Today was always going to be an adventure – I had a flight (on the rusty old prop….) out of Phu Quoc for Rach Gia, and I had a room booked in a guest house in Kampot – but I had no real idea as to how I was going to get from one to the other, an distance of around 150 kms. All I knew was that I had to exit Vietnam and enter Cambodia with stories of awkward and corrupt border guards ringing in my ears…. I was also a little unsure about my Cambodian visa – i.e. I didn’t have one. All the websites give conflicting information, e visas are/are not acceptable, visa on arrival is/isn’t available. But for once, I decided what the hell, one way or another I’d get there. Landing at Rach Gia at 9.30am, I discover I have two alternatives to make the 90 kms journey to the border. A taxi into Rach Gia bus station, wait for the local bus to Ha Tien, then find another bus from Ha Tien to the border at Xa Xia. All buses left approx every hour so I was facing a rather tortuous journey. I had hoped to tie up with any one else going my way, but the flight was going on to HCMC and I was the only Westerner who got off at Rach Gia, together with one local family. So I tried negotiating with the taxi drivers outside the airport – but language was a real issue – long story short, I got an airport official to act as a translator. He looked really dubious at my request for a taxi to cover the distance, it would be “very expensive” he said, full of concern. It came in at £24 so I did what no respecting backpacker would have done and said “deal”! So in the lap of luxury - well not quite, a dilapidated old car with plastic seats (not too good in this climate – the pilot had informed us it was 30 degrees when we landed at 9.30am with high humidity) and inefficient aircon, we drove off for the border. It was a nice drive if a little sticky, following yet another tributary of the Mekong, with canals running off at right angles every so often. The narrow road was made even narrower in loads of places as the local residents had laid out what looked like rice to dry along the road – guess there wasn’t much option with the river on the other side.
We finally enter the frontier area and my taxi drops me and my bag off at the border. Even before I step out of the car a guy on a motorbike asks where I am going. Frankly, I thought it was pretty obvious – Cambodia, there weren’t too many other choices! But he meant after I had got through the formalities. I tell him Kampot and he insists I have to take his transport, i.e. me, my big case and my backpack on a motorbike for two hours from the Cambodian border via Kep to Kampot…. There is no other transport he informs me. Well let me tell you, I have read Lonely Planet with the best of them and that says there are all sorts of people waiting at the other side to do your bidding. But he won’t take no for an answer. I have to take numerous telephone calls on his mobile from his “translator” insisting the same. No, no I say, but when I realised it was a walk of just over one kilometre from exiting Vietnam to entering Cambodia, I almost change my mind. But being a health & safety sort of a girl, I decide to walk the kilometre dragging my bag along the dusty track in the midday sun – what is that they say about mad dogs? But my stalker continued to dog my every weary step. Contrary to all the horror stories of corrupt Cambodian border guards, they were charm itself. Only issue was a bit of waiting around and they had no change for my $50 bill ($25 visa fee). And I also had to pay 20,000 Vietnamese Dong (about £1) for the bit of paper that said I had no dreadful disease. But it was worth the £1. Said motorbike driver was right – the guide books were wrong – there was no transport of any kind after the Cambodian border apart from my stalking motorbike driver. Am not surprised really, there were no other Westerners in sight. But my trusty health lady helped me out and contacted someone she knew who arrived a few minutes later with a taxi – and I start my two hour drive to Kampot in yet another dilapidated old car with plastic seats, no aircon, and the temperature wasn’t going down …. The roads however, were. After what I thought were rough roads in Vietnam, they were like a newly resurfaced stretch of the M1 compared to the red dust tracks of Cambodia. Just a few kilometres and a different world. Different language (not that I can tell the difference) but the script is very different – no letters that we would recognise, just curly bits. And what I took for poverty in Vietnam, looked like wealth now. The fishing and agriculture that lined the road all the way from Rach Gia to the border was gone – now there was the odd shack but a marked increase in the number of religious temples – perhaps that tells us something…..
There are no pics with this blog – having heard all those stories about strange border guards I decided I didn’t want to get arrested for taking pics of sensitive places……
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Lost (1 - 3 March 2009)
OK, I know even though I’m on a desert island, it’s not quite the same as the TV programme. But today, despite being in a mini van with a driver and a guide, we were lost! I can only assume that they don’t do the tour of the North part of the island very often. It started fine, a 20 kms drive through the dense forest where the guide informed me there were many, many snakes, monkeys and wild boar. To his next question, did I want to get out and walk in the forest, he got the predictable answer – no!
Then on to a remote fishing village in a beautiful bay – more ramshackle boats and a plate of raw seafood on display in the searing heat – did I want to eat – yet another predictable answer – no!
