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Vietnam on a scooter: the ultimate scenic adventure

Unlock the very best Vietnam has to offer on a scooter-led adventure from the south of the country to the north.

In Vietnam it’s law that every motorcyclist wears a helmet; it matters little that the flimsy plastic variety favoured by locals have all the protective attributes of a baseball cap.

Scooters in Saigon, Vietnam
Scooters in Saigon. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

It would appear, however, that there are no laws against carrying unrestrained pigs in front baskets of scooters; or balancing up to four passengers on a single bike; or letting children as young as 12 take control of a vehicle.

 

The best advice I hear in 17 days is given by an ex-pat in Saigon: “Just go with anything that happens on the road. When you get scared just laugh out loud, ‘cause riding here is like skydiving with a parachute you’re not sure is gonna open."

 

Like it or not, hiring a scooter is the best way to see Vietnam. Lonely Planet calls Vietnam “an outrageously fun country to explore" – and perhaps it’s Vietnam’s greatest attribute that exploring here is easy – travellers need not trek far to find themselves well off the beaten track.

 

And that track is getting beaten down fast: Australians are embracing Vietnam in record numbers.

 

If you don’t hire a scooter, you may find yourself elbow to elbow with the rest of your fellow countrymen.

Phu Quoc – Vietnam’s prettiest island

Fishing boats in Phu Quoc, Vietnam
Fishing boats in Phu Quoc, Vietnam. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

I arrive in Saigon with no itinerary – just an international driver’s licence – I plan instead to rely on nothing but the travel tips of locals and fellow travellers.

 

The island of Phu Quoc garners all my attention on my first night in Saigon. Travellers throw its name around like it’s the real-life incarnation of Alex Garland’s mythical utopia in The Beach.

 

“It’s Phuket 40 years ago," a French traveller tells me. “It’s quiet, not so many backpackers; just beaches, monkeys, fishermen." At 45 minutes flying time (costing from $156) from Saigon, it seems a good place to start.

 

The Vietnamese government, apparently, has been touting Phu Quoc as the next Phuket for years, but Phu Quoc is still best known for producing Vietnam’s tastiest fish sauce.

 

Fifty percent of the island is national park; many of the island’s roads are yet to be paved. It’s very quiet too – strange considering how close it is to Vietnam’s largest metropolis Saigon.

 

Yes, Phu Quoc seems the perfect place to begin my scooter odyssey.

 

I hire a scooter in Phu Quoc’s biggest town, Duong Dong, and throttle back nervously, joining a procession of bikes, immediately locked in every direction.

 

Duong Dong isn’t big, but it’s busy and I’m forced to cross three lanes of traffic to make my way onto a road that slices Phu Quoc up the middle.

 

A car stops suddenly in front of me and I narrowly avoid sliding on the slippery gravel, but an hour later I make it to the dense jungle of the coast motoring up to the island’s remote north-east corner.

 

Vietnam’s best beach, I’m told, is at the end of a dirt track around here. I see a handwritten turn-off for Bai Thom and amble down a path with pot-holes the size of bomb craters.

 

Goats wander across the road and small children appear suddenly out of the forest; then I see it – a wide, sandy beach ringed by coconut trees with a few tiny beach-side bars.

 

It’s prettier than any beach I’ve seen in Thailand, but without the backpackers.

 

Each day I ride further around Phu Quoc’s mostly empty coastline. Some days I venture into its highlands, hiking its tallest peak, Mt Chua, before returning each evening to a bungalow on Long Beach.

 

There are numerous options all along the beach here only a few minutes ride from Duong Dong – the ones I try all are humble affairs but have verandahs with hammocks that look out across the South China Sea.

 

At night there are a few options for dinner near my hotel on Long Beach; there’s nothing better than chilled beers and cheap seafood at the beach-side bars and restaurants.

 

I try a different bar and restaurant each night, but find a simple consistency to all of them: chairs set into the sand, a surprisingly long menu of seafood dishes, and staff who seem too chilled even to leave their seats to take your order.

 

Although the bars here remind me of Koh Samui, they lack the R&B throb, the good-time girls and crimson-faced backpackers.

Dalat – Vietnam’s magical mountains

When I begrudgingly leave Phu Quoc, I share a cab to the airport with two French travellers who insist I visit Dalat, a mountain retreat 300 kilometres north of Saigon.

 

So, at six the next morning, I arrive in Dalat. I step off my overnight bus from Saigon into bitter 14-degree weather, wearing only a t-shirt.

A traditional farmer working in the crops outside Dalat
A traditional farmer working in the crops outside Dalat. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

French colonists dubbed Dalat the Alps of Vietnam and came here to escape the monotonous humidity of the coast (which stays a pleasant 15-24 degrees year-round).

 

Dotted with French colonial architecture and fringed by farms of strawberries, vegetables and flowers, its streetscape is dominated by bohemian cafés and bustling produce markets.

