Phi started riding when the first kites had barely reached Vietnamese shores. No school, no teacher — he learned by watching, by falling, by fixing every broken board with his own hands. All he had was the Mũi Né sea, and time.
The early years were hard. Gear was expensive, income was thin, and a torn kite meant a month on dry sand. But Phi always found his way back to the water. Because the sea — as he puts it — never waits.
"I'm not rich. I just have the sea. And that's all I need to teach."
Twenty years on, Phi is still there. Same beach. Same easy smile. His students come from more than thirty countries — Russia, France, Korea, Germany, Australia, the UK. Many return every monsoon. Not because he's the most-certified coach, but because he offers what the big centres can't: a real Mũi Né local.
He teaches with his hands, with a calm voice, with the experience of twenty Northeast-monsoon seasons. He doesn't rush. He waits until you're ready. And when you stand up on a board for the very first time — he laughs louder than you do.