The whole of the North is a verdant green mountainous interior, fringed by mile after mile of deserted white beach. We drive along stopping every so often for a paddle and a photo – but the good news is that this guide is not a David Bailey – so no pics of me! We pass the mangrove forest and the roads get worse (we left behind tarmac roads in Duong Dong – we had been on dirt tracks for the rest of the time). But then the roads got even worse – we arrive at a “junction” and no road signs here. My sense of direction said turn right – their’s obviously said turn left which we did. My Vietnamese still isn’t good, but it’s surprising what you can understand by tone of voice. The guide’s tone of voice was saying “what the hell is going on, have you any idea of where we are” and the driver‘s was saying “no, I haven’t a clue but if we keep going confidently on, the old bird in the back may not notice….”. We reach a river down a track with no way to cross it, so we carry on in completely the wrong direction, back into the forest. I had visions of the Mekong again, sleeping in a mini van this time rather than a boat. Both my escorts were looking a little worried – there was no other traffic and apart from a few pepper plantations, no other life to be seen. But suddenly (a few seconds after I had realised that we were back the road we had already covered on the way out), the guide triumphantly pointed to the map – they knew where we were…. But we had seen the wider, north part of the island. Due to the forest, there is very little population here, in fact 90% lives in and around Duong Dong, the small capital. We had stopped at another beautiful crescent bay which was the home of a tiny fishing village, and the land we could see five kilometres away was Cambodia. Very close, but no border crossing, to get to Cambodia (legally, that is) you have to go back to the Vietnamese mainland. The boats gathered in the bay, along with a few floating houses all looked very ramshackle.
I’m still amazed at the amount of white beach surrounding this island where up to now, only a few kilometres have any sign of tourist life. The beaches of the long east coast are apparently equally beautiful, but there’s no access, not because of tall cliffs, just that there is no road! The roads (well tracks really, the only roads that we would recognise as such are around Duong Dong) were all laid by the Americans when they were here, and no more have been built since.
We make a stop at the town market – a bustling place full of colourful fruit and veg, some dodgy clothes stalls, some material stalls selling fabric by the metre – but it all seemed to be the stretchy, highly patterned bri-nylon that the pyjama type outfits the women wear are made of. There is no sign of the traditional ao dai here apart from the school uniforms. As usual, I walk rapidly through the fly blown meat section hoping not to see any dog, and find myself in the fish section – just as gory. Huge fish are being filleted and I discover the sound of banging is a young woman who is bashing a huge fish on the head with a mallet. There are fish of every description and size, squid everywhere and even a sad looking pile of baby shark – it seems the waters are plentiful here. I had been to the night market the evening before – this day market was a lot more colourful. The night market was a string of small fish restaurant stalls and a couple of shoe stalls. The only tourist tat was a stall selling plastic shells and plastic lobsters that light up…. I see a marketing opportunity here!
The sun had been shining all day, but it did feel especially hot and humid in the early evening. Just after it got dark I thought there were a few people taking flash pictures on the beach, but that was a precursor to a monumental storm that broke just I had ordered dinner in the semi open air beach restaurant. Suddenly it was all hands on deck as my table was moved to the centre under cover where I had to wait for the torrential rain to stop before I could get my food. The food is all prepared in the main restaurant (a soulless place reminiscent of a Communist era dining room) and then walked down the 100 metres or so to the beach. But luckily the restaurant did have its supply of the local Dalat wine, so I was happy!
My meal eventually arrived and as usual, I was the only person in the restaurant. It’s an odd place, it seems full, there are lights on in most of the bungalows, but you never really see anyone, even the beach in the day is mostly deserted. Perhaps the island is like the one in “Lost” – and has a sinister presence is lurking somewhere keeping people hidden away……
Then on to a remote fishing village in a beautiful bay – more ramshackle boats and a plate of raw seafood on display in the searing heat – did I want to eat – yet another predictable answer – no!
The whole of the North is a verdant green mountainous interior, fringed by mile after mile of deserted white beach. We drive along stopping every so often for a paddle and a photo – but the good news is that this guide is not a David Bailey – so no pics of me! We pass the mangrove forest and the roads get worse (we left behind tarmac roads in Duong Dong – we had been on dirt tracks for the rest of the time). But then the roads got even worse – we arrive at a “junction” and no road signs here. My sense of direction said turn right – their’s obviously said turn left which we did. My Vietnamese still isn’t good, but it’s surprising what you can understand by tone of voice. The guide’s tone of voice was saying “what the hell is going on, have you any idea of where we are” and the driver‘s was saying “no, I haven’t a clue but if we keep going confidently on, the old bird in the back may not notice….”. We reach a river down a track with no way to cross it, so we carry on in completely the wrong direction, back into the forest. I had visions of the Mekong again, sleeping in a mini van this time rather than a boat. Both my escorts were looking a little worried – there was no other traffic and apart from a few pepper plantations, no other life to be seen. But suddenly (a few seconds after I had realised that we were back the road we had already covered on the way out), the guide triumphantly pointed to the map – they knew where we were…. But we had seen the wider, north part of the island. Due to the forest, there is very little population here, in fact 90% lives in and around Duong Dong, the small capital. We had stopped at another beautiful crescent bay which was the home of a tiny fishing village, and the land we could see five kilometres away was Cambodia. Very close, but no border crossing, to get to Cambodia (legally, that is) you have to go back to the Vietnamese mainland. The boats gathered in the bay, along with a few floating houses all looked very ramshackle.