 

But Dalat’s magic is in its surroundings: huge lakes and waterfalls surrounded by thick forests and endless farming land. I drive towards the best known waterfall, Elephant Falls – 30 kilometres west, past vegetable plots tended by armies of local workers in conical palm hats.

 

Winding my way round hair-pin corners on narrow bitumen roads I witness a landscape of lush green plantations ploughed by water buffalo.

Scooters are the most popular mode of transport in Vietnam
Scooters are the most popular mode of transport in Vietnam. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

As I ride entire families pass me on scooters, balancing cumbersome farming equipment across their handlebars.

 

Further out (45 kilometres from Dalat) I travel to Pongour Waterfall, said to be the most beautiful waterfall in the entire south of Vietnam – although I find Prenn Waterfall, just 10 kilometres from Dalat equally as pretty, cascading as it does down to a small valley of flowers and pines.

 

When I’m hungry on the road, I stop at dirt-cheap roadside stalls and order the local delicacy Pho (noodle soup) while small children stare at me and giggle as if they’re not sure I’m real.

 

Mornings become my favourite time in Dalat; they’re always blue, cool and crispy, and the town’s French ties mean the croissants and coffee are as good as anything you’ll find in Vietnam.

 

In my favourite café, the Chocolate Café, the manager Nguyen tells me to ride further afield along Vietnam’s most picturesque roadway – the mountain pass down from Dalat to Nha Trang – a 130 kilometre or so rollercoaster-like track.

 

Taking his tip, I ride off across the Central Highlands, past roadside waterfalls and beside national parks.

 

Some corners of the road are so tight I fear my brakes may burn out, and low cloud blocks out my view of the road entirely at times. Buses overtake me on blind corners, whilst logging trucks ignore the panic in my eyes.

 

But don’t worry too much, there are safer alternatives. You can ride on the back with Dalat’s Easy Riders – bikies who carry passengers throughout this part of Vietnam.

 

There are also sections of the road you can mountain bike down with adventure companies such as Phat Tire Ventures.

Hoi An- Vietnam’s fairy tale town

Local Vietnamese children
Local Vietnamese children. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

After a day of slow riding (and hitching a ride on the back of a truck for the last leg) I make it to Nha Trang.

 

Opting to stay out of this resort metropolis – whose streetscape on first glance reminds me of a lower-end version of Queensland’s Gold Coast – I instead take an overnight bus north to Hoi An, a World-Heritage listed town half way up Vietnam’s eastern coastline.

 

After the seclusion of Phu Quoc and Dalat, the mass of Australian travellers in Hoi An shocks my senses and takes away some of the romanticism of travelling blindly through Vietnam.

 

It is a stunning town – when its streets are lit up by silk lanterns, Hoi An’s Old Town looks like an Asian fairy-tale – but it’s dominated by touts spruiking tailored suits and westerners bargaining with them, and for a moment.

 

I feel as if I’ve skipped borders into another country entirely.

Danang – Vietnam’s deserted coast

But, I soon find solace on a scooter making my way north towards Danang turning off onto a dirt track that leads to a coastline of empty beaches (but turn before you hit the sprawling multi-conglomerate golf resorts just south of Danang).

 

I find a beach entirely to myself, which appears to have no name at all.

 

Empty no-name beaches like this are still easy to find along Vietnam’s sprawling east coast. If you take any turn off the main highway to Danang, you’ll be sure to soon find an empty beach at the end of a deserted track.

 

At some beaches you’ll find rustic beachside bars serving cheap, fresh seafood. The bartender at one tells me I’m the only westerner who’s come in a month.

 

But then Vietnam’s like that, even in the backpacker district of Saigon – Pham Ngu Lao – all it takes is a five-minute walk across a main road to find streets where neighbourhoods of locals come out just to watch you eat.

 

Courtesy of my wheels, I travel further north to Vietnam’s capital, Hanoi.

Local Vietnamese woman in traditional dress
Local woman in traditional dress. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

Hanoi’s picturesque Old Quarter is well worth lingering in, but it’s dominated by backpacker joints, water puppet shows and hawkers peddling cheap t-shirts and sunglasses.

 

But, by waking with the dawn and riding up and down the city’s regal, cathedral-like boulevards before the streets become booby-trapped with a million bikes, I avoid other travellers entirely.

 

If you leave early enough, it’s possible to escape the hustle and bustle of the city and find traditional, peaceful towns just a couple of hours drive away.

Mai Chau – Vietnam’s tranquil tribes

Two hours ride north-west of the city, I spend two days in the forest-covered mountains of Tam Dao, hiking through thick forest in the same cooler temperatures I relished in Dalat.

Rice farmers working in the field
Rice farmers working in the field. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

Then I ride another 50 kilometres west to the beautiful soaring valley villages around Mai Chau, where local farmers tend methodically to paddy fields.

 

Here I stay with a local family in a stilt house three metres above the ground.

