April 2009 Archives

Stefan and I decide to rent a motorbike for the day and organise our own tour. In the evening I ask the receptionist how much the bikes are ($5 USD manual, $6 USD automatic).

The following morning I enquire about prices again ($5 USD manual, $8 USD automatic). We take the automatic for 90k VND.

The first stop we make for the day, I make the mistake of parking in a “parking bay”, an unmarked patch of dirt that you need to pay to use. The attendant will give you a ticket and as a foreigner, you need to pay 5k VND to use. The rest of the day, when we park the bike, if we’re offered a ticket, we move the bike 10m and don’t pay anything.

The day sets us back a lot of money as we need to pay 55k VND for each of the three tombs we visit.

Tu Duc’s Tomb

Khai Dinh’s Tomb

Minh Mang’s Tomb

When we stopped for lunch, we ordered a chicken and rice. The chicken was some of the toughest meat either of us had ever tasted, and so we weren’t all too satisfied when the rather large bill arrived. After pointlessly trying to negotiate the price down,  we pay the fare and leave having felt like we were robbed. When I retold the story about lunch to Stefan’s hotel receptionist, she said that the price we paid was in fact quite reasonable and that the chicken is tough because it’s farm fresh, not the usual kind of chicken you can get in a shop. After this, I felt like an ass for trying to get the price down.

Riding through one of the small villages between the tombs we are approached by some Vietnamese children. They start begging when we arrive (something I experienced in Cambodia, but not in Vietnam). I tell them I’ll take their photo. After showing the kids the photo, I ask them for a dollar, they laugh and we go our separate ways.

The final stop on our day trip, Thien Mu pagoda holds the car that the Buddhist Thich Quang Duc used to drive to the location of his self immolation. For more details of his story, I highly recommend the Wikipedia page.

On the bus from Hoi An to Hue, I start chatting to a German fellow next to me. Stefan took four weeks leave prior to starting some work in South Korea,

Our bus has difficulties getting up hills, and we joke about getting off and walking up, since it would be quicker.

They really love their communist propaganda in Hue.

After finding a room for the night, we walk to the Imperial City. It’s beautiful but inside there is a lot of restoration work that the workers seem in no rush to finish.

Marble Mountain (Thuy Son Mountain) is a holy mountain complete with pagodas and caves.

The temples are very beautiful, many Vietnamese come to this mountain to pray.

There are several caves like this in the mountain.

After the ascent to heaven, our efforts are rewarded with the most amazing view. Shortly after we descend, it starts pouring.

Wake up early and realise my Visa is going to expire in five days and there's no way I will be able to finish with Vietnam in time. I grab my passport from the receptionist and visit my friend Miss Trang, manager of another hotel in the area. She tells me that the office is closed on Sundays, so we'll sort out the visa tomorrow.

Mr Trum (who caught the bus with me from Nha Trang) and I rent a moto and head down to Mr Vuong's Romantic Tour. We travel through the countryside, past Danang to a place called Cua Huoi.

Countryside along the trip.

The place is exactly as described, a series of small waterfalls cascading down the mountain, forming small pools for swimming. Flowers fall into the water and the scent is amazing. The only thing missing is a single flamenco guitar player and it would be the most romantic place I've seen in Vietnam.

I can't resist and decide to go for a quick dip in the water. Within five minutes I am approached by ten curious middle-aged Vietnamese men who are very excited to offer me beers. It would be impolite to decline so Trum and I join them for beers. Next thing you know we're eating lunch with them, and they are introducing all the unwed women for myself to find a good wife.

The new friends with whom we share dinner, notice the large amount of beers, they are what lead to the next source of entertainment. The man on the far right (Tung) is the father of the girl on the far left, she is a make up artist, can cook and clean and would make a great wife for me Tung tells me, with Trum translating.

Your eyes are not deceiving you, I am the one on the right in the straw hat, the man on the right is about to give me a big bear hug. After the many beers and rice whiskey shots, an old man hops on the keyboard and they give me a mic, requesting some English songs. I don't know anything they request and they don't know any of the songs I do, so I freestyle a song on the spot to the honky tonk tune being played. I sing about my trip, my friends in Hoi An, the beautiful countryside and about all the Vietnamese women I will marry.