I’m still amazed at the amount of white beach surrounding this island where up to now, only a few kilometres have any sign of tourist life. The beaches of the long east coast are apparently equally beautiful, but there’s no access, not because of tall cliffs, just that there is no road! The roads (well tracks really, the only roads that we would recognise as such are around Duong Dong) were all laid by the Americans when they were here, and no more have been built since.
We make a stop at the town market – a bustling place full of colourful fruit and veg, some dodgy clothes stalls, some material stalls selling fabric by the metre – but it all seemed to be the stretchy, highly patterned bri-nylon that the pyjama type outfits the women wear are made of. There is no sign of the traditional ao dai here apart from the school uniforms. As usual, I walk rapidly through the fly blown meat section hoping not to see any dog, and find myself in the fish section – just as gory. Huge fish are being filleted and I discover the sound of banging is a young woman who is bashing a huge fish on the head with a mallet. There are fish of every description and size, squid everywhere and even a sad looking pile of baby shark – it seems the waters are plentiful here. I had been to the night market the evening before – this day market was a lot more colourful. The night market was a string of small fish restaurant stalls and a couple of shoe stalls. The only tourist tat was a stall selling plastic shells and plastic lobsters that light up…. I see a marketing opportunity here!
The sun had been shining all day, but it did feel especially hot and humid in the early evening. Just after it got dark I thought there were a few people taking flash pictures on the beach, but that was a precursor to a monumental storm that broke just I had ordered dinner in the semi open air beach restaurant. Suddenly it was all hands on deck as my table was moved to the centre under cover where I had to wait for the torrential rain to stop before I could get my food. The food is all prepared in the main restaurant (a soulless place reminiscent of a Communist era dining room) and then walked down the 100 metres or so to the beach. But luckily the restaurant did have its supply of the local Dalat wine, so I was happy!
My meal eventually arrived and as usual, I was the only person in the restaurant. It’s an odd place, it seems full, there are lights on in most of the bungalows, but you never really see anyone, even the beach in the day is mostly deserted. Perhaps the island is like the one in “Lost” – and has a sinister presence is lurking somewhere keeping people hidden away……
Saturday, 28 February 2009
You know what I said about the dry season.... (27/28 February 2009)
…in my bit about the waterfall with no water. Well I guess it’s a raging torrent by now. The wet season doesn’t start till the beginning of June – but someone somewhere forgot to tell that to the powers that be. There was a huge storm overnight and another one late this afternoon which is still going on. I guess they’re used to it, but I do feel sorry for the squid fishermen that you can see in the distance – the lights from their little boats are twinkling in a line across the horizon like a diamond necklace. They don’t use nets here – just small boats and fishing lines. Not a lot of fun at any time being out there at night, but with lightning flashing about it’s my idea of hell. It has been really hot the last few days so I suppose this storm has been building up. Yesterday I moved here to the Thien Hai Son Hotel a couple of hundred metres nearer the town than the Seastar. It’s more of a resort hotel than the other place, but I treat myself to a bungalow on the beach. Apparently it’s a Government hotel and there are a collection of bungalows on the beach and in the gardens, with a normal five storey hotel block at the back. The bungalow (I have half of the little semi in the pic), is a bit tired inside and the furniture is "local" style, upright, heavily carved chairs with high gloss varnish. There are a series of heavily swagged yellow satiny curtains, but the bathroom at least has an enclosed shower - a pleasant change from most of the ones I've had here that are not enclosed and just flood the whole bathroom! Every bit of wood - and there's quite a lot - has been varnished to within an inch of its life! It's in a great location – apart from one downside – it appears to be next door to the hotel sewage treatment area. No real problem till the rain started and every so often there is the most ‘orrible whiff… But ignoring that it’s lovely to sit on the verandah looking over the narrow beach out to sea. The hotel has a few Westerner’s staying, but most guests are Asian – a mix of Vietnamese, Koreans and some Chinese. This clientele is reflected in the breakfast….. a huge buffet of various rice dishes and salted eggs, but one sad little toaster that takes about 5 mins to do your toast! I don’t know how many rooms there are but there seem to be quite a few, but in the day there’s no one around. There’s a huge, deserted pool in the middle of the grounds and the beach has loads of empty beach beds – a change from the Seastar where you had to be up early with your towel if you were to beat the German’s to it!
The Pap's in Phu Quoc (26 February 2009)
Well, not exactly the paparazzi, but today I take a tour of the South of the island and my aging hippy guide (dressed in bright orange fake Lacoste so at least I couldn’t lose him) sees himself as a bit of a David Bailey. He takes charge of the camera so for a change, not a good one, I hear you cry, I am in most of the pics. If only I had known, I may have made more of an effort with the outfit! But he decided to take all the pics of me – and just like David Bailey he was on the floor, up trees etc to get the right shot. He also, after a while decided to “dress” the shots – so you can see me as a pepper picker, a fruit saleswoman, a waterbike driver, a fish sauce manufacturer and Amazon explorer. I say Amazon as Phu Quoc is apparently on the same latitude as the Amazon and has the same (albeit somewhat smaller…) rainforest, but like the rest of Vietnam, no big animals as a result of the wars. But there are still cobra’s - I wished he’d have warned me before we went into the jungly bit… Here, apparently the German’s and Korean’s had a bit of a go at one another during WW2, and it was also occupied by the Americans during the “American” War, mainly for R and R. But those Yanks knew what they were doing, it really is a spectacular place. One hundred mountains (none more than 400 metres high, so I guess Everest doesn’t have too much competition), all covered in green forest. I have also discovered why there are no private cars here – there really aren’t too many roads.
