Pedaling to Hói Dừa Parish – and a Little Dip in the Wild

One fine morning, I saddled up with my cycling comrade Khánh Huỳnh and climbed over Hải Vân Pass. From there, we swooped down into Lăng Cô and made a detour to visit Hói Dừa Parish. Funny enough, I’d biked past this area a bunch of times—looping around Lập An Lagoon, weaving through places called Hói Cạn, Hói Mít, and Hói Dừa, all nestled under the lush green flanks of Bạch Mã – Hải Vân mountains—but somehow never dropped by the parish itself.

When we arrived, the church was mid-disinfection. The caretaker, a cheerful fellow, took pride in walking me through the history of Hói Dừa Parish and how the community had worked closely with local authorities during the Covid pandemic. Respect.

What struck me most? This tiny parish of just 120 households had a stone church that could rival those in Europe—big, bold, and beautiful. Turns out, back in the early 1900s, a small group of Catholics from Phú Thượng Parish (Đà Nẵng) crossed Hải Vân Pass on foot looking for a new life, and ended up founding the Hói Dừa community. The original church? A thatched chapel. Over time, it got a tiled roof, and by 2010, they began building the current church, which opened its doors in July 2017.

After some photo ops and a quick snack, we hopped back on the bikes and pushed on for another 2 kilometers to explore a place called Thác Đổ Stream, aka Tam Thác Đổ. And wow—what a gem! A pristine trail perfect for mountain biking, nature-watching, and general escape-from-the-city soul-healing.

Near the top of the stream, a giant boulder splits the water into three falls that tumble down into three separate pools before joining Lập An Lagoon. Pretty sure that’s how it got the name Tam Thác Đổ (Three-Fall Cascade). Simple. Beautiful. Genius.

Because of Covid, the place was deserted. Someone had blocked the path with a fallen tree and a sign scrawled with “Waterfall closed.” Inside, it looked like a ghost market—crumbling food stalls, half-built huts, signs of a once-bustling tourist stop. But the stream? Still magnificent. Green forest, yellow flowers, and clear, cold water whispering through massive rocks.

I dunked myself into the icy stream, let the water wash off the sweat and dust, snapped a few photos, and felt reborn. Nearly 100 km over Hải Vân Pass—round trip—but totally worth every crank of the pedal.

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Mr. Old Man, March 15, 2020