An Accidental Stop in My Tho, Mekong Delta

My Tho sits on the edge of the Mekong Delta – a place with centuries of river trade, French colonial footprints, and enough history to fill a museum. But these days it feels like the kind of town tourists accidentally pass through when they’ve fallen asleep on the bus. 

Which, naturally, makes it exactly our kind of place.

A Hotel So Big It Forgot About Us

Our hotel is enormous. Ballroom enormous. Titanic‑set enormous. And yet… silent. Not “peaceful retreat” silent

more “did we accidentally book the entire building?” silent. We’re fairly sure we’re the only guests. Even the staff look surprised when we appear, as if they’d assumed the hotel was closed for renovations.

We’d forgotten the hotel even did breakfast, but when we wandered down, it turned out to be quite the spread. Mostly Vietnamese dishes

steaming bowls, fragrant spices, mysterious meats

but we did find the cook, who was only too happy to whip up plain omelettes for us. This was after he tried to convince us that cow heel soaked in five spice, served with fermented tofu, is best eaten on an empty stomach. We smiled politely and stuck with eggs.

First Impressions of My Tho: Noise, Colour, and a Lot of Hellos

Step outside and My Tho greets you with a burst of colour and chaos that feels more like Little India than the Mekong Delta. Think Delhi’s backstreets: spice-scented air, scooters performing interpretive dance, shopfronts painted in every colour Crayola ever invented, and people staring at us with a perfect blend of confusion and delight. 

Then comes the chorus of “HELLO!”

shouted with such enthusiasm you’d think we were celebrities who’d taken a wrong turn.

Honestly, this might be the friendliest place in Vietnam. And we adore it.

We’re not here for curated attractions or Instagram hotspots. We’re here for the real stuff

The life of ordinary people, the bits that don’t make the guidebooks. And My Tho delivers that in spades.

Everyday Life in My Tho: Bakeries, Laundry, and a £1 Haircut

Walking down the main street felt brilliant. Industrial clatter, welding sparks, motorbikes stacked with improbable cargo, and smiles everywhere. Craig spotted a baker pulling fresh loaves straight from the oven

three for 18p. Eighteen pence. That’s not lunch, that’s a public service.

We dropped off our washing – four pairs of shorts, two dresses, ten T‑shirts, five pairs of socks and two bras — all for the grand total of 70p. And it was washed, dried, folded and ready within four hours. FOUR. HOURS. At home you’d be lucky to get your washing machine to unlock in that time.

Craig finally plucked up the courage for a Hot Toc

A haircut

For the princely sum of £1.13. And honestly, the barber was superb. His attention to detail was next‑level: precise snips, careful shaping, the kind of concentration usually reserved for neurosurgeons and people defusing bombs.

We’d watched the two chaps before Craig get the full works

a shave, earwax extraction, face peel, blackhead removal

the lot.

It was like a spa day crossed with a minor medical procedure. The ear tools in particular looked like something you’d find in a dentist’s drawer labelled “Only Use If Absolutely Necessary”. So when the barber gestured politely to Craig, offering the same deluxe package, Craig smiled, bowed slightly, and declined with the speed of a man who very much wanted to keep his inner ear intact.

He stuck to the haircut. And he walked out looking sharp, clean, and very relieved.

Coffee on Plastic Chairs and a Moment That Stays

We perched on tiny plastic chairs outside a coffee stall facing the cinema. The chairs were clearly designed for people under the age of eight. Craig’s knees were practically touching his eyebrows, but the coffee was strong enough to make up for it.

A few streets later, we passed a house where a grandmother in a wheelchair waved at us like we were long-lost family. I walked back to say hello, and her whole face lit up. She reminded me of Mum – that same warmth, that same spark of joy in simple connection. We held hands for a moment, two strangers sharing something soft and human in the middle of the chaos. It was one of those tiny encounters that stays with you.

Pagodas, Temples, and Finding Quiet in the City

We ducked into a pagoda for a breather – partly for the peace, partly to give our ears a break from the relentless soundtrack of horns, engines, and life lived loudly.

Later, we wandered into the biggest Buddha temple in My Tho, and it was genuinely stunning. Outside, the city roared. Inside, everything softened. Honey-coloured teak pillars glowed in the filtered light, incense and warm wood settling the space into something almost tangible. Even Craig went quiet, which is how you know it was good.

And more pictures…

And a few more pictures…

And a few on the interior

Backstreets of My Tho: Tanks, Beetles, and Street Life

Down a back alley, a karate class was in full swing… right in front of an army tank. Only in Vietnam. The teacher barked something, and the entire class spun around to wave and shout hello. We waved back like proud aunties.

Then came the man doing a frantic jig as two black beetle-like creatures shot out of his bamboo stick. He made it very clear

through mime, facial expression, and sheer panic

that they sting. We took the hint.

A few doors down, another man sat on the floor trimming his toenails over a drain. Practical, if not exactly appetising.

Across the road, a tiny child

maybe three or four

had wandered onto the opposite pavement. His dad spotted him, shouted, and the kid had to navigate the traffic alone. My stomach did a full somersault. Somehow, miraculously, he made it.

Sunset on the Mekong River

Back on the bridge, a speedboat tore past like a low-budget James Bond chase scene. Less Venice, more “Mekong Delta on a Tuesday.”

By the time we reached the river, the sun was melting into the Mekong in shades of gold and rose. Locals were swimming – young, old, whole families – jumping in and drifting downstream to the next pier. They waved us over to join them, but we politely declined. Some adventures are best left to those who grew up here.

Ending the Day Where We Least Expected

Just before we called it a night, Craig spotted a shoe shop. We wandered in, admiring the displays, when we noticed a tiny bird in a cage doing backflips. The shopkeeper beamed and proudly pointed out her prize: a black-pearled hummingbird, shimmering like jewellery come to life. Delicate, unexpected, and entirely out of place.

It felt like the perfect way to end the day.

My Tho isn’t polished. It doesn’t perform for visitors. It simply carries on – loudly, warmly, and without fuss. We may not have planned to stop here, but by the time we left, it felt like the town had noticed us after all.