Turns out everyone had stopped what they were doing and was listening to my ballad. They didn't understand a word I was singing but were still enthusiastically applauding when I finished the song with "I still call Australia home". For the rest of the day people approach my with a smile and tell me I'm a great singer. They're full of it but I thank them anyway.

We leave several hours later to head to Marble Mountain and run into trouble. Trum the genius didn't want to stop for petrol when I suggested we should, we run out and have to wait for a lift.

Trum knows more Vietnamese than I do, so I let him hitchhike in the sun while I chill in the shade and take some photos. It takes all of five minutes to find a lift (this is after we're bored of pushing the bike and coasting down hill).

When we fill up I tell Trum I'm driving, hop on the bike and figure out how to ride manual (thanks to the one lesson I had in Australia) while Trum grumbles about the heat. Shortly he is shouting for me to slow down, telling me he is scared that we will die. I laugh and tell him I am scared also. He is quiet most of the way to Marble Mountain. We make it in one piece.

In the late morning, Vuong swings past on his moto and we head down to My Son (pronounced Mee Son) Holy Land to look at some ancient Champa temples.

The temples are very similar to those at Angkor, but much smaller.

Vuong finds a trio of Aussie girls and they invite us to join in their picnic. In return, Vuong organises a car and hotel for the girls in Hue.

After the temple visit, we head towards Danang, where Vuong introduces me to more of his family. His sister in law is unmarried and is looking for a husband, young, good sense of humour, good looking and employed. Send all reasonable offers :)

In the evening we go to a Vietnamese concert, consisting of several groups of pop singers, a comedy duo, a cross dresser and a gay cowboy.

These gentlemen are exhibiting the latest in Vietnam fashion and sport more makeup than most girls I know.

This singer is very popular in Vietnam. Like most male singers he's sporting tight pants in bright colours. However he falls short on the cowboy boots and hat and the accompanying dance. The one song he sings in English, I can't understand as his accent is so strong.

In the morning Trung and I take a bicycle tour of the Hoi An countryside. We arrive at a vegetable farm and stop to have a chat with some of the farmers.

It’s hard to complain about life back home when you see some of the hardships faced out here. This farmer works harder than most people I’ve seen and stops his work to pose for a photo. He’s very happy despite the hardships he faces and I find myself completely lost for words, not that it would matter since we don’t speak a common language.

All work is done by hand and everyone works, men, women and children, young and old. These farmers make reasonably good sums of money I’m told.

After the vegetable garden, we ride to Vuong’s place for a lunch with his mother (Ba) and younger sister.

Following our lunch, Ba takes Trung and I out on her boat up the river to a beach for a swim.

Some Vietnamese fishermen confidently challenge me to a swimming race. I gladly accept thinking they’re like most Vietnamese when it comes to swimming. I’m mistaken, these guys are quick, really quick and they know it. That makes the defeat that much better, I pound my chest and tell them I’m Australia’s fastest swimmer and show them my victory dance, so much for winning gracefully. The guys take it in good stride and I bid them farewell as they must get back to the waters to fish.

WARNING: Chests in photos appear hairy because they are.

When we arrive back at Hai’s place (conveniently situated opposite my hotel), the family invite me for dinner and I have another meal of fish and rice. Hoi An hospitality is amazing.

I meet a Vietnamese guy (Trung) on the sleeper bus between Nha Trang and Hoi An. Trung knows a local girl, Hai. Hai works in her family’s tailor shop and her best friend, Trang,  is the manager of a hotel. The tour operator at the hotel is Vuong (English name King) and the final person in my new posse is Hien, a bartender at a very popular bar just out of the old town.

We grab breakfast in the morning, I play tourist during the day and we catch up for dinner consisting of sting ray and fresh fish in the DIY burrito style I tried in Nha Trang.

Japanese covered bridge, one of the many sights in the old town of Hoi An.