We start our journey South from the hotel down the red dirt track. The start is from the centre of the west coast – and the island is 60kms long. So the beautiful Long Beach to our right goes for almost the whole 30kms. After about one kilometre the development stops and the beach is all there is, apart from the odd small fishing hamlet. The land to the left is all closed off – the site of the new international airport, my guide tells me that it will be operational in four years’ time officially, he thinks six years with the delays. But given they will need to build all the hotels to cope before that happens, I would get your skates on to get here soon. But they have started by "re-settling" all the people who lived in the area. No long planning applications needed here - just move people....
We start our journey South from the hotel down the red dirt track. The start is from the centre of the west coast – and the island is 60kms long. So the beautiful Long Beach to our right goes for almost the whole 30kms. After about one kilometre the development stops and the beach is all there is, apart from the odd small fishing hamlet. The land to the left is all closed off – the site of the new international airport, my guide tells me that it will be operational in four years’ time officially, he thinks six years with the delays. But given they will need to build all the hotels to cope before that happens, I would get your skates on to get here soon. But they have started by "re-settling" all the people who lived in the area. No long planning applications needed here - just move people....
Our first stop is at a pearl fishery run by New Zealander’s. Apparently there are only about ten foreigners settled here in Phu Quoc. Nice pearls but not my thing, but the setting is amazing. I am told that all new development will be along this beach, and high rises will be permitted, but it will all be across the small road from the beach – this makes this pearl fishery site worth a fortune. The pearls are all caught here, but the jewelery they are set in is done in HCMC.
Our next stop is at the Coconut Prison. Frankly, I’m a little unsure what this is all about – the guide’s English is quite good, but his history is a bit iffy. He was a teacher in a previous life but taught chemistry and physics – pity really, history may have been of more use in his current role! And they haven’t quite got the hang of the tourist here – all the display labels and info were in Vietnamese. But from what I can gather, this was where the Vietnamese Republic (the South) interned all the “Commies” they captured from the North. Now, of course they are all “heroes” and their pictures adorn all the walls.
We then drive east across the island to the harbour. Now I don’t know about you, but to me a harbour where boats sail to Cambodia is a biggish place. As usual I was wrong. A long dusty street selling all manner of dried fish and live crabs appeared before me, together with the local spirit (“vodka”) in all manner of odd containers, and all containing added ingredients, snakes, seahorses that kind of thing…. One long rickety wooden pier out to sea with a few even more rickety boats bobbing about. The guide talks me through some of the merchandise on offer. Dried shrimp I understand, even dried shrimp rubbish; other dried fish I recognised as well as clam muscles, even that “wine” with seahorses pickled in it were familiar. But the one that stumped me was “penis of sea dog” – it sort of looked familiar, but I decided not to enquire further….. so no shopping here.
We then move on down a tiny dirt track to see Sao beach. This is the stuff of Bounty Bar ad’s. The sand on Long Beach where I am staying is pretty special and squeaks as you walk on it, but this is something else. White, white sand, like talcum powder, technicolour blue sea with a few waves (as we are on the Eastern side). No development apart from a couple of beach bars and one new “hotel” – a beautiful building on the water’s edge just about completed with just three rooms. The card says it’s run by a guy who sounds like a Brit . It looks a perfect hideaway. But I’m not about to publish the name on the net – if you are interested, you know who to ask!
I reluctantly leave “paradise” as we have more things to see. Next stop is a pepper “garden”, where said David Bailey has me up a ladder picking peppers – what was that about Peter Piper? We also have to walk through the chickens and hens to get there – hope bird flu hasn’t got here yet, but frankly, I am probably in more danger from climbing up the pepper picker’s ladder…
We then visit a waterfall with no water… It’s an elaborate place with gardens, crocodiles in a pond, cement animal models everywhere, and stalls selling fruit and bits of jewellery and cokes. But this is the dry season so said waterfall has no water, therefore no tourists (apart from me). It is apparently spectacular in the wet season, then there is lots of water but then there are no tourists .... (a lot of the hotels actually close down). Think the owners were sold a bit of bum advice from some management consultants when they decided to develop this one…
Then on past a tiny tumbledown fishing village, the boats with their faded blue paint look like discarded toys at jaunty angles along the banks. It’s called Crocodile Village as there used to be loads prowling about, but thankfully, they are long gone. It looks a hard life. The guide tells me that the fishermen work six months of the year as it’s too stormy during the wet season - I suppose that's why they dry so much fish. The kids don’t go to school as they are needed to help. There is no tv or other entertainment so the birth rate goes up significantly nine months after the wet season starts…. Very large families are the norm, and the literacy rate is very low in these villages, and even though this is a socialist state, there are no Government handouts.
