Setting Off: Quiet Roads and a Tiny Triumph

The lady at our homestay arranged a motorbike for the grand price of £4.30 a day, and off we went on the loop from Hoi An to My Son. The roads out of town were very quiet, all tarmacked, with almost no traffic, which made it feel like the countryside was ours alone.

Before I even climbed on the bike, though, I had a tiny personal triumph. We’d packed raincoats expecting rain in the north and as the sky looked moody I thought I’d better take them on our little ride, and tucked inside one was a brand new white M&S bra. Still folded. Still crisp. I don’t know what it says about my life that finding an unexpected bra now ranks as a highlight, but there we are.

The loop itself was ours to make. We kept to the right as we headed to My Son and swung left on the way back, letting the road guide us past rice paddies, villages, and misty mountains.

Rice Paddies, Villages, and Polished Cows

The road drifted through villages where life moves at its own steady pace. The sky stayed overcast and the air felt cool, which was a relief after days of being gently steamed. The landscape was a patchwork of rice paddies, vegetable plots, and fields where farmers bent low over their crops. Every so often we’d spot the classic figure of a woman in her conical hat, ankle deep in water, picking rice like a scene from a postcard.

The cows here are something special. Deep brown with a red sheen, glossy and well fed. We christened them the Miss Mahogany cows because they look as if someone has buffed them with furniture polish.

The water buffalo, by contrast, have the resigned expressions of animals who have accepted that life is mostly mud and effort. We passed dozens, some with calves, all wearing the same look of weary acceptance.

We stopped for bread for Craig and grabbed a coffee to go. It tasted like chocolate mixed with rocket fuel. Delicious, but slightly alarming.

The villages shifted as we rode. Some felt industrial, with workshops and machinery humming away. Others were dotted with military outposts, quiet and watchful. All the while, misty mountains wrapped around us, clouds drifting lazily across their tops but never quite leaving. It gave the whole ride a soft, dreamlike feel.

Unexpected Weight: War Graves in the Hills

Then the war graves began to appear.

At first just one or two. Then clusters. Then whole fields of them.

We stopped at one and wandered through the rows until a lone dog startled at our arrival and tried to chase us off. By the end of the day we had passed dozens upon dozens of graveyards and memorials. Far more than we ever expected to see on a quiet countryside ride.

It was overwhelming in a quiet sort of way. A reminder that the countryside we were drifting through so peacefully once carried a very different sound.

Warmth in Every Greeting

And yet the people we met along the road were nothing but warm. Smiling, waving, calling hello as if greeting old friends rather than two travellers wobbling past on a rented motorbike. After seeing so many memorials, that kindness felt even more remarkable. Whatever history sits in these hills, it has not hardened the people who live among it.

Craig spotted an elderly woman, easily in her nineties, gliding along the road in full silk attire. She looked immaculate, as if she’d dressed for a portrait rather than a stroll. There is a quiet grace to the older generation here that is impossible not to admire.

The greetings never stopped. Every village, every bend in the road, someone called out hello. I adore it. It feels like unconditional welcome is part of their DNA.

Even the postman joined in. He honked behind us just to say hello, swerved in excitement and nearly knocked us off with his giant postal bags.

I have never been nearly flattened by friendliness before.

My Son Temples: Jungle, History, and Stories

When we finally reached My Son, the whole day snapped into focus. What looks at first like a scattering of old brick towers in a jungle clearing was once the Champa Kingdom’s spiritual headquarters. Cham kings came here between the 4th and 13th centuries to worship Shiva, crown themselves, and generally remind everyone they were terribly important. The site was the religious and political capital of the Champa world for most of its existence, with more than seventy temples rising from this valley.

The jungle wraps around the temples like a protective arm, and the air feels thick with stories. Red brick towers rise from the greenery, some leaning slightly with age, their carvings softened by centuries of rain and moss.

It cost £4.50 each to enter, and it was worth every penny.

The ride from Hoi An to My Son takes around an hour each way if you don’t stop. We took most of the day because there was far too much to look at.

The Ride Back: Mud Tracks, Weddings, and Small Miracles

On the way back we took a mud track for fun, and it was brilliant. At one point a familiar scent drifted through the air. It took a moment to place it. Jasmine rice. Warm, fragrant, and instantly transporting me back to Thailand.

We passed a wedding in full swing, complete with a gong that sounded like someone announcing the end of the world. By then it was nearly four in the afternoon and we realised we hadn’t eaten since breakfast. We stopped for bánh mì, and the gentleman toasted it for us, which felt like a small act of kindness after a long day.

Before heading home we swung by the beach area through Coconut Village, weaving past the sampan boats bobbing in the water. The light was soft, the air warm, and everything felt peaceful.

Craig summed up the Vietnamese in three words.

Born to smile.

After everything this country has lived through, that feels like quite an achievement.