Hoi An old town is a tourist oriented town and as such everyone you see in the old town is trying to sell you something. Walking past a row of eateries when you’re not hungry can be annoying, every tout will ask you to eat in their restaurant. I can’t remember the number of times I’ve said Khong Gam On (No thank you).

The city is famed for its collection of tailors, it seems that every second shop can get you measured for a suit, one day later the suit is made. A suit generally goes for 100USD, a shirt 15USD and the quality is amazing, you would easily pay ten times the price back home for the clothes.

Walking back to our hotel one night the sound of live music draws me to XQ - a combination art gallery, art factory and artist space.

Hand woven silk shirts and traditional dresses are on display in one of the rooms. Another room has wooden carvings and statues, depicting struggles faced by the Vietnamese. Embroided canvases are the organisation’s product line and are sold in large quantities from the many offices in Vietnam.

Embroidery has a strong history within Vietnam, unfortunately, it’s going the way of the Japanese geishas. Few girls want to make a career out of embroidery due to the amount of time required to perfect the art.

A portrait requires one girl two months of work to do and four to five years of experience to undertake. Larger scenes can take four girls three months each to complete. The pictures sell for between 800 and 3500 USD from what I could see.

The courtyard cafe serves hot tea, as four guitarists sing and play songs composed between the 40s and 70s. They sing songs of love, songs about the daily lives of fishermen and farmers and songs of mothers and fathers watching their children go to die in the American war. Our front row seats for this spectacular performance come free of charge, the music is so moving that the owner of the gallery picks up a microphone and joins in the songs. Nhac Gi Trinh Cong Son, the composer of many of the songs, is known by all in Vietnam and his music is loved by many.

Our day trip of the islands sets us back 100k VND (~$8AUD) and involves a new age Vietnamese pirate, snorkelling around corals, a big lunch, some chill time and a visit to an aquarium on a boat.

Every day we are approached by women, children and the elderly trying to sell something. On several occasions, Vincent will discretely give them a small donation to help them out. He is also happy to pay double the price for water from elderly ladies as he knows that they have no other way to survive in life. His dream is to one day open a house in Vietnam for the elderly and for the many orphans. He occasionally takes a day off to visit some orphans in his neighbourhood and cut their hair free of charge. One particular incident we witnessed broke my heart after I learned more about the situation.

Sitting in a cafe drinking iced coffee, we were approached by a young girl, no older than nine that is suffering from sort of disability, possibly related to agent orange. In Vietnam, it's fairly common for children with disabilities to be abandoned by their parents at a very young age. After Vincent gave her a small donation, she approached another tourist sitting by herself playing with the phone. When the young girl gave the older tourist a pack of postcards in an attempt to sell them, the older girl threw them on the ground for being interrupted.

The young girl, who by all accounts should be in school is instead forced to spend her days walking the tourist beat trying to sell cigarettes and postcards in order to make enough money to buy food to eat or somewhere to sleep for the night. While the older girl thought nothing about her encounter with the younger girl, it was clear to everyone who'd seen the situation that the younger girl's spirit was crushed. She put on a brave face, blinked away the coming tears and carried on with her day's work.

The other Vietnamese street sellers, who risk losing their belongings if caught by the local police, cheer up the girl, get her some food and exact her revenge by systematically approaching the older girl to sell her things until she is fed up and leaves the cafe.

When the little girl glances in my direction, our eyes meet, I give her a smile as if to say I understand your situation and have nothing but the utmost respect for you. When the girl responds, her eyes light up and her cheeks slightly redden as her lips part to show the widest, most beautiful grin I've ever seen. A girl as young and brave as her smiles so genuinely and warmly that I have to blink away the tears and am completely lost for words.

After witnessing the event, I begin to understand why there exists a set of prices for locals and a set of prices for foreigners, because the locals care about the poor, the hungry, the sick and the elderly, the orphans, the unemployed and those that have no form of welfare to support them.

Karma shows her presence once more as the cafe owner notices the older girl has left her hotel key behind. Not being the kind to smile at the situation for too long, we chase the girl down and return her key.

