It's tough...

Bloody Ferry...

I'm busting to get out of Vietnam - but loving the thought of a couple of days in an international style resort, and J'n'J had very generously offered to gift us with some accommodation. So we head vaguely towards the island of Phu Quoc, and the border, catching to local bus to a town where they grow flowers... nice... but here's a note to travellers: the bus takes a lot longer than your own motorbike. We've kind of forgotten how long stuff takes by local public transport, and we have to stop to check whether JnJ have made the internet booking. Yes, they have. For the next night. There's only one ferry per day, so we have to get to the port town today. Fine

Including walking between terminals etc we changed mode of transport 12 times in one day... Walk, local bus, regional bus, walk, mini bus, moto, walk, ferry, walk etc etc....

The highlight was waving down a private mini bus, that just happened to have a 10 year old Canadian/Vietnamese girl on board who was back home with her mum and could translate for us. We paid a dude on the bus 60 000 dong, and it was explained by the very polite young lady that we'd have to change buses, but that this dude would come with us. Fine, except when we got off the bus, our new friend merely waved down two other dodgy looking dudes, paying them 10 000 each to give us a lift to the next town on their motos (then more walking, another 2 motos etc etc).

So anyway, we crash into the port town, Rach Gia, about 8pm, find a bed, find some food, and book the ferry.

Oh,

The ferry's not running.

Oh.

There's a storm out at sea and the ferry hasn't run for the past 3 days.

Oh.

The hotel reservation is one of those no change, no cancellation, lastminute.com deals.

Right.

Well, we saw an airport on the way into town, maybe we'll fly (gulp).

So we wander over to Vietnam Airlines... Sorry, booked out til the 18th.

After some typical speaking-a-second-language-culture-clash stuff, we find there's a standby list. Eventually we find out we can actually get tickets for the 13th. Blake calls the hotel to see if we can change the non-changable reservation. Yes! We can, we just have to go online and change on the internet as well. But of course that doesn't work (computer says no).

So back to the Vietnam Airlines office for us. We call the hotel again, and are told to try the Saigon head office. I'm assuming at this stage that we're going to write-off the $200 gift. But the man at the Saigon office is actually going to Phu Quoc this weekend. He understands that sometimes the weather plays havoc with arrivals at this hotel. Although our internet booking is strictly non-transferable and non-refundable, he's going to make an exception for us.

So in the end, we have to hang out in the border town for 2 days, we're paying 340 000 dong to fly across to the island, but we get our tropical holiday-inside-the-holiday.

Bloody Ferry.

Those of you reading Blake's blog will be pretty up to date with our motorbiking... It's been an incredible and hopefully authetic way to see Vietnam, and while we've stayed at a few interesting joints along the way (the hotel next door to the loudspeaker that broadcast news to the entire neighbourhood from 5 am, the one with the bikini girls printed onto tiles in the bathroom, the one of the beach where we had to bring the moto inside the room with us to prevent theft...), we've also found some absolute gems, especially along the coast.

We've had the pleasure of interacting with some genuinely kind and pleasent strangers, but also had to deal with innumerable uncomfortable stares, sleaze bag guys, conniving little old ladies, and a bunch of juninile deliquents that provoke violent tendancies in me...

You're never far from industry or development in this country, and we also passed plenty of these scenes - totally ostentacious building, usually in the middle of nowhere, often houses so shiny and huge we mistake them for hotels. Historically, land in Vietnam is taxed on street frontage, resulting in the long, narrow constructions, but these things are ridiculous - another manifestation of the Vietnamese preoccupation with wealth and enterprise, and their obsession with saving face, looking good and being right no matter what the price, or the sense.

Daddy... I want a pony...

Plenty of new foals at the Valley of Love in Dalat. The "cowboy" reluctantly took me out for a whole hour wasnt happy when I whipped his arse in the race home on myburly mountain pony ...

passing the time...

by throwing playing cards, then rocks, then the family cat, at the trucks and busses that roar through you small town...

Note to Travellers...

The trouble with motorbikes is that the thing you use to hold on, is also the thing you use the make it go fast. So if, perhaps, your boyfriend decides to gun you bike over a railway line, and if he's holding on to the handlebars (read: throttle), really tight, there's only one way to stop, and it's not going to be pretty....

Roadside

red chillis; corn kernels; rice in its husk, spread with shuffling feet into long rows.

The pale crusts of coconut flesh; thick bunches of grass to plait, dyed emerald green, magenta, marigold, and thrashed flat by motos, mini busses, and oxen drawing rickety carts.

Dinner plate circles of rice paper stuck like modern art or kindergarten craft projects to bamboo frames.

Bright white salt, thousands of silvery fish, rudely gutted and butterflied.

Pepper corns, goat dung, granite gravel, daisies, all fly past.