The Heritage
A woven tale of ingenuity, resilience, and quiet determination. Once a simple tool for survival, it has become a lasting symbol of coastal life and the creativity born from challenge.
The Origin
"If it's a basket, not a boat - how do you tax it?"
The thúng chài (literally “woven basket”) is a small, circular boat made of bamboo and coated with natural resin or tar, used by fishermen across Vietnam’s central and southern coasts. Though simple in form, it is the outcome of remarkable vernacular design—light, buoyant, repairable, and able to navigate surf where larger boats cannot.
Legend says it was born from the cleverness of fishermen under colonial rule. When the French imposed heavy taxes on wooden boats, coastal villagers rebelled not with weapons but with weaving. They fashioned their vessels from bamboo baskets, declaring: “If it is a basket, not a boat—how can you tax it?”
Thus the thúng chài became both a tool of survival and an emblem of quiet resistance.
Ethnographically, its roots may stretch deeper still. Woven coracles have existed for millennia along river deltas and estuaries in Asia, evolving in tandem with human adaptation to watery worlds. In Vietnam, this basket boat became a cultural archetype—a spinning womb of the sea, cradling fishermen, children, and even families through storms and changing tides.
Today, the thúng chài remains a living heritage: used daily by coastal fishers, celebrated in festivals, and reimagined by artists as a vessel of memory and renewal.
Coracles Around The Globe
Thúng chài is the most widely used and recognisable of the world’s coracles—a family of small, round or oval watercraft found wherever reeds, willow, or bamboo met the need to float.
Across continents, these boats reveal a convergent human imagination: when materials are scarce but craft is abundant, the circle becomes the most stable, efficient form. Unlike longboats built for speed and distance, coracles are meant for intimacy with the water—quietly floating, turning easily in surf, and returning home with the tide.
Their geometry is poetic: in a circle, there is no bow or stern, no master or servant of direction. The boat becomes an extension of the body, spinning gently between balance and drift.
In India, the parisal of Tamil Nadu and the teppa of Andhra Pradesh share a similar coiled grace. In Wales and Ireland, the corwgl or currach once ferried fishermen across rivers and bays. In Iraq and along the Tigris, the ancient quffa—woven of palm fiber—was described by Herodotus more than two thousand years ago.
parisal பரிசல்
Tamil Nadu
teppa తెప్ప
Andhra Pradesh
taraibune たらい舟
Sado Island, Japan
quffa
Tigris, Iraq
corwgl/currach
Ireland and Wales
bull boat
Native American
One old bamboo,
the whole village lends its strength;
one round boat,
the whole port helps weave it.
“Một tre già, cả làng góp gân;
một tàu tròn, cả bến cùng đan.”
A Communal Craft
Each thúng chài is more than a craft—it is a communal act of making, shaped by the ecology of Vietnam’s coasts. Bamboo is cut from riverbanks, resin tapped from forest trees, and the pulse of the sea sets the maker’s rhythm.
In most villages, the work is shared: men split and weave bamboo, women prepare cords or resin, and elders offer advice from long memory. Courtyards turn into open workshops where laughter, stories, and care bind the boat as surely as the rattan lashings. Every thúng chài thus carries the spirit of its people—woven 8-10 days from both material and kinship.
Each coastal region adds its own signature: in Phú Yên, the boats are deep and sturdy for the open surf; in Quảng Ngãi, lighter and flatter for calm estuaries; in Bình Thuận, some mix traditional resin with modern tar. Though patterns differ, all follow the same patient rhythm—an inheritance of hands guided by wind, tide, and time.
Bamboo Splitting
Fresh bamboo is harvested from nearby groves—usually species with flexible yet strong fibers. The culms are dried for several days, then split into long strips of differing thickness: wide, sturdy pieces for the frame and rim; thin, pliant strands for the tight inner weave. This first stage determines the strength and suppleness of the entire vessel.
Frame and Base Weaving
Strips of young bamboo are split, softened by soaking, and woven in a spiral pattern to form a shallow bowl. The weaver’s body moves with the rhythm of tide and breath—each strip an act of remembrance.
Ribs and Rim
Stronger bamboo ribs are bound along the sides to reinforce the shape, then a thicker ring forms the rim, lashed tight with rattan or nylon cord.
Sealing and Waterproofing
Traditionally, a mixture of cow dung, coconut oil, and natural resin was used to seal every crevice—a recipe passed down generations. Modern makers often use marine tar or epoxy, but the ritual remains the same: sealing the vessel’s skin, giving it breath against the sea.
Drying and Testing
The finished basket is left under the sun to cure. Once dry, it is set afloat, tested for leaks, and adjusted with care—until it spins smoothly, perfectly balanced on water.
Painting and Blessing
Many fishermen decorate their boats with bright pigments or painted eyes for protection and luck. Before its first voyage, a small offering—often incense or rice wine—is made to the sea spirits, thanking the waters for their generosity.
Weaving Amid Change
Today, the thúng chài endures along Vietnam’s coast, though its role has evolved. In some villages, it remains vital for daily fishing and ferrying goods; in others, it has become a symbol for festivals, tourism, and heritage displays. Cultural programs and family workshops still teach the craft, yet fewer young people take up the labor-intensive weaving.
As the thúng chài diversifies in its use—from working vessel to decorative object—its meaning, too, drifts. What was once a communal craft born of necessity and kinship now risks becoming a nostalgic emblem. Preserving the thúng chài means more than keeping its form afloat; it is about keeping alive the relationships between land, sea, and the people who once wove them together.
