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“Want some Vietnamese pancakes?” a voice called from a brick wall next to an abandoned house I passed in the dark night. Still soaking wet after swimming in the sea and watching the sunset, I paused, curious, then turned back. Soon, I was sitting next to the women, a bowl of hot, freshly made Vietnamese pancakes with chives in my hand, topped with a spoonful of rich fish sauce, and enjoying it heartily. A few pieces of crispy grilled octopus from the group next to me were also shared, and in just a short while, I was lying on the sand with everyone, enjoying the sea breeze and listening to stories about the local fish market… like a true local.
Upon arriving at Lo 3 village, the traveler suddenly finds themselves with a pure and peaceful soul.
It's strange, isn't it? We weren't friends, yet I offered someone a piece of Vietnamese pancake. It's strange, we didn't know each other, yet I calmly sat down and ate with relish, laughing while listening to their slightly distorted, broken Vietnamese accent. Then, suddenly, the unfamiliar fishing village "transformed": from a shy, hesitant city girl, I became a child with few worries, freely playing with the blue sea and connecting with kind people.
A morning in a fishing village in the Nẫu region.
Immerse yourself in the crystal-clear blue sea water.
At exactly 4:30 a.m., while the sky was still pitch black, I grabbed my sandals and headed to the beach, lying comfortably to wait for the sunrise. The first rays of light pierced through the darkness, splitting the sky, then slowly transforming into vibrant pink and yellow until it was fully bright. Having watched it for many days, I realized that no two sunrises were alike. And in that moment, I quietly stood still before the wonder of nature.
Every now and then, as dawn broke, I'd jump into the sea for an early morning swim. The water was icy cold, but in just a moment I felt warm and unusually refreshed. Around me were the villagers: aunts, uncles, and children, all regularly swimming in the sea every morning. Since I didn't know how to swim, I had to cautiously approach the women, just in case something happened and I needed help. This gave me the opportunity to hear countless stories about the village, about the homemade fish sauce that nobody buys, about the noodle cart at the end of the street, the distant fishing port selling fresh fish every day, and even about how skin diseases and joint pain could be cured simply by regularly swimming in the sea. It was a truly uninspiring way to start the day for a solo traveler.
The sea here is deep, azure, and crystal clear to the bottom. The beach is even more special: it's not fine sand, but countless tiny, colorful pebbles that sparkle. Stepping on them stings slightly, but it feels like a foot massage, making swimming even more enjoyable and refreshing. The sand doesn't stick or feel sticky. Locals say the seawater here is so clean that you don't even need to rinse with fresh water afterwards.
Fishing is the main livelihood of the village, so the fishing port is always bustling and lively from dawn. Every morning, the harbor is crowded with people, eagerly awaiting each small boat that arrives, laden with fresh fish, shrimp, and squid from the open sea. In the shimmering morning sunlight, the figures of the hardworking fishermen, both toiling and joking at the same time, suddenly become unusually beautiful.
Fishing is the main source of livelihood for the village.
Fish and shrimp from the harbor are sold in local markets, or tourists can buy them directly at the dock at reasonable prices and with guaranteed freshness. The familiar pancake vendor at the village market even told me I absolutely must go to the harbor to buy squid for the best taste.
It is said that each type of ship usually specializes in catching certain species: tuna far offshore, small fish near the shore. Each fishing trip can last only one night, or two or three nights, depending on whether the "mother sea" is kind enough to give a bountiful catch.
Listen to the village stories: culture, people, and flavors of the coastal region.
Before the sun reached its zenith, I strolled leisurely along the old fishing village houses, their red tiled roofs covering small, interconnected rooms, green nets and square-leaved mangroves swaying in the harsh coastal sun. Many abandoned houses were for sale; the women told me that fishing was a thankless profession, but the sea wasn't kind, and many families had left the area.
Some leave, others arrive, and some return. I met young people who chose to start businesses right in their hometowns. Like Tài, the manager of Seaspace Homestay – where I stayed – who also led trekking trips to the breathtaking mountains and waterfalls in Phú Yên (Xanhdi). Or Thảo Lư, the "leader" of the anchovy-collecting group, who every morning joins the children in the village to pick up trash on the beach, nurturing a homestay experience project. Caroline Creative Space opened a learning and soft skills training space in English for children, with the support of international volunteers.
Seaspace Homestay seen through the eyes of birds.
Artistic color palettes illuminate the sparkling courtyard at Cafe Con Mực.
Blending artistic colors on the shimmering courtyard of Cafe Con Mực, where I enjoyed a refreshing kombucha on a summer day, leisurely flipping through the pages of Carl Jung's memoirs. Next door is Dreamville, a meticulously recreated traditional house with a traditional roof, or the Trạm cafe, where the owner somehow gathered all sorts of unusual chairs, enjoying the peaceful sea breeze.
Playing with children is always the best medicine. Seaspace truly feels more like home than a homestay, because groups of 5-8 close-knit children from the village frequently visit, chattering and playing together. They're all tanned and healthy, and as soon as they hear about swimming, they rush out, jumping into the water and skillfully swam a few laps. Then they get engrossed in traditional games like "Five Ten" and tag on the sand – games that adults have long forgotten. They play wholeheartedly but are also very well-behaved; they go to the market with the older girls, each carrying something, volunteering to help with cooking, and washing dishes spotlessly.
Bong, the affectionate little girl, always takes the back seat to carry Han, and reserves the seat next to Han. Sin, hearing Han complain about the heat, quietly takes a fan and fans her back vigorously. The two tiny kids dance incredibly well and are hilarious, and so do Tin and Bo… Each child has their own personality, making the day more vibrant and warm.
No wonder Uncle Tam, the owner of the chicken rice shop at the beginning of the village, exclaimed, "Just stay around the village, aren't you going anywhere else?", whenever he saw me stopping by every morning for a meal and chatting for a few minutes. Yes, a couple of simple, peaceful days like this, drifting along with the flow of life, are enough to be a "healing" stop amidst the hustle and bustle; there's no need to go far to find something better.
During my time in the village, I was nurtured by the unique salty and spicy flavors of the Central Vietnamese fishing village; even the children could handle spiciness better than Hân. The fragrant shrimp and squid pancake, the rich chicken rice, the spicy fish noodle soup, the refreshing dragon's tongue soup, the arm-sized fish spring rolls… every dish was full of the authentic taste of home, priced at only 10,000-20,000 VND per serving, making me want to eat endlessly.
Fragrant Vietnamese savory pancake with chives, shrimp, and squid.
A refreshing soup with dragon's tongue
Spicy fish noodle soup with chives
A diverse culinary landscape showcased through the distinctive products of the Nẫu region.
Perhaps the village of Lo has instilled in me a taste that is both salty and sweet – like the taste of the sea, like the warmth of the people of this fishing village. And even after leaving, my heart still feels as if it's sitting somewhere on the sand, listening to the waves whispering stories, forever remembering those rare days of peace.