Within minutes we see the little girl again selling her wares to an older tourist who's donation allows her a place to sleep for the night.

Our first day in Nha Trang we spend swimming and taking in the sights the city has to offer.

Vincent and myself in front of Nha Trang Beach.

Lunch involves the Vietnamese equivalent of burritos. Vincent is a professional at rolling them and has me doing likewise in no time.

In the evening we book a boat tour of the islands and I discover that in Vietnam, piracy not only covers movies, books and music, but also tours. Have fun playing spot the difference.

We picked the company on the left because it was cheaper.

Vincent and I hop on the bus to Nha Trang in the morning. The ride is mostly uneventful until we stop in Mui Ne, which is very popular with Russian tourists, every second shop has a sign written in Russian.

Outside the bus stop is a big mango tree, filled with juicy green mangoes. As the taller one, Vincent asks me to grab the fattest mango he sees. After pulling down the mango, I’m accosted by the owner of the tree for stealing her mangoes. Since I don’t understand a word she’s saying, I apologise and let Vincent take the heat for it.

When we hop on the bus, everyone is laughing as they saw what happened from the bus. The elderly woman sitting opposite myself leans over and says “nothing in life is free”, pauses to let the thought sink in and adds “especially love”.

The phrase runs through my mind as I ponder the life of Chris McCandles (Alexander Supertramp) from Into the Wild and I have one of those long deep moments that occur when one think about the meaning of life and their purpose.

My internal philosophical discussion is interrupted within half an hour when a girl nearby asks Vincent if they can have the mango in exchange for some of their fruit. The offer is too good to pass up, we give her the mango and I am startled to see her pull out a small knife to cut the fruit. While I’m trying to get Vincent to tell me why Vietnamese girls are carrying knives on buses, she puts away the knife, pulls out a bigger knife and delicately carves the fruit into small pieces. I take a mental note to not mess with Vietnamese girls on buses.

Vincent and I decide to go to the coastal beach town of Nha Trang and book the bus for the following morning. This leaves us with a day to spend seeing more sights of Saigon.

After taking a snap of Uncle Ho in Saigon’s central post office we pop down to the Vietnamese museum located outside the zoo where I experience the Vietnamese double standard once more, Vincent as a local pays 2k VND, while I as a foreigner must pay 15k VND.

Inside I take a couple of photos only to be stopped by security and told that no photos are allowed (code for bribe me). I take this as a challenge and decide to risk it. After studying the security guards’ patterns around the museum, I find the times when I can take photos and take plenty.

In one of the rooms is an exhibit of traditional Vietnamese instruments and after some quick tuition by the curator of the exhibition, I belt out a stunning rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb on the electrical who knows what’s it called.

Vietnamese instruments are pretty badass but aren’t really setup for playing blues.

After the museum we enter the zoo and I take photos like a good little tourist boy. I see a woman in a wedding dress and am most amused so I start taking photos of her. 

Turns out she’s a model, I’ve never seen models at Taronga zoo before.

When I return to Saigon I find a room for only 5USD, 50m from where I originally stayed. I meet a pair of brothers from Canada who are doing a similar trip but in a different order to myself. The older has hitch hiked through South America and I enjoy some of the stories he shares. Our schedules have us arriving in Pakistan around the same time so it's possible we may meet up there.

Vincent comes to visit and we have a cheap dinner and drinks with a small collection of travellers that we all know.

The following morning, Vincent picks me up and we head to his home city (District 12 of Saigon) to meet his family and try some of the food (which is much better than that in Saigon Central).

I meet his mother and one of his cousins in one house, an uncle in another and an aunty in another. His extended family exceeds 150 people. Vincent's niece (Nga which is Vietnamese name for Russia) joins us as we go to the supermarket to get supplies for hotpot.

For lunch we have a soup (Bun Rieu). Looking at the soup, I see what appears to be a block of chocolate floating in it. I mention this to Vincent and he cracks up laughing, translates in Vietnamese and all the people at the restaurant join in and laugh at the foreigner. From then on Vincent continues to bring up the story of Vietnamese chocolate, which is actually cooked pig's blood and is quite delicious.

