Things to Do in East Sea Park

Dawn squid market

The fishing boats nose up onto the sand around 5am, engines coughing blue smoke as crews heave baskets of catch onto tarpaulins. You'll smell diesel mixing with seaweed while auctioneers rattle off prices in rapid-fire Vietnamese, their voices echoing against the hulls. Old women in conical hats sort through the squid, checking for freshness by pressing the translucent flesh while gulls wheel overhead screaming for scraps.

Basket boat weaving workshop

In a yard behind the seafood restaurants, you'll find Mr. Thanh bending bamboo strips that smell of river water and smoke. His hands move without looking, creating the distinctive coracle shape while explaining through demonstration rather than words how these boats once evaded pirates by spinning in tight circles. The bamboo creaks as it takes shape, and you'll leave with resin on your fingers and a newfound respect for maritime origami.

Night squid fishing

The boats leave around 8pm when the water turns ink-black except for green phosphorescence swirling in their wake. You'll sit on a plank seat, feeling diesel vibrations through your spine while learning to spot squid attracted to the hanging lanterns. Their eyes glow red in the light before the net swoops down. The deck smells of fish sauce and gasoline, and someone always brings rice wine that burns your throat while the stars burn holes in the sky.

Beach horse therapy

At the far end of the park, where casuarina trees give way to dunes, you'll find horses that smell of salt and hay being led through shallow waves. The animals move with surprising delicacy, their hooves making soft splashes while you grip a mane that feels like coarse rope. Children laugh from the saddle as the horses suddenly decide to roll, sending up sheets of water that taste briny on your lips.

Fish sauce barrel houses

In concrete buildings that smell like nothing you've encountered, wooden barrels taller than you hold anchovies fermenting for months. The air hits like ammonia mixed with the ocean's deepest secrets, and workers move between rows with cloth over mouths, stirring the brew with long paddles. Light filters through gaps in corrugated roofs, illuminating dust motes that probably aren't dust at all.

The strip between the lighthouse and the fish market where family guesthouses have hammocks on balconies and owners who'll cook whatever you caught

Back from the beach among the casuarina trees, where concrete mini-hotels offer air-con and balconies overlooking vegetable gardens

Near the bus station for early departures - basic but clean, with shared bathrooms that always smell of bleach and incense

The southern end where new resorts rise behind sand dunes, their pools reflecting palm fronds and prices reflecting the infinity edge

In the fishing village itself, where homestays mean shared meals of whatever came in that morning and conversations conducted mostly in gestures

Budget barracks near the naval base - spartan but secure, with 6am wake-up calls courtesy of the national anthem played over loudspeakers. The walls are thin. The price is right. Earplugs help.