Monday, 20 September 2010
As it Should be
Another holiday was due so that we could replenish our store of adjectives for the classroom. For a short break we decided to hop across to the island of Phu Quoc, which is at the bottom of VietNam but actually closer to Cambodia. The weekend passed in a blur of glue-sticks, crayons and the verb to be and we staggered out the other side with bright holiday faces.
Unfortunately by 8pm my holiday face had turned green. By 2am I was throwing up for England, bringing a yellowy orange tinge to the holiday rainbow. The following morning we set off with my legs still slightly shaky and my nausea not abating. After a while standing in the heat of the morning, trying not to be sick on the street vendors we found a taxi and in air conditioned comfort I began to feel a little better. A slight nap in the airport and all was going well as long as I didn’t stand up for too long. My optimism was short lived when I saw the bus waiting to transport us from the gate to the plane, a lovely rickety little affair. I’m not entirely sure what happened on the bus but Tim assures me it was pretty warm in there. Things started to turn white quite quickly, accompanied by little purple spots. I managed not to faint or throw up on my shoes but the 5 minutes of complete blindness worried me slightly. Thankfully it clearly almost instantaneously when I hit the air-con of the plane and the rest of the journey was undertaken with full vision.
It was low season in Phu Quoc, being the end of the rainy season, and thus the place was pretty deserted. We had booked into a resort for 4 days and there was a taxi driver holding a sign with my name when we arrived. Admittedly not with the air of class the printed signs had but I thought the crayon was probably more suitable to our style. The island is 48km from tip to tail and 25m at its widest point and much is covered by dusty red roads that quite regularly turn suddenly into dirt tracks. Our taxi driver traversed the four wheel drive nightmare almost effortlessly and we arrived in our very own paradise. Walking into our accommodation, I was instantly struck by the thought that it was nicer that our flat, and settled down for a quick nap. It turns out paradise is the nicest place to be ill. The resort had its own private stretch of white sand beach, with clear blue waters, and we were the only guests. I fell asleep in a hammock, in the sun, for the rest of the day.
The nearly 24 hours of sleep did wonders and the next day I was ready to explore with Tim, who was champing at the bit to get back on a motorbike. It had been two days. We hired a motorbike for two days. On the first we headed south to look at the main attractions. These were the famous pepper factory and a beautiful pagoda, which we managed to miss completely, and a waterfall, which we nearly did. Phu Quoc tourist board obviously aren’t into the crass use of signs and so it seemed like luck to find anything advertised despite the fact there were only about 3 roads on the island. The waterfall was nice, especially watching the Russians taking photos of each other.
Our next stop was Sao beach in the south, which is supposed to be the jewel in the Phu Quoc’s beachy crown. It was predictably beautiful, the water clear and calm, giving us perfect views of the swarms of blue jellyfish. As the storm clouds gathered Tim and I enjoyed a walk and a quick game of plastic bag or jellyfish. We watched the torrential downpour as we ate lunch and then when we finished it stopped, which is as it should be. After a quick dip we hooned out of there and took the road up the west coast to Long Beach. This is the stretch of beach where development has been the most successful. Restaurants and resorts have popped up all over the place that looked like they were squinting under the full glare of the sun. We returned to the resort to relax after all the strenuous activity.
The next day we turned North. In complete contrast to other places in Vietnam Phu Quoc is still in the first throws of development and so we were delightfully surprised to find that there were long stretches of deserted beaches to ditch the bike and jump in the water. Tim and I swam about feeling like we were the last people on Earth while we discussed the possibility of investment in his sunbathing rotisserie. We continued on to the town at the top of the island, which we nearly missed as it was disguised as a couple of mud shacks, and took the nicely levelled out road through the national park. Feeling like we were in a rally computer game we swung through the beautiful scenery until we had to head back round on ourselves.
The main road down the centre of the island is currently under construction and rocking back and forth over the bumps we discovered an interesting technique. I’m no expert in civil engineering, despite being my father’s daughter, but I saw a few flaws in the Vietnamese process. Three men, three diggers, five years! Instead of choosing a starting point and continuing until they had finished the entire stretch the men seemed to have become a little bored. Each stretch of completed road lasted for on average 200m before it decayed into a building site rollercoaster for about 10 minutes until someone had built another little stretch. The alternating pattern made for an interesting ride that surprisingly didn’t get tired until after about 45 minutes.
That next day was spent lazing around, swinging in hammocks, swimming in the sea. As we were eating lunch we spotted a small snake weaving through the short grass. Closer scrutiny found a little frog hopping along in front. What at first seemed to be a picture of the natural cycle of the wild, prey versus predator, eventually appeared as a bizarre ‘chase me, chase me,’ episode as the frog hopped on slightly and stopped while the snake caught up and waited a little way off. I wanted to swallow my words immediately as the waiter appeared with a big stick. Tim and I looked slightly horrified as the childish game went all horror movie as the snake was brutally beaten to death with the big stick.
Later Tim came over all Jack Johnson and wrote a song on his guitar by the beach while I read the first draft of my book. The day was rounded off by the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever seen, slightly marred by the fact that Tim missed it, riding off to get some money. Thankfully I was there to document the experience for him, including lots of self-portraits of me looking smug in front of the colours. I think he appreciated it.
The next day came too soon and we bumped and rolled our way back over the dirt tracks to the airport, where Tim had a slight run in with security, though thankfully not one requiring a cavity search. Putting my bag through the scanner Tim was certain that I had been vigilant in adhering the rules and regulations of carry-on luggage, so when we was asked if there was any scissors he was confident in the negative. The woman watching the x-ray TV was of a different opinion, as was her slightly angrier colleague who caused slight problems with the language barrier.
‘Scissors?’ she demanded.
‘No,’ Tim said.
‘Scissors?’ she demanded.
‘No,’ Tim said.
‘Saw?’
‘A saw? What? No,’ Tim said, laughing. This did nothing for the angry eyebrows.
‘Saw!’
‘No!’
‘I think she’s asking if you’re sure,’ I said.
‘Oh.’
There were scissors in the bag. We apologised.
Paradise over.
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