Pleiku Took Me By the Hand
(and whispered in the wind)
Real talk from December 2024 · 6 days · ~$530 · infinite mistakes
π Jump to ... (or wander, like I did)
How I ended up in Pleiku
Honestly? I only came 'cause I found a $12 flight from Saigon to Pleiku on VietJet. $12! That's cheaper than a Grab to the airport. I didn't even know where Pleiku was. I had to google it. Central Highlands, right near the Cambodian border, coffee country, lots of wind. I booked it at 11pm on a Tuesday, hungover from phα» and indecision. My friends were like, "Pleiku? Why?" I didn't have an answer. Sometimes you just pick a dot on the map and go.
Stepping out of Pleiku Airport at 3:15pm: first thing I noticed – the AIR. Not hot, not cold, but cool and dry, like someone had turned on a giant fan. After Saigon's permanent swamp-ass, this was heaven. Second thing: red dirt. Everywhere. The sidewalks, the parked motorbikes, the leaves of the palm trees – all dusted with this deep, rusty red. It looked like Mars. It smelled like pine needles and woodsmoke and something floral I couldn't place.
I took a Grab into town. The road from the airport is lined with coffee plantations and pine trees – real pine trees, not the sad urban kind. The driver, Mr. ThαΊ£o, pointed at a hill in the distance. "Biα»n Hα»," he said. Sea Lake. "You go tomorrow morning. 5am. Trust me." I didn't know yet that this would be the best advice of the trip. I just nodded and watched the red dirt roads turn into paved streets.
Pleiku at 4pm on a Thursday: quiet. Not sleepy, just ... calm. Motorbikes, but fewer honks. Wide boulevards, roundabouts with sculptures, cafΓ©s full of students. No tourist touts. No one yelling "you want massage?" I checked into a homestay on HαΊ»m 27 Nguyα» n VΔn Trα»i, dropped my bag, and immediately walked out to find coffee. I'd only been in the city 45 minutes, and already I felt my shoulders unclench.
The neighborhoods: real talk
❤️ ABSOLUTE FAVORITE: KHU Hα» T’NΖ―NG (BIα»N Hα»). Not a neighborhood, I know, but it has its own vibe. This lake is the soul of Pleiku. A volcanic crater lake, perfectly round, surrounded by pine trees and red dirt paths. I walked there every morning. At 8am, the light filters through the pines in long, golden shafts, and the water is so still it reflects the sky like a mirror. Local women sell grilled corn and bΓ‘nh trΓ‘ng nΖ°α»ng from baskets. At 8pm, it's pitch black, no streetlights, just the sound of wind and water and the occasional couple whispering on a bench. I saw the same guy fishing from a kayak every evening. Never caught anything. Didn't seem to care.
PhΖ°α»ng DiΓͺn Hα»ng – the "center" around QuαΊ£ng TrΖ°α»ng ΔαΊ‘i ΔoΓ n KαΊΏt. Wide, clean, lots of government buildings. It's fine. Good for a stroll, but you won't linger.
Khu dΓ’n cΖ° Thα»ng NhαΊ₯t – this is where the old Pleiku lives. Narrow streets, French-colonial villas crumbling with grace, coffee shops hidden in overgrown gardens. I walked down Phα» HΓΉng VΖ°Ζ‘ng at 10am and counted three different coffee roasters within 100 meters. The smell of roasting robusta and cacao hung in the air like perfume. At 4:30pm, the light hits the yellow walls of the old train station (abandoned now) and turns them honey-gold. I sat on the steps and watched a guy fix a bicycle. No one bothered me.
Where the good coffee actually is: An alley off HαΊ»m 45 TrαΊ§n PhΓΊ. No sign, just a green metal gate left ajar. Inside, a garden full of coffee trees (yes, actual trees) and a thatched-roof hut. An old J'rai man, Mr. KrΔ JΔn, roasts his own beans over a wood fire. He speaks almost no English, but he pours a mean cΓ phΓͺ phin – dark, chocolaty, with a hint of smoke. 12k. I went there four times. On the last day, he gave me a small bag of beans. "QuΓ cho bαΊ‘n." Gift for friend. I haven't opened it yet. It smells like Pleiku.
Food That Made Me Emotional
π₯ PHα» KHΓ GIA LAI – QuΓ‘n Hoa Hα»ng, 16 LΓͺ ThΓ‘nh TΓ΄n. This is not the phα» you know. It's dry phα» – rice noodles tossed in a savory, slightly sweet sauce, topped with beef, peanuts, herbs, and a bowl of hot broth on the side. You dip, you mix, you slurp. The lady, Ms. Hoa, has been making it for 30 years. I ordered one bowl, then another, then another. The noodles were chewy, the sauce clung to every strand, the broth was clear and beefy. 40k per bowl. I ate three. She laughed and said, "con Δn nhΖ° hα»." You eat like a tiger. I wore that phrase like a medal.