And then to our final stop, the fish sauce factory. It’s meant to be the best fish sauce in the world…. It’s actually a collection of smaller factories based along the river. They catch the fresh water river fish, bung them with salt into huge vats, press them down and leave for a few months. No chemicals used I am proudly told – but looking at the production methods, I think a few chemicals may actually be beneficial. Eventually, months later, fish sauce is drained off the bottom…. It’s bottled (into bottles washed in the river – but I guess all the salt kills the bugs…), labelled by hand and sold round the world. So a clue for when you are next buying fish sauce – it’s a bit like olive oil first pressing etc. The first stuff that comes out is 40 N. I’m still not sure what that means, but it is the best and taken as medicine. I’m not too clear what it’s taken for, but frankly you would have to be pretty sick to rely on that to get better. The guide said it was for bad stomachs but to me it looked like it could cause more than correct! The next lot drained off after they bung in a few more fish and a bit more salt is 25N and is used for cooking. So next time at Tesco, make sure you buy at least 25N – check your labels…
And then back to the Seastar – and perhaps this blog should be called “Powerless in Phu Quoc”. The power has been off all day, I hope that doesn’t mean my laundry isn’t ready. The hotel had a generator going for a while, but the diesel must have just run out as that has stopped too. They will have to sort these infrastructure issues out before those millions of tourists arrive soon. The island is the same size as Singapore but with 100,000 population compared to Singapore’s three million. But they’ve a long way to go to match their organisation.
So the South of Phu Quoc is a special place. The 30kms Long Beach is the only place in Vietnam where you can enjoy a full sunset as it faces due West and unlike all the other tropical islands I have been to this retains such simplicity, I feel privileged to have visited it now.
I still have to discover the Northern half of the island. I move hotels tomorrow, so will probably do that in a couple of day’s time. I need a few days to get the make-up and hair right if I am to use the same “paparazzi” guide. I also need to make room in the bag – I was presented with flowers, peppers, fruits and a calendar as we went around today – I wonder what gifts my next expedition will come up with…
Our next stop is at the Coconut Prison. Frankly, I’m a little unsure what this is all about – the guide’s English is quite good, but his history is a bit iffy. He was a teacher in a previous life but taught chemistry and physics – pity really, history may have been of more use in his current role! And they haven’t quite got the hang of the tourist here – all the display labels and info were in Vietnamese. But from what I can gather, this was where the Vietnamese Republic (the South) interned all the “Commies” they captured from the North. Now, of course they are all “heroes” and their pictures adorn all the walls.
We then drive east across the island to the harbour. Now I don’t know about you, but to me a harbour where boats sail to Cambodia is a biggish place. As usual I was wrong. A long dusty street selling all manner of dried fish and live crabs appeared before me, together with the local spirit (“vodka”) in all manner of odd containers, and all containing added ingredients, snakes, seahorses that kind of thing…. One long rickety wooden pier out to sea with a few even more rickety boats bobbing about. The guide talks me through some of the merchandise on offer. Dried shrimp I understand, even dried shrimp rubbish; other dried fish I recognised as well as clam muscles, even that “wine” with seahorses pickled in it were familiar. But the one that stumped me was “penis of sea dog” – it sort of looked familiar, but I decided not to enquire further….. so no shopping here.
We then move on down a tiny dirt track to see Sao beach. This is the stuff of Bounty Bar ad’s. The sand on Long Beach where I am staying is pretty special and squeaks as you walk on it, but this is something else. White, white sand, like talcum powder, technicolour blue sea with a few waves (as we are on the Eastern side). No development apart from a couple of beach bars and one new “hotel” – a beautiful building on the water’s edge just about completed with just three rooms. The card says it’s run by a guy who sounds like a Brit . It looks a perfect hideaway. But I’m not about to publish the name on the net – if you are interested, you know who to ask!
I reluctantly leave “paradise” as we have more things to see. Next stop is a pepper “garden”, where said David Bailey has me up a ladder picking peppers – what was that about Peter Piper? We also have to walk through the chickens and hens to get there – hope bird flu hasn’t got here yet, but frankly, I am probably in more danger from climbing up the pepper picker’s ladder…
We then visit a waterfall with no water… It’s an elaborate place with gardens, crocodiles in a pond, cement animal models everywhere, and stalls selling fruit and bits of jewellery and cokes. But this is the dry season so said waterfall has no water, therefore no tourists (apart from me). It is apparently spectacular in the wet season, then there is lots of water but then there are no tourists .... (a lot of the hotels actually close down). Think the owners were sold a bit of bum advice from some management consultants when they decided to develop this one…
Then on past a tiny tumbledown fishing village, the boats with their faded blue paint look like discarded toys at jaunty angles along the banks. It’s called Crocodile Village as there used to be loads prowling about, but thankfully, they are long gone. It looks a hard life. The guide tells me that the fishermen work six months of the year as it’s too stormy during the wet season - I suppose that's why they dry so much fish. The kids don’t go to school as they are needed to help. There is no tv or other entertainment so the birth rate goes up significantly nine months after the wet season starts…. Very large families are the norm, and the literacy rate is very low in these villages, and even though this is a socialist state, there are no Government handouts.