After lunch we take a quick dip in a local pool and head back for hotpot with Vincent's friends.

Eating a mushroom and seafood hotpot. From Left to Right, Vincent's friends: Thuy Anh, Ly, Tam, Thuy, Mai, Thao and her son and Nga (the niece).

We finish the evening with Ca Phe Sua Da (Iced coffee with milk) on the roof of a cafe overlooking the Saigon international runway.

In the evening I book my ticket to Saigon, purchase the books I wanted for 5USD and meet with Xuan for dinner at an African bar with a football player by the name of Smith. When we arrive, the owner, also Smith, greets us like long time regulars.

I eat African food for the first time a dish comprising of Juju, pidgin name for a rubbery mouldable substance similar to bread, some fried chicken and one of the most amazing spicy sauces I’ve ever tasted. African food, the Smith’s explain is eaten with the hands and I have a great time doing so.

Xuan and I part ways at the end of the night and I tell him if I’m in Beijing, I’ll pop by.

Moc Bai border between Vietnam and Cambodia (on the Vietnamese side).

The following morning on the bus, just after crossing into Vietnam, I see my first proper Vietnamese rain. Vietnamese rain is heavy, rapid and loud. It floods the streets and the shopfronts that I’ve grown to miss while in Cambodia. In a country with the most motorbikes in the world, it becomes incredibly uncomfortable to travel in the rain. Every time our bus passes a moto, water splashes onto the driver and I get the feeling the driver is taking a small pleasure from this.

I plan on meeting up with Vincent when I arrive (who I met on the way out of Saigon while looking for a bus to Can Tho) and heading towards the beach town of Nha Trang in the following days.

In the afternoon I visit Tuol Sleng, a secondary school that was converted to a prison. Anyone deemed an enemy by the Khmer Rouge was detained, tortured and ultimately executed here and at many similar prisons. Of the 20,000 inmates, only seven survived.

The place is a brutal reminder of the tortures that happened between 1975 and 1979. A photo gallery displays photos of the many inmates. Male or female, young or old, it didn’t matter there were young boys and old women tortured and executed here. Photos show how many of the people died and the torture paraphernalia is displayed.

The prison cells were incredibly cramped and the balcony was covered in barbed wire to prevent prisoners from committing suicide.

The place is overwhelmingly depressing, most people viewing the exhibitions are in a sombre mood; they don’t smile, they don’t acknowledge anyone else around them, they only walk around the school and try to visualise the atrocities that took place.

After visiting the prison, I take a long walk as I ponder what leads people to force such brutal conditions on each other. This place will have a lasting effect on me.

Xuan and I come back to Phnom Penh from Siem Reap and get a guest house in the expensive river front area. The room is twice the price of those at the lake, the ceiling is low enough that I have to crouch and the cockroaches are the size of mice. On the plus side, it’s in a great location.

I try and purchase a couple of books from some of the street kids (Into the Wild and The Motorcycle Diaries), but the kids won’t accept 4USD for both – the kids in the Angkor temple region only wanted 1USD per book (including most lonely planet guides to the area).

In the morning, we pay a visit to the royal palace, the guidebook says entry is 3USD, the guidebook lied and we pay double.

One of the Cambodian folk bands teaches me how to play their version of the xylophone and we jam for a bit. They don’t know any blues so we stick to traditional music (alternating bass GA and rhythm an octave higher GACDE at an upbeat tempo).

The guard outside doesn’t let me have a play with his rifle, even though it’s clearly not loaded. On a side note, I confirmed that there is a rifle range near Phnom Penh where you can fire AK47s at chickens or a rocket at a cow for 500USD. The karma hit won’t be worth it.

The following morning, we take a boat tour of a floating village on the Ton Le Sap Lake (which forms part of the Mekong river). Our boat driver (Vet) tells us about the poor students that attend some of the schools in the village. The orphans sleep in the school overnight.

