Our attentions had been that fixed on events in Hoi An that we realised we were setting off to our next destination without really knowing where it was or what there was to do there. It was hard to shake off the empty feeling that was seeing us off in Hoi An, but the very nomadic nature of our trip ensures that old, ill feelings can be quickly turned into fresh excitement, like a sea-breeze blasting the smell of a dying beached whale from the shore.
The coastal metaphor extends beyond the figurative and into the literal as we pulled up alongside the South China Sea after a 12 hour bus journey and disembarked in sunny Nha Trang. The beach-side town is marked just south of what you would determine central Vietnam and its geographical location mirrored our progress through the country as we had entered into the final week of a two week stint in the country.
Our first impressions were limited, as we were dropped off on a fairly busy side road outside a hotel. We were shown around a $10 room that we turned our noses up at, and consulted our Lonely Planet before searching for somewhere else. The map showed us to be in the northern most part of the town, before the two bridges took you over the intersecting river, so we headed south, sticking to what we presumed were the main roads to the backpacker part of town.
Backpacker part of town can take various manifestations depending on the town/city/country. In Bangkok for example it means 24 hour-party zone; in Luang Prabang, Laos it means French-style curfew bound guesthouses; and in Hanoi it means long narrow houses with no pavement. As it turned out, the backpacker part of town in Nha Trang was further than we were willing to walk in the 6.30am sun with backpacks on, so we settled for an $8 (ÂŁ2.50ish per night) room just off one of the main roads.
With Hoi An still annoyingly in our thoughts, we spent an hour or so researching Nha Trangâs sights and set out determinedly to fill the day seeking them out. First on the agenda though, was breakfast. Yep, you guessed it, that classic Vietnamese brekky: eggs and baguette.
The restaurant owner (most of the time when I say restaurant in Asia, I mean area at the front of someoneâs house) told us where we could rent bikes for the day so we set out immediately after breakfast and went about our business. Despite the archipelago (check meaning!!) of high rise hotels along the beach-front, the ride up along the beach was quite pleasant, and having had a bit of practice already we started to feel more and more comfortable with Asiaâs unwritten code-of-the-road.
I was annoyed to the point of p***ing myself in demonstration at the incessant honking, beeping, meeping, stonking, ker-plonking and bonking of cars and bikes when we first arrived in India. It lessened somewhat in Thailand and Laos, but Vietnamâs cities have their amps turned up to full volume. At first, you feel youare being beeped at by every passing vehicle, and so you take personal offence, even getting really quite frustrated and angry with it. Eventually, you begin to just ignore the continuous drone of traffic but then you realise that what is in fact a courteous beep here in Asia, is mistaken for the a***holeâs beep back in England.
 Because there is so much traffic, and because there is so much over and under-taking- even to the point where an over-take-ee is being over-taken himself- because there is so much of it going on, there must be a way to make your fellow rider aware of your high-speed presence. And there is, Kevin! (See Friends season 2) Just a quick and effective meep is enough to tell the person in front that youâre coming up behind them. And it works. No one takes offence, no one gets annoyed, and everyone fairly happily gets on with their journey. Heaven forbid such a system in England, where your horn is a deposit box for all the effâs and âucks and other expletives youâre good mother told you off for.
So, happily settled into Asian road ethics, we found our first sight after about half an hourâs riding. The Cham Towers may now be dwarfed by newer buildings with bright lights, but they still afford a fantastic view of the town and out to sea. The structures, founded pre-781 AD, are part of a temple complex where people would devote their time in prayer to Yan Po Naga (goddess of the Cham people). Now they serve tourists as well as locals who wish to come and pray in some of the shrines. I always wonder: is it okay to compromise such a religious symbol with the money of non-believers, but someone must be okay with it; though I canât speak for Yan Po Ngar herself, of course.
The towers were impressive as relics and we snapped away before heading to our next sight. I think sight here is definitely as appropriate here as it ever has been, for it was essentially just looking at rocks. But we were given a different perspective of the town from the Hon Chong rocks as well as the bay/beach just north of Nah Trang as we enjoyed an ice-cold Fanta. The bike ride was fun too, at least the downward parts on the way back.