And then to our final stop, the fish sauce factory. It’s meant to be the best fish sauce in the world…. It’s actually a collection of smaller factories based along the river. They catch the fresh water river fish, bung them with salt into huge vats, press them down and leave for a few months. No chemicals used I am proudly told – but looking at the production methods, I think a few chemicals may actually be beneficial. Eventually, months later, fish sauce is drained off the bottom…. It’s bottled (into bottles washed in the river – but I guess all the salt kills the bugs…), labelled by hand and sold round the world. So a clue for when you are next buying fish sauce – it’s a bit like olive oil first pressing etc. The first stuff that comes out is 40 N. I’m still not sure what that means, but it is the best and taken as medicine. I’m not too clear what it’s taken for, but frankly you would have to be pretty sick to rely on that to get better. The guide said it was for bad stomachs but to me it looked like it could cause more than correct! The next lot drained off after they bung in a few more fish and a bit more salt is 25N and is used for cooking. So next time at Tesco, make sure you buy at least 25N – check your labels…
And then back to the Seastar – and perhaps this blog should be called “Powerless in Phu Quoc”. The power has been off all day, I hope that doesn’t mean my laundry isn’t ready. The hotel had a generator going for a while, but the diesel must have just run out as that has stopped too. They will have to sort these infrastructure issues out before those millions of tourists arrive soon. The island is the same size as Singapore but with 100,000 population compared to Singapore’s three million. But they’ve a long way to go to match their organisation.
So the South of Phu Quoc is a special place. The 30kms Long Beach is the only place in Vietnam where you can enjoy a full sunset as it faces due West and unlike all the other tropical islands I have been to this retains such simplicity, I feel privileged to have visited it now.
I still have to discover the Northern half of the island. I move hotels tomorrow, so will probably do that in a couple of day’s time. I need a few days to get the make-up and hair right if I am to use the same “paparazzi” guide. I also need to make room in the bag – I was presented with flowers, peppers, fruits and a calendar as we went around today – I wonder what gifts my next expedition will come up with…
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
No flies on Phu Quoc (21 - 24 February 2009)
Well, that’s not quite true, there are rather a lot – but there are no flies on the local’s, they have come up with an ingenious way of stopping them. When I arrived in the restaurant here at the Seastar (lovely, open air and overlooking the beach) there were plastic bags filled with water on most of the tables. Obviously not an attractive table centre, but I had no idea what they were for – perhaps some odd way of showing the table’s reserved or something. The answer is that they are fly deterrents – the unsuspecting fly lands on the bag, and because it’s full of water making it slightly curved, it sees its reflection as bigger than it is, frightens itself and flies off…. All very well, but all that does it make them congregate around your head instead…..
I have settled in here at the Seastar and have also sorted somewhere down the beach for next week as I only have this room till Friday, they were booked up after that. The hotel is nice, simple, minimalist (just not a lot in there rather than a fashion statement…) but it does have hot water which a lot don’t. All the places to stay are on one stretch on the Western side of the island, Long Beach. It appears that this is the only area on the island so far with any hotels. It’s beautiful. Clean white sand, clear turquoise sea, the odd beach massage and fruit seller but that’s it. Really underdeveloped and very “simple” – but it can’t stay that way for long.
I took the 20 minute walk into town today – not something you can do often as it really is roasting and on the “road” there is no shade at all. And no tuk tuks, only motorbike taxis which I don’t really fancy… But there aren’t too many roads for tuk tuks to ride on anyway. For airport transfers each hotel appears to have its own mini bus and there are a couple of taxis. From where I am for about half a kilometre towards town there is no road, just a stretch of red dust, which becomes a dust storm as anything bigger than a bike goes by. They are working on this though and it is gradually being tarmac’d. Most people hire a motorbike to use to get around, but even with little traffic, looking at the roads I have decided this isn’t a good plan. Legally, you need a local license, but no one bothers - apparently as long as you stick to less than 40mph and wear a crash helmet the police don't bother.... but I don't fancy a stint in a Vietnamese prison, even though that would make a good contribution to the blog! Over the next few days I will take a couple of car tours – a bit more expensive but it seems the best way to see the island.
The town (the island capital, Duong Dong) itself is small – with no shops as such just the usual shop/houses where people live and also sell a few things, dusty cans of coke and bottles of water. I was hopeful of a Highland Coffee (Vietnam’s answer to Starbucks that Ant and I enjoyed so much last year). But no luck – I found a place called Buddie’s which from the flags looked like a Vietnam/Australian Enterprise and it was the nearest I could find to a coffee shop with a menu that had Latte’s – but no – Latte’s were off! The coffee everywhere here is dire – an aluminium filter filled with a spoonful of the strongest coffee beans ever, placed over a glass. After you pour the hot water over it, the filtered coffee lands on the inch of sweetened condensed milk that is sitting in the bottom of the glass. The alternative, tea, is a pint mug (as in pint of beer type mug) with a Lipton’s teabag floating about. At least I sorted this on day one and using my language skills, asked for “ho mee” (hot milk…) - finally they understood, so every morning I now get asked do I want “same, same?”! The breakfast menu also needed a bit of translation. “Bread stuffed with half cooked eggs” I discover is the ubiquitous fluffy baguette with two fried eggs, sunny side up – makes sense when you think about it, especially if you substitute “served” instead of “stuffed”!