Vet says the best way to help is to buy some books and pencils from one of the floating shops. At $15USD for 10 notebooks (several times the price of notebooks in Aus) we decide against buying the notebooks as it’s clearly a ploy at ripping off the multitude of tourists.

After we leave the floating shop, we arrive at a floating restaurant with a fish and crocodile farm. We don’t buy anything and are anxiously awaiting our next stop, a visit to one of the floating schools.

This is one of the schools in the Vietnamese section of the floating village. This school has 216 students who all have brand new notebooks. Our boat driver tells us that many people give donations to the teacher of the class and he spends the money on himself. When we meet the teacher, I instantly dislike him; he’s more interested in asking for money than teaching his class. His job is more of a supervisor than a teacher and I feel sorry for the kids not getting the pleasure of having an amazing passionate teacher that inspires them to learn more. I wish some of the teachers I knew back home would get a chance to see this class.

We end the boat trip after the school visit and are sad to be leaving. We sleep through most of the bus trip back to Phnom Penh.

On the bus to Siem Reap, I’m chatting with a couple of Canadian girls about their travels and read some of my lonely planet guide book (turns out you can get them for $1-$2 USD).

I don’t know the way to the Siem Reap guest houses, so I tag along with a small group, two British girls, two British guys and a Chinese guy who’s currently an expat in Phnom Penh.

Kirsty & Carly have travelled south-east Asia and have six months on their world trip and have both spent time volunteering in Africa. Matt & Miles have also been travelling for a couple of months, guitars in hand – I miss playing.

Xuan is working for an organisation that allows students the opportunity to get work experience abroad.

We head down to the temples the following morning to see the sunrise at Angkor Wat (along with several hundred other people who’ve read the guidebook).

Our Tuk-Tuk driver had the shits with the price organised and the early start to the day and sarcastically dares Miles to climb on the roof of the Tuk-Tuk. Miles obliges and the driver is pissed thinking the roof is damaged, he curses “fucking British tourists” and we have a bit of a laugh.

The other Tuk-Tuk driver is much friendlier and allows the guys to drive the Tuk-Tuk around. Big mistake! The friendly Cambodian police write him up for breaking the law and the guys pay the imposed “fine”.

We also see some temples, many photos in the gallery.

Carly, Miles, myself, Xuan, Mat and Kirsty.

Sunrise over Angkor Wat.

Posing at Bayon temple.

One of the many kids selling trinkets (two flutes, $1USD).

I travel to Phnom Penh the following morning and spend lunch chatting with a gentleman fifty years my senior. He was one of the only Germans living in Israel back in the sixties (illegally), has hitchhiked from the Middle East to Nepal, is on to his 22nd passport and knows a lot about everywhere in the world, including Kamchatka (a town in the Russian far east that I hope to visit some day).

In the afternoon, I succumb to the guidebook craze and purchase the latest Vietnam/Laos/Cambodia Lonely Planet for 4USD, mostly to figure out where I’m crossing back into Vietnam.

I take a photo of a mother monkey with its baby. The mother is not happy and bites me when I turn around. B*tch!

In the evening, I have one of my less fortunate moments of the trip; I am robbed by a pack of women pickpockets. After my Saigon motorbike experience, I’ve been avoiding motor bikes and tuk tuks along the trip; walking back to the guest house after dinner, I manage to find myself walking down one of the streets littered with working girls. Two of them approach me and grab my hand trying to lead me to follow them, then another two grab my other hand, another three grab onto my body and I’m now walking along, dragging seven women with me. Next thing you know, they all disperse. I do find this to be a rather hilarious experience and want to write up a post about the differences between how Cambodian and Vietnamese girls  try and get your business.

I stop laughing half an hour later when I find my wallet stolen and return to find the girls have disappeared. Fortunately, one of the locals gives me a lift to my guesthouse, another lets me use the internet in his bar.

A big thank you to Natalie and Stephen for helping me out getting my stolen cards cancelled (true friends indeed). I vow to leave for Siem Reap in the morning and never return to Phnom Penh.