BΓN Δα» – 27 Nguyα» n ChΓ Thanh. Another Pleiku specialty. "Red noodles" – the noodles are stained with tomato paste, served with grilled pork, fried tofu, and a mountain of herbs. The broth is light, almost consommΓ©-like, but with a deep umami. I went on a Sunday morning, and the place was packed with families. I squeezed onto a plastic stool, ordered, and a grandma sitting next to me corrected my chopstick technique. I thanked her. She nodded. "Δn ngon mα»i tα»t." Eat well, be well. 35k.
The disappointing meal. I tried a "specialty" restaurant on TrαΊ§n HΖ°ng ΔαΊ‘o that looked upscale. Ordered bΓ² mα»t nαΊ―ng – sun-dried beef. It came out chewy, overly salty, and the dipping sauce was watery. 150k. Should've bought the beef at the market and made it myself.
Hangover cure? I don't drink much, but one night my homestay host offered me rượu cαΊ§n – traditional rice wine drunk thru a long bamboo straw. I accepted. Big mistake. Next morning, throbbing head. A woman on HΓΉng VΖ°Ζ‘ng sold me a bowl of chΓ‘o lΓ²ng – pork offal porridge with blood pudding and quαΊ©y. 25k. The ginger, the pepper, the warmth. I was human again by the last bite.
Street food that scared then delighted me: CΓ΄n trΓΉng chiΓͺn – fried crickets. I saw a cart near the market, a crowd of kids munching on something from paper cones. I walked closer. Crickets. Big ones. They looked at me with their tiny, fried legs. The vendor smiled. "Δn thα», ngon lαΊ―m." Try, delicious. I closed my eyes and popped one in. Crunchy, nutty, a little salty. Tastes like popcorn, if popcorn had tiny antennae. I ate the whole cone. 20k. I'm not scared anymore.
π° Expensive mistake: I bought a bag of "Pleiku wild honey" from a shop near the lake. 350k. Later I saw the same honey at the morning market for 180k. Everything's gone up, but that was just dumb. The honey was good. Not 350k good.
What locals ate vs tourists: I didn't see any other tourists. So I ate what everyone ate. I felt like I'd stumbled into the real Vietnam.
Tourist Stuff vs. What Actually Ruled
Biα»n Hα» (T’NΖ°ng Lake) – Lives up to the hype, but you have to go early. I went at 5:15am (thanks, Mr. ThαΊ£o). The sunrise was unreal – pink and orange bleeding into the black water, mist rising off the surface, and not a single other person. By 9am, the tour buses arrive. So: early, or skip.
ChΖ° ΔΔng Ya volcano – This IS worth it. An extinct volcano with a massive crater now filled with wild grass. The trek is easy, the views are insane, and there are no entry fees. I went in December – the grass was golden, waving in the wind. I sat on the crater rim for an hour, just staring. A local farmer herded cows past me. He smiled, said "rαΊ₯t ΔαΊΉp." Very beautiful. Yes, it is.
What my homestay host recommended: "Don't just do Pleiku. Go to the J'rai villages near ChΖ° SΓͺ." I rented a motorbike and drove 40km to a village called Plei α»p. Wooden longhouses on stilts, women weaving on traditional looms, kids playing with homemade bamboo toys. I met a woman named H'Bia, who showed me how she dyes fabric with indigo. She spoke little Vietnamese, but we communicated with gestures and smiles. I bought a small piece of fabric for 100k. It's now on my wall. That beat any waterfall.
The thing I found by accident: I was lost on the way back from ChΖ° ΔΔng Ya, took a wrong turn, and ended up at a coffee plantation. The farmer, Mr. ThuαΊn, invited me for a cup of robusta fresh off the tree. He showed me the drying racks, the pulping machine, the whole process. "Most coffee here goes to Trung NguyΓͺn," he said. "You want real Pleiku coffee? Buy from me." I bought a kilo for 150k. It's the best coffee I've ever tasted.
Getting Around: What Google Maps Won't Tell You
Motorbike rental – I rented from a shop on Nguyα» n VΔn Trα»i, 120k/day. The bike was a Honda Wave with 70,000km, but it ran fine. The red dirt roads can be slippery – I nearly washed out on a downhill turn near Biα»n Hα». Lesson: go slow, keep both feet ready.