 

While Mai Chau is hardly a secret (because of its proximity to Hanoi) it’s easy to escape into the tranquil farmland where the White Thai ethnic minority live – they live a fairly traditional existence, far from the tourist buses that arrive most days from Hanoi.

 

According to the National Administration of Tourism, Vietnam anticipates to receive a whopping 10 to 15 million tourists per year by 2020.

 

Perhaps then it will begin to lose its innocence and the ease in which visitors can explore a country well beyond its new beach resorts and the cheap cocktails that come at happy hour prices every sunset.

 

Till that time, all it takes is a set of scooter wheels – oh, and a plastic helmet.

Sunset in Vietnam
Sunset in Vietnam. Photo: Clément Mahoudeau

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The Details

How to get there

Vietnam Airlines fly to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) and Hanoi daily from $900 return (including taxes). vietnamairlines.com

When to go

Vietnam’s climate is very diverse, but overall it’s best to go between March and May and from September to October. If you’re going only to the south, November to February is best. July and August is high season and can get very busy.

Where to stay

Ngoc Lan Hotel

Ngoc Lan Hotel captures Dalat’s colonial character but it’s modern and clean and is a step up from backpacker digs. It also looks out across a stunning lake. 42 Nguyen Chi Thanh St, Dalat; ngoclanhotel.vn

La Veranda

La Veranda is one of Phu Quoc’s best high-end properties. It’s designed in colonial style and has the best restaurant in the area. It’s also located right on one of the island’s best beaches. Tran Hung Dao St, Phu Quoc; laverandaresort.com

Where to eat

The Night Markets at Duong Dong serve the freshest seafood in Phu Quoc. Located on the road into Duong Dong from Long Beach (you can’t miss them). They have over 20 stalls serving barbecued seafood.

 

Treat yourself to experimental, modern Vietnamese food at Mango Rooms in Hoi An – the owner claims even Mick Jagger has eaten there. 111 Nguyen Thai Hoc, Hoi An; mangorooms.com

You can’t leave without

Taking a motorbike tour through the Central Highlands with the Easy Riders. vietnameasyrider.com

 

Diving and snorkelling off Vietnam’s best island – Phu Quoc – including tours to the pristine An Thoi islands off Phu Quoc’s southern tip.  divevietnam.com

 

A lengthy visit to one of Vietnam’s best markets – Ben Thanh Markets in central Saigon. Sure, it’s not all pretty (there’s plenty of blood and guts baking in the sun) but it’s the best insight into local life that you’ll get in Saigon – and some great bargains too.

The best thing about Vietnam

The people – even hawkers operate with an innocence and charisma you won’t find in many other Asian countries. Vietnamese people are gregarious, they love a chat and a drink – it’s easy to make friends.

The worst thing about Vietnam

As Vietnam becomes more popular, ‘progress’ is changing the landscape. Particularly in Nha Trang and Danang huge resorts are becoming a blight on the scenery.

You should know

Scooters are available from just about anywhere in Vietnam – hotels, backpackers, travel agents, petrol stations, you name it. Make sure you have an International Driver’s Licence and travel insurance that covers you for riding a scooter.

 

The local currency is the Dong, ATMs are available in all tourist areas but bring plenty of cash with you if you’re going to rural areas – USD is also accepted in the major cities.

 

The Vietnamese expect you to bargain, but don’t get as precious about it as you might in Thailand.

 

You’ll need to arrange a 30 day tourist visa before you go. Fill out an application form online for a visa on arrival. visavietnam.gov.vn

 

Vietnam is a relatively safe country, but be aware of thieves, particularly in tourist areas and big cities. Violent robbery is very rare.

 

Malaria is rare but be aware of Dengue Fever outbreaks and cover up against mosquitos.

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These community homestays are changing how travellers experience Nepal

    After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers? 

    In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.  

    Tharu dance
    Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

    Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?  

    Nepal gray langur
    Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?  

    How tourism is changing in Nepal

    Bardiya National Park
    Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.  

    Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.  

    “Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.   

    Local men in Bhada village
    Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”  

    Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.” 

    CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.  

    A new generation demanding more

    Dalla Town Hall
    Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

    The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”  

    We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”  

    Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels
    Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

    In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you… 

    bouda stupa prayer flags
    Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

    The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.  

    Boudha Stupa vendors
    Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

    A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.  

    A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi
    A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

    Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.  

    Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.  

    Life unfiltered in the Terai region

    tharu woman
    Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

    The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.  

    Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.  

    safari through Bardiya National Park
    Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

    We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.  

    Marigolds
    Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    “The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.  

    On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.  

    community homestay entrance
    A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.  

    The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.  

    In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.  

    food at community homestay
    Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

    Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.  

    The power of community homestays 

    community homestay owners in Nepal
    Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.  

    “I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?” 

    The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed. 

    Sonara community room
    An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

    Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.  

    Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.  

    CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.  

    “Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.  

    Elephant watch
    Elephant watch. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

    In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.  

    Gathering greens
    Gathering greens. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

    “We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.” 

    Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”  

    Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal