Leaving Mr Chinh we achieved our goal of a swim and a beer and went in search of anything that wasn’t rice noodles for dinner.
The next day we got some more motorbikes without a Chinh in sight and went in search of the coconut mangrove forest using a beer mat map from an enthusiastic Italian. We had been informed that we hire boats from the locals and navigate ourselves around the water logged forest. Using the strangely accurate map we managed to find our way to the coconut forest growing out of the mangrove river but the going got a little hard-going when we decided the map was telling us to take a right turn towards the forest. Soon three inexperienced drivers and two pillion passengers found themselves driving down a very narrow strip of sand with a drop down to the water on either side. It took Tim and I at least 5 minutes of distinctly worrying travel before we concluded it was madness as we turned to find the ghostly white faces of our companions peering out in fear we wondered if they would indeed follow us into the pits of hell. As history could have informed us we found ourselves amongst the forest at the peak of the day’s heat and if boats were to be hired at any point during the day this was not it so Laura and I watched as the boys turned their bikes round carefully and then their precarious motion as they made their way back to safer ground.
The rest of the day was spent at the more tourist beach, where Chris eyed up the waves suspiciously and tried not to leap back in fright at it tried to attack his paddling toes.
After some shopping, some impressive and pathetic haggling in equal measures and a very enjoyable boat ride, on which we managed to get in amongst the coconut forest we decided Hoi An had showed us all her delights and we decided to head for the deserted shore of Jungle Beach.
We booked ourselves on a night-train to Nha Trang, halfway between Hoi An and Siagon, although the consequence of our exiting spontaneity was that only four sleeper berths were available so one person would have to sleep in a chair. Luckily this would be a padded air-conditioned chair and not the wooden, straight backed school chairs of third class but this was of little comfort to Tim, who had literally chosen the short straw. The wobbly, rocking train offered mild peace and comfort in the sleeper cabins, which held three bunk beds on either side with mountaineering foot holds to get us to the top bunk, as it rattled its way south, being only occasionally jolted awake as you were flung into the guard rail. At 5am the Vietnamese began to wake and stalk about the train and some of us were able to watch the passing of the countryside.
Arriving only 30 minutes late we eventually found our lift to take us the 64km to Jungle Beach where we spent the next two days in peace and tranquillity. After the Americans left we found ourselves on an essentially deserted beach with a sea the colour of photographs and the temperature of a cool bath. Predictably these days were spent lounging under sun shades on the beach while everyone tried to first even out their tan, to hide the ridiculous wrist burns that had been the gift of the motorbike tours, to then trying to protect their skin from any further damage from the sun. We slept in beach bungalows under mosquito nets and only called from the lounging to the all inclusive lunch and dinners of seafood, meat, strangely always one dish with over-powering garlic mayonnaise, that’s what Westerners like.
I had heard rumours that the sea was home to plankton that as night draws in reveals its luminescent nature so we decided a night swim was in order. We were unsure if the season was right but as we entered the sea I was reliably informed that the sea was glowing. Realising that for the first time I would have to enter the sea with my glasses on I fled the waves and tried to find our clothes in the dark. Rejoining the waves, to shouts of incoming to help me prepare for the waves and keep the glasses on my face, I was pleased to find their eyes weren’t deceiving them and the water was sparkling, even dripping from our skin when the moon went behind a cloud.
Our beach paradise was over far too quickly and we headed back to Siagon aboard a train that didn’t seem as long as it should have. Arriving back in the city we were plunged straight into the chaos of the city as we spent 20 minutes in a traffic jam following a diversion from another traffic jam that eventually led us back on to the road we had left but 200m further on. Tim was practically spitting fire.
We celebrated our return to a city where anything is possible with a steak, cocktails, a brief trip to a bar’s launch party that was populated by young, trendy Western things looking smug and gulping down free drinks that the VietNamese can’t afford. We left there post haste and found more suitable surroundings drinking rum on deckchairs on the street. Once suitable lubricated we made our way to 24 karaoke to sing few songs. As the drinks continued to flow and the singing included more power dancing we were joined by a VietNamese boy pretending to mop the floor, staring at us incredulously. I think the power of the performances overwhelmed him or it may have just been laughter in his eyes. Four hours later, we emerged into the dawn of a new day, trying to avoid the eyes of the industrious locals as they began their long day of work.
Needless to say that the next day was one of repose. In the evening we took the tourists shopping for trinkets as commiseration prizes to those that haven’t been to Viet Nam and the next day they flew home through clouds of Icelandic ash, dodging the occasional prawn ring that was still intact.
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