Grab – Available in Pleiku, but fewer drivers than Saigon. Wait times 5-10 minutes. Prices are cheap – 20-30k for most trips.
Walking – Very doable in the city center. Sidewalks are wide and mostly unblocked. I walked from my homestay to the market, to the lake, to the old quarter. Discovered more that way than on wheels.
Bus – I didn't try the city buses. The intercity buses to Kon Tum, BuΓ΄n Ma Thuα»t, etc., leave from the big station on Quang Trung. I took one to ChΖ° SΓͺ – 35k, 45 minutes, no AC but a breeze from the windows.
Hack figured out day 3: Download the "Vato" app – it's like Grab but sometimes cheaper. I took a Vato bike from the market to my homestay for 17k. The driver knew a shortcut through the alleys that shaved off 5 minutes.
Where I Stayed: The Good, Bad, and Weird
Homestay Cao NguyΓͺn, HαΊ»m 27 Nguyα» n VΔn Trα»i. $18/night on Booking. The photos showed a clean room with a view of the garden. What they didn't show: the garden was overrun with basil and coffee plants (beautiful but also full of mosquitoes), the room had no heater (it gets COLD at night in December), and the walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors' TV. But the host, Ms. Trinh, was a J'rai woman with a laugh that filled the whole house.
πΏ THE SHOWER – Had hot water, but the water pressure was a gentle suggestion. You had to stand directly under the head to get wet. I took a lot of navy showers.
π THE NOISE – Not the TV. The ROOSTER. A rooster that belonged to the neighbor started crowing at 4:15am. Every. Single. Day. By day 3, I accepted it as my alarm clock. By day 5, I didn't mind.
πΏ THE AMAZING THING – Ms. Trinh's family included a dog named K’BrΓ΄ng. A mutt with one floppy ear and a permanently worried expression. He followed me everywhere – to the coffee shop, to the lake, to the market. When I came home, he was waiting at the gate. I haven't had a dog since I was a kid. I forgot how good it feels to be greeted like that.
Price paid: $108 for 6 nights. Worth it? 1000%. I'd fight a thousand roosters for K’BrΓ΄ng and Ms. Trinh's laugh.
The Thing That Surprised Me
I expected the Central Highlands to be ... harsher. Rugged, wild, maybe a little dangerous. And it is, in places. But Pleiku itself has this softness. The light is gentle, the people speak in lower voices, and even the traffic seems polite.
What surprised me most: the silence. At night, after the rooster finally shut up, the city gets QUIET. No constant hum of air conditioners, no bass from passing cars, just wind through pine needles and the occasional dog bark. I sat on the homestay porch at 10pm, drinking leftover coffee, and K’BrΓ΄ng slept at my feet. I couldn't remember the last time I heard so little. It was unnerving at first. By the end, I craved it.
Also: the J'rai culture. I knew nothing about Vietnam's indigenous groups before this trip. Ms. Trinh taught me a few words: "sΔn" (eat), "mΖ‘n" (good), "tΖ‘lΖ‘i" (thank you). She told me stories about her grandmother, who was a weaver and a healer. "We are still here," she said. "Not just in museums." I felt ashamed of my ignorance, but also grateful. Pleiku didn't just show me a new place; it showed me how much I don't know.
Money: What I Actually Spent
I tracked every Δα»ng because my father was an accountant. Here's the unfiltered breakdown – all the dumb expenses, all the wins.
π° Savings tip: Coffee at Mr. KrΔ JΔn's garden is 12k. Coffee at the lakefront cafes is 40k. Same beans, better view. Always follow the old people.
Mistakes I Made So You Don't Have To
- I packed for Saigon summer, not Central Highlands winter. December nights in Pleiku drop to 16°C. I froze my ass off until I bought that stupid sparkly hoodie. Pack a fleece, a windbreaker, long pants. The locals wear beanies for a reason.
- I didn't book the homestay in advance. December is peak season for Vietnamese tourists (Da Lat is full, so some come to Pleiku). I got the last room at Ms. Trinh's. If I'd arrived a day later, I'd be sleeping in a hotel lobby. Book ahead.
- I assumed all coffee is the same. It's not. Pleiku is famous for its robusta, but some places mix in corn or soy to cut costs. Mr. KrΔ JΔn's is pure. The tourist cafes? Not always. Ask where the beans are from.
- I tried to visit the J'rai village on Sunday. The weavers don't work on Sunday. I stood outside a locked community hall like a lost puppy. Go on a weekday, morning is best.