In terms of sights, the town just has the “famous Phu Quoc Rock” at the harbour. This a temple and a lighthouse combined and a family complete with babies everwhere seem to live in squalour on the top. Just below the rock local boys are fishing, even here at the harbour where you would expect the water to be a bit grubby, it is still startlingly clear. There are pristine schoolchildren in the Vietnamese school uniform. The boys in their blue short trousers and white shirt with the red neckerchief (reminiscent in style of the Hitler youth....) and the girls in their Daz white ao dai's sitting so upright on their bikes as they pedal around. And the usual pictorial posters exhorting the local population to behave in a good Socialist style. On the rest of the island, apart from the beaches and scenery, there is the coconut prison which sounds intriguing, as well as the fish sauce factory which produces millions of gallons a year, and pepper plantations. But I won’t be bringing any fish sauce back as a souvenir – that, along with Durian fruit, is banned from Vietnamese Airline’s planes – I guess it must be pungent stuff. If the smell all over the town today was anything to do with fish sauce then I can see why – but I think that odour was more to do with inadequate drains than anything else – not a smell I could live with….
The harbour is small, with a few fishing boats and a small cargo boat unloading sacks of rice by hand – the island is mountainous and not suitable for rice cultivation, so it’s all brought over from the mainland. The tourist boat harbour where the “Superdong” ferry goes from is sensibly on the eastern side, nearer to the mainland.
So fewer blogs from here as less is happening – but as and when I have visited coconut prison etc., I will report back. But for now, I am enjoying the gorgeous sunsets and reading lots, fab!
I have settled in here at the Seastar and have also sorted somewhere down the beach for next week as I only have this room till Friday, they were booked up after that. The hotel is nice, simple, minimalist (just not a lot in there rather than a fashion statement…) but it does have hot water which a lot don’t. All the places to stay are on one stretch on the Western side of the island, Long Beach. It appears that this is the only area on the island so far with any hotels. It’s beautiful. Clean white sand, clear turquoise sea, the odd beach massage and fruit seller but that’s it. Really underdeveloped and very “simple” – but it can’t stay that way for long.
I took the 20 minute walk into town today – not something you can do often as it really is roasting and on the “road” there is no shade at all. And no tuk tuks, only motorbike taxis which I don’t really fancy… But there aren’t too many roads for tuk tuks to ride on anyway. For airport transfers each hotel appears to have its own mini bus and there are a couple of taxis. From where I am for about half a kilometre towards town there is no road, just a stretch of red dust, which becomes a dust storm as anything bigger than a bike goes by. They are working on this though and it is gradually being tarmac’d. Most people hire a motorbike to use to get around, but even with little traffic, looking at the roads I have decided this isn’t a good plan. Legally, you need a local license, but no one bothers - apparently as long as you stick to less than 40mph and wear a crash helmet the police don't bother.... but I don't fancy a stint in a Vietnamese prison, even though that would make a good contribution to the blog! Over the next few days I will take a couple of car tours – a bit more expensive but it seems the best way to see the island.
The town (the island capital, Duong Dong) itself is small – with no shops as such just the usual shop/houses where people live and also sell a few things, dusty cans of coke and bottles of water. I was hopeful of a Highland Coffee (Vietnam’s answer to Starbucks that Ant and I enjoyed so much last year). But no luck – I found a place called Buddie’s which from the flags looked like a Vietnam/Australian Enterprise and it was the nearest I could find to a coffee shop with a menu that had Latte’s – but no – Latte’s were off! The coffee everywhere here is dire – an aluminium filter filled with a spoonful of the strongest coffee beans ever, placed over a glass. After you pour the hot water over it, the filtered coffee lands on the inch of sweetened condensed milk that is sitting in the bottom of the glass. The alternative, tea, is a pint mug (as in pint of beer type mug) with a Lipton’s teabag floating about. At least I sorted this on day one and using my language skills, asked for “ho mee” (hot milk…) - finally they understood, so every morning I now get asked do I want “same, same?”! The breakfast menu also needed a bit of translation. “Bread stuffed with half cooked eggs” I discover is the ubiquitous fluffy baguette with two fried eggs, sunny side up – makes sense when you think about it, especially if you substitute “served” instead of “stuffed”!
