Experience in Homestay in the highlands that everyone should know

There are early mornings in the mountains of Northwest Vietnam when the mist still clings gently to earthen rooftops, and the scent of roasted corn drifts from a crackling fire inside a stilt house. A rooster crows in the distance, and the soft shuffle of a curious traveler’s footsteps touches the quiet soil of a highland village. In that moment, your heart may soften, as if brushing against a forgotten memory that never truly existed. In a highland community homestay, you don’t just stay, you live. Slowly, deeply, and genuinely.

The journey doesn’t begin when you arrive. It begins the moment you decide to stay in a homestay. That choice alone is a quiet turn away from glossy hotels in city centers. It’s a small shift that stirs both excitement and uncertainty. Will I have privacy? Is it clean? Is there WiFi? Will I enjoy it? Strangely, it’s those very uncertainties that give the experience its charm.

The best way to start is with a heartfelt recommendation, perhaps from a local friend or an online travel community. Don’t be swayed only by pretty pictures or low prices. Instead, try to learn about the host, the story behind the house. Some hosts are traditional weavers, others are Red Dao couples who garden with joy and cook like seasoned chefs. Each homestay is its own little universe, and the host is its soul.

Up in the highlands, no two homestays are the same. Some preserve their original stilted architecture, where thick quilts by a warm hearth offer comfort through cold nights. Others have been thoughtfully modernized with private bathrooms, heated blankets, and hot water. It’s not unusual to be told to shower early or risk losing the hot water, or to wake to the crowing of chickens and the earthy scent of pinewood and damp soil. That’s part of the region’s unique definition of luxury, humble but deeply comforting.

One of the most beloved aspects of a highland homestay is the food. Forget buffets or set menus. Here, you’re served a true home-cooked meal. Boiled forest greens with sesame salt, rich bone broth, savory caramelized pork, all cooked over a wood-fired stove by the practiced hands of local mothers and sisters. You eat under the glow of warm lights, with laughter and stories dancing across the table, and suddenly, your exhaustion slips away. The simple things have a way of soothing the soul.

And then, there’s the magic of gathering. Picture a fire crackling in the yard, Hmong or Thai children singing into the night, the sound of flutes and laughter rising into the stars. Some may hesitate to join in at first, but one moment is all it takes to get swept away. On rainy evenings, travelers huddle around the hearth, sharing tales of love, work, and life. The world feels small inside a stilt house, but the memories it holds can be immense.

Staying in a homestay also means learning to blend in gracefully. Walk quietly at night, avoid littering, respect your host’s private space, these little things reveal a guest’s sincerity. Some homestays even invite guests to join in rice harvesting, cook traditional cornmeal dishes, brew rice wine, or forage in the forest. If you open your heart, you’ll receive more than just a place to sleep, you’ll gain a deeper understanding of life.

Of course, highland homestays aren’t for everyone. They may lack strong WiFi, air conditioning, or the polished ease of city hotels. But for those who come with the intention of living as locals do, every breath here feels raw and refreshing, like washing off layers of city dust. Sometimes, peace is as simple as sitting on the porch, watching sunlight dance through corn leaves, sipping hot tea, and feeling whole.

Before leaving, try to leave something behind, a thank-you note, an old book, a small token from your journey. Highland people don’t always speak much, but they remember deeply, a smile, a gesture, a grateful heart. And perhaps, when you return, you’ll be welcomed not as a guest, but as a long-lost friend coming home.

A community homestay in the highlands isn’t just a destination. It’s a chapter in your story of growing up. A place where emotions run deep, where joy blooms from small things, where memories etch themselves into your soul. If you’ve been, you’ll always long to return. If you haven’t, then now is the perfect time to begin. All it takes is a ticket, a light backpack, and a heart wide open. And beyond that misty horizon, a new world awaits, nestled in a stilt house, wrapped in mountain fog, and echoing with laughter as the day turns to dusk.