of Nha Trang, we opted to tag along with a local bus driver who promised, via translation, to get us there eventually for about $3 each. What followed was a painfully slow journey on more than one crowded, peanut shell-strewn bus marked by countless stops, many locals and a very large crate of bananas. Ten hours, one tire change, two motorbikes and zero English-speakers later, we stumbled through the now rainy night up the dirt driveway of the Thai Hoa guesthouse in Mui Ne beach . I fell into bed thinking this place better be worth it. Fortunately, we emerged refreshed in the morning from our mosquito net-enclosed bed into the brilliant sunshine of a new day and enjoyed breakfast in the guesthouse’s small, open-air restaurant. The Thai Hoa is home to the $12 bungalows on the beach that our friends had recommended, but we ended up in a basic but comfortable $10 room set back about twenty yards from the breaking waves of the South China Sea—still quite an appealing setting. It was the last available vacancy for the weekend, as the place was filled to capacity with a group of Vietnamese office workers on holiday from Ho Chi Minh City. At 10am, the men were already engaged in a rowdy game of volleyball on the sand pit in the center of the guesthouse. Mui Ne is not easily explored on foot, so we took the advice of our friends again and rented a $6 per day motorbike from the Thai Hoa that first morning. Route 706, the long, coconut palm-lined highway that runs parallel to the beautiful waterfront, is the only road around. A fishing village lies at the tip of Mui Ne peninsula to the east, while quiet lines of hotels, restaurants, small shops and markets spread out to the west. With the warm wind in our faces and the potent scent of nuoc mam (fish sauce) from the shops in our noses, we sped east to cross the small bridge leading into the village. Immediately, we found ourselves in a whole new, bustling world. The once-impersonal highway retained its two-lane structure but began to narrow and crowd on each side with women in conical hats selling goods or carting around shoulder poles. Small homes, gleaming temples and tiny, open-air cafés replaced all of the hotels. Entire families rode atop ox-driven carts in the middle of the dusty road, boys marched alongside cows, leading them who knows where, and teenagers sped around us on motorbikes. Everyone else in the village appeared to be outside their homes or shops, chatting to neighbors or sitting on small plastic stools. I suspected we had found the real Mui Ne. Motorbikes in Vietnam are fun to explore with, but unlike the part of town near our guesthouse, this village demanded a closer look on foot. We parked the bike and strolled in the sultry sun along rows of small, closely built homes whose faded exteriors were made colorful by lines of draped, drying laundry. Old women, noticing the cameras slung over our shoulders, pointed across the street to their neighbors’ babies and gestured excitedly for us to snap their pictures. Unanimous smiles and xin chaos (“hello”) greeted us everywhere we wandered. Feeling thirsty, we found a small shop selling drinks, its proprietor fast asleep on the couch. We woke her so we could pay, and moments later, her entire family, sporting big smiles, emerged on the porch to make sure we had enough straws. This was not the same Vietnam we had been traveling in for the past week. We had certainly met our fair share of friendly Vietnamese elsewhere, but we met far more engaged in the business of hawking and selling. Not yet having the time to stray too far from the beaten path, we had grown accustomed to denying aggressive vendors left and right for everything from bottled water and transportation to photocopied novels and illegal drugs. Mui Ne may be small, unassuming and often overlooked in the shadow of bigger beach resort towns like Nha Trang to the north and Vung Tao to the south, but it is hardly a destination passed by in popular guidebooks. Route 706 is dotted with accommodation options for every type of visitor, from budget guesthouses like ours to new, expensive resorts complete with beautiful restaurants. The tourists must be around, yet the tourist-hungry street hawkers are nowhere in sight. In Mui Ne, the pressure of “business” transactions is refreshingly replaced by a simple sense of welcoming, especially in the fishing village itself. During our two-night stay, we never even made it to the gorgeous sand dunes that the Mui Ne area is known for. We did manage a dip in the bath-like ocean, but we were generally too occupied with the local people to really notice the sticky hot humidity. Case in point: when we wandered into a tiny café one night, we walked out with three young guys who spoke no English but, after sharing their fish soup and banana wine with us, somehow lured us to an outdoor karaoke stage in the heart of the fishing village. The necks of what must have been every teenager in town craned to peer and giggle at us, even as the slow, serious croonings onstage began. Our new friends were intent on getting the Americans to perform, and it took just one round of warm Saigon beers over ice for us to relent. Our rendition of “I Saw Her Standing There” probably broke every sacred rule of karaoke in Vietnam, but our friends sweetly bought roses for us afterwards in a show of support. That same evening, we went for a late-night meal near our guesthouse and wound up making breakfast plans with our waitress, Luy. The next morning, she took us out for a traditional pho bo (beef noodle soup) breakfast with her younger brother. In broken English, Luy said she wanted to find a boyfriend in America “same-same” as my boyfriend, Scott; I raised my eyebrows, but she was nothing but sweet. After knowing her for roughly two hours, she told us that her grandparents, whom she had spoken to that morning, were disappointed that we lacked the time to visit their home in the nearby countryside. Maybe next time. Beneath the obvious draws our Spanish friends had alluded to, Mui Ne’s refreshingly genuine nature, something you are not likely to read about in a standard travel guide, is enough to win over any visitor, maddening bus rides and all. After a few weeks of hard travel through Southeast Asia, I felt a previously unnoticed weight lift from my shoulders following my two nights in Mui Ne: my own personal R&R. My brief time there granted me a glimpse of the sincere beauty and hospitality that Vietnam and its people are truly about. No hassles, no cute kids guilt-tripping you into buying another copy of The Quiet American- just real people going about life in their small corner of the world, happy to share it with you for a little while. And if that is not the travel goal of any self-respecting globetrotter, I don’t know what is.
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