As the other sights were at the other end of the beach, we stopped off at our hotel to refresh before carrying on. We eventually found the Oceanography Institute which was home to a number of different sea-life from clown fish and puffer fish, to seals and tortoises. We were not expecting too much from the centre, which probably made it all the more enjoyable to discover they had such an extensive collection including giant tortoises that very charmingly spurt water.
Ending in the library of jars with preserved dead sea-life (a room that looked more like the Department of Mysteries from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix or a vast library of Alien specimens for the older-folks) we took off genuinely impressed. Unfortunately, we took so long finding the centre that the loss of light meant we put off our final pursuit of the Nah Trang cathedral for tomorrow. We ended the evening with a long walk to what we were told was a food market, something we had barely come across since leaving Thailand, however it was not exactly what we had in mind. The large square was mostly empty but for a party of locals performing karaoke on the beach, and for a moment we were only ones there; a far cry from the thriving and vibrant evening markets of Bangkok and Koh Samui.
The next day we again rented bikes and went off to par-take in one of the moreluxurious and relaxing pursuits: a mud spa! We had a little difficulty finding it, although my iPod touch map came to the rescue at the death, somehow miraculously tracking our progress along the labyrinthine back-roads without any 3-G capabilities and no wi-fi connection. If someone wants to reveal the science behind this sorcery, please, take to the floor.
It was exactly what it suggests I suppose: a bath of mud,stink and all. We shared it with an Asian couple, a mutually beneficial arrangement as we snapped away with one anotherâs cameras meaning thereâll be plenty of mud-covered Jo(e)âs to laugh at. We followed it up by drying in the sun before a high-pressure shower, and a mineral bath in which we chatted with a pleasant Brit from Bradford who had lived in Toronto most of his adult life.
We left not feeling too guilty for the amount of luxury we had just splashed about in. The great thing about Asia, is that for the most part, that little bit of luxury is genuinely affordable, even on our budgets. On the way back we sought out the cathedral we had missed- a pleasant looking chapel at best, rather than a cathedral- and headed back to the hotel.
We had kept ourselves busy for the most part of our time here and we felt a hundred times better for doing so. We were in danger of feeling a little bitter about Vietnam and following our last day in Hoi An Jo was short-changed or âripped offâ by a woman selling drinks at a mid-night stop off on our way to Nha Trang, claiming that Jo had given her 10,000 not 100,000 dong and so didnât require any change. In no mood to argue at the sleepy time of midnight, she let her have her day, feeling no better for doing so.
Then again, as we purchased our tickets for the Cham Towers, a fast-one was well and truly attempted on us. I handed the lady 100,000 dong for a 30,000 dong admission for two people. Saying she had no change, she asked me to wait, and wait, and wait some more before seeking change from a nearby vendor. I think the ploy was to make me wait so long that I would forget what I had given her, for when she finally gave me change she handed me just 20,000 dong. Knowing I was 50,000 short, I called her: âEh, whassa matta whiâchu? I givva you a hundred, nat a-fifty!â Okay, it mightnât have sounded exactly like that, but as soon as I questioned the change, she had the 50,000 dong note concealed just under the table, and handed it over visibly distraught for being caught out.
So, two people in the space of 12 hours trying to take us for mugs. Fortunately the heart-warming finish is near dear reader. When we went to the Hon Chong rocks, we were expecting to have to pay to park our bikes- a nominal fee of 1,000 dong was charged back at the towers. When I pulled out a wad of cash and asked âHow much?â he waved me away, kindly telling us there was no charge. I was cooked to perfection and ready to be carved; I would have handed over whatever he quoted, without question. But the gentlemen refused to take payment. We were pulling it back: 2-1 now.
Later that day we went to bring back our bikes to the rental office only to find it closed. Two speechless, gawping, white tourists must have made for a sympathetic picture, as a man approached us with a mobile phone and thrust it to Joâs ear. This second gentlemen had called the number on the shop front, without any word or indication from us, allowing us to explain to the rental company what had happened whilst allowing us to arrange another time for deposit. It was all-square now: 2-2.
It had appeared as though Karma or whoever it is had levelled things up for us, but we couldnât help but feel we were winning now. Of course, authentic Italian pizza, a few beers, a pack of Oreoâs and the excitement of our next destination are a winning combination. Back of the net.