- I didn't bring a power bank. My phone battery drained faster in the cool weather? I don't know why. I spent 40 minutes lost on the way to ChΖ° ΔΔng Ya, too stubborn to ask for directions. Don't be me.
How It Actually Went: Day by Day
Monday – arrival & shock: Flew in, bought ugly hoodie, met Mr. ThαΊ£o, checked into homestay. Ate phα» khΓ΄ at Hoa Hα»ng – three bowls. Walked around Thα»ng NhαΊ₯t, found Mr. KrΔ JΔn's coffee garden. Sat there for an hour. K’BrΓ΄ng followed me home.
Tuesday – lake day: Woke up at 4:50am (thanks, rooster). Walked to Biα»n Hα». Sunrise was perfect, no tourists. Ate grilled corn from a lady, drank coffee from a thermos. Afternoon: motorbike to ChΖ° ΔΔng Ya. Got lost, found coffee plantation, bought beans. Ate bΓΊn Δα» for dinner. Fell asleep at 8pm.
Wednesday – village & crickets: Meant to go to Kon Tum, but slept thru my alarm. Instead, took a bus to Plei α»p village. Met H'Bia, bought fabric. Came back, ate fried crickets (delicious). Evening: Ms. Trinh's family dinner. She made thα»t kho tΓ u. K’BrΓ΄ng sat at my feet. I gave him a piece of pork. He approved.
Thursday – volcano & wind: Drove to ChΖ° ΔΔng Ya. Hiked to the crater rim. Sat in the grass for an hour. No one else. The wind sounded like singing. On the way back, stopped at a roadside stall for bΓ² mα»t nαΊ―ng – disappointing. Oh well.
Friday – last full day: Morning coffee at Mr. KrΔ JΔn's. Bought a kilo of beans. Walked to the old train station, sat on the steps, wrote postcards. Afternoon: gΓ nΖ°α»ng from Mr. Lα»c. Ate half a chicken. Evening: final bowl of phα» khΓ΄. Ms. Hoa said, "ngΓ y mai con Δi?" You leave tomorrow? I nodded. She gave me extra beef. "Nhα» quay lαΊ‘i." Come back.
Saturday – departure: Woke up at 4:15am, listened to the rooster one last time. K’BrΓ΄ng walked me to the gate. Ms. Trinh packed me a banana and a bottle of water. I promised to come back. I meant it.
Practical Stuff (Without the Boring Lists)
Almost-scam at the bus station: A guy tried to sell me a "special express" ticket to Kon Tum for 150k. The official price is 60k. I said "khΓ΄ng, cαΊ£m Ζ‘n" and walked to the counter. He followed me for 20 seconds, then gave up. Know the prices beforehand.
Health thing that went wrong: The dry air gave me a nosebleed on day 2. I bought a bottle of nΖ°α»c muα»i sinh lΓ½ (saline nasal spray) at a pharmacy for 25k. It helped. Also, the altitude (780m) is nothing, but I still drank more water than usual.
Song that was everywhere: "CΓ³ HαΊΉn Vα»i Thanh XuΓ’n" by MONO. I heard it at the coffee garden, on a bus, even from a farmer's phone speaker at the volcano. It's a wistful pop song. Now it makes me think of red dirt and pine trees.
What I wish I'd packed: A lightweight down jacket (those cheap Uniqlo ones would've been perfect). Better rain gear – it didn't rain, but I was paranoid. And a small gift for Ms. Trinh – I felt bad showing up empty-handed. Next time, I'm bringing coffee from my country, even if it's inferior.
Inside joke with K’BrΓ΄ng: Every morning, I'd say "lΓͺn xe Δi" – get on the bike. He never did. He'd just tilt his head, one ear flopping. By the end, I said it and he'd wag his tail. I think he knew it was a joke. I hope he knew.
Anyway. I didn't plan to write a novel about Pleiku. I didn't even plan to go there. But now I can't stop thinking about the wind on the crater rim, the taste of phα» khΓ΄ at 7am, the weight of K’BrΓ΄ng's head on my foot.
Pleiku isn't trying to be your favorite city. It's not in the guidebooks, not on the tourist trail. It's just there, on the red dirt plateau, growing coffee and waiting for people like me to stumble off the right plane onto the wrong bus. I'm grateful I did.
Also, I still have half that sparkly hoodie. I wear it when I need to feel warm. It works.
Still have questions? Wanna argue about phα» khΓ΄?
Drop a comment – I read every single one. Even if you just want the exact coordinates of Mr. KrΔ JΔn's coffee garden. I'll try to describe it, but you kinda have to find it yourself. That's the Pleiku way.
Last updated: December 2024 · prices are probably higher now · go anyway
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