I take the long way to Chau Doc (another Mekong Delta town) and spend the day there on my first tour booked with a tour guide. The tour is expensive and is much less fun than organising it yourself.

The day involves another set of floating markets, a fish farm, a trip to a Cham village and a walk in the countryside.

Sunset atop Sam Mountain, overlooking the Vietnam/Cambodia border, while sipping a Saigon beer and relaxing in a hammock is bliss.

In the morning we pick up our motor scooters, I am happy that mine has an automatic transmission. In Vietnam, you don’t need a license to hire a motor bike – most expats I’ve met don’t have a license.

  This is my bike, there are many like it, but this one is mine (for the day).

We pick up the girls from their resort and I proceed to have my first near death experience. Phu Quoc has few paved roads, most of them are dirt and are littered with pot holes and rocks. To make a long story short, fanging it after having ridden a bike for only five minutes, heavy braking and a sandy road make for a dangerous mix, and it’s a small miracle that we don’t come off the bike. I am grateful to <random deity> that we don’t crash and vow to no longer hoon on the bike.

We stop off for a morning swim on long beach and as we ride south towards south beach, I forget the vow I made as I become more confident on the road. Bao shows his trick of riding with no hands, I show him my trick of riding with no hands and covering my eyes. He decides to not show me any more tricks

After an hour’s ride, we arrive at South Beach. Sheltered by coconut trees, the white sand and crystal clear calm waters provide a stark contrast to the filthy waters of Duong Dong local beach. The only way I’d improve the beach is to add some surf and get rid of the thousands of jellyfish that swim around fifty metres offshore.

We have a seafood hotpot for lunch and head north towards (you guessed it) North Beach. I’m so happy thrashing the little scooter as we’re hitting the maximum speed the bike can go (80 km/h) while avoiding obstacles including animals and locals while overtaking trucks around blind corners. I can’t wait to buy my own bike.

North Beach doesn’t prove to be as good as South Beach, however what it lacks in cleanliness, it makes up for in abundance of shells and lack of jellyfish. I collect a small bounty of shells which I give to the girls.

We head back to town for a dinner of fried cockles, fingernail snails and other seafood I’ve never seen before.

I leave Can Tho after the floating markets boat tour and head towards Phu Quoc (bus to Rach Gia and then express boat to the island).

On the bus I meet a girl who speaks a little English, we communicate in a mixture of broken English, a Vietnamese word or two and a lot of hand gestures (by the end of this trip, I should be a master at charades). Lanh Tranh is from Rach Gia and agrees to teach me some Vietnamese the next day.

In the morning, she picks me up on her moto and we go down to a cafe by the sea where I begin my Vietnamese lesson. It’s very practical with phrases like:

Lam on cho hoi, khach san re odau? – Excuse me, how do I get to a cheap hotel?

Toi muon an hai san – I want to eat seafood

I take my cheat sheet with me and head down to the ferry, promising to catch up for another ca phe da sua (Iced coffee with milk).

On the boat Vinashin Rose, I practice my Vietnamese on the ticket collector. He’s so impressed that I’m trying to learn the language that he gives me directions to a cheap hotel on the island and gets me the bus ticket I need to get there (turns out the tickets sell out on the boat).

Out on the deck of the boat, my new found confidence has me practicing on everyone who will listen. I meet a guy (Bao) from Hanoi who is also going down to the Island for a couple of days and we hit it off immediately since we like so much of the same things (travelling, not working and photography).

On the island we share a room, change into our swimmers and head to the local beach. The local beach is full of locals and is littered in filth. There is rubbish on the beach and in the water. Children are collecting pieces of washed up Styrofoam to use as floatation devices (I find that most Vietnamese people are not that good swimmers). Bao heads into the water and thinking, when in Phu Quoc, I join him. The water tastes funny and I hope that by sheer dumb luck I do not get sick.

In the evening, while eating dinner in the street markets, we meet a couple of girls on holidays from Singapore and after a drink or two, we decide to rent a couple of moto’s the following day to tour the island. I told Bao that back home I was a professional motor bike rider to save having to hire a driver for the bikes.