In terms of sights, the town just has the “famous Phu Quoc Rock” at the harbour. This a temple and a lighthouse combined and a family complete with babies everwhere seem to live in squalour on the top. Just below the rock local boys are fishing, even here at the harbour where you would expect the water to be a bit grubby, it is still startlingly clear. There are pristine schoolchildren in the Vietnamese school uniform. The boys in their blue short trousers and white shirt with the red neckerchief (reminiscent in style of the Hitler youth....) and the girls in their Daz white ao dai's sitting so upright on their bikes as they pedal around. And the usual pictorial posters exhorting the local population to behave in a good Socialist style. On the rest of the island, apart from the beaches and scenery, there is the coconut prison which sounds intriguing, as well as the fish sauce factory which produces millions of gallons a year, and pepper plantations. But I won’t be bringing any fish sauce back as a souvenir – that, along with Durian fruit, is banned from Vietnamese Airline’s planes – I guess it must be pungent stuff. If the smell all over the town today was anything to do with fish sauce then I can see why – but I think that odour was more to do with inadequate drains than anything else – not a smell I could live with….
The harbour is small, with a few fishing boats and a small cargo boat unloading sacks of rice by hand – the island is mountainous and not suitable for rice cultivation, so it’s all brought over from the mainland. The tourist boat harbour where the “Superdong” ferry goes from is sensibly on the eastern side, nearer to the mainland.
So fewer blogs from here as less is happening – but as and when I have visited coconut prison etc., I will report back. But for now, I am enjoying the gorgeous sunsets and reading lots, fab!
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Escaping to Phu Quoc (20 February 2009)
An early start from the luxury(?) of Rach Gia to go out to the airport. It’s amazing how cities change from the afternoon to dawn the next day. As we drove out there where loads of older people doing their exercises whilst waving colourful red fans, lots of scooters laden with all sorts of things – a memorable one was the couple, he riding, she on the back. In her left hand she was carrying a huge assortment of carrier bags full of food, and in her right, a bucket of hot coals, whose flames made it look a bit like a jet engine as they whizzed along! And it seemed the whole of the population were sitting hunched on those tiny kid’s red plastic stools eating their breakfast in the open.
The airport at Rach Gia is small as you would expect. The plane, a rusty looking twin prop that looked like it could be left over from the “American” War landed noisily, ready to turn round to fly back to Phu Quoc – a 25 minute flight. It had to be mine – there were no other planes in sight….. We all pile on, and Vietnam Airlines obviously like an on time take off – people were still milling about, trying to get their bags into the tiny overhead compartments as we were taxiing rather quickly out to the runway. They were still trying to find their seats as the safety demonstration took place. They all only just made it into a seat before the engines revved to a high scream and we were off. The airport at Phu Quoc is even smaller than Rach Gia – but it only handles short internal flights from Rach Gia and HCMC – the longest flight to here is 40 minutes from HCMC. There is a new international airport planned which will have a runway capable of taking bigger jets rather than the small props it can take now. Apparently by 2010 it will be capable of taking 2.5 million passengers a year in larger aircraft on scheduled and charter flights, compared to the 248,000 now. Not sure I’m convinced of that timescale, I couldn’t see any construction work. But when it does happen, the island will change a lot so if you want to see it at its peaceful best, I would make plans now. Given my difficulty in finding a room over the last couple of days, they will need to do a huge amount of building to cope with the demand. Expect to see it in the Airtours brochure soon…..
The original hotel booked here (who cocked up my booking) had offered to pick me up at the airport; they said I could go there and leave my bags whilst I sorted somewhere to stay. But it wasn’t needed – the hotel that I thought I had booked online (and obviously I had) last night were also there with Vietnamese efficiency. I am sitting here in the little restaurant at the Seastar having had a coffee waiting for my room. This hotel so far (I’ve not seen the room yet….) looks lovely. There are bungalows right on the beach (all sadly booked up), the only room available for me is a garden room, but it’s still close to the beach, which is private and very quiet. It's on Long Beach which, true to its name, is a very long stretch of white sand and calm blue sea, lined with swaying coconut palms. It’s also a bit of a bargain – the other hotel would have been 70 Euros (No 1 on Tripadvisor), this one is $30US (No 4 on Tripadvisor). I guess it's supply and demad, but accommodation here is a lot more expensive than most other places in Vietnam
I’m trying to work out who stays here, and the library of left books is always a good place to find out. I have just taken a look – out of a huge selection I have found three English language ones so far – the rest are German and Russian. Thank goodness for my little Sony eReader. There are also quite a few US accents around – I have noticed that everywhere – every accent and language under the sun, but no Brits…….
The airport at Rach Gia is small as you would expect. The plane, a rusty looking twin prop that looked like it could be left over from the “American” War landed noisily, ready to turn round to fly back to Phu Quoc – a 25 minute flight. It had to be mine – there were no other planes in sight….. We all pile on, and Vietnam Airlines obviously like an on time take off – people were still milling about, trying to get their bags into the tiny overhead compartments as we were taxiing rather quickly out to the runway. They were still trying to find their seats as the safety demonstration took place. They all only just made it into a seat before the engines revved to a high scream and we were off. The airport at Phu Quoc is even smaller than Rach Gia – but it only handles short internal flights from Rach Gia and HCMC – the longest flight to here is 40 minutes from HCMC. There is a new international airport planned which will have a runway capable of taking bigger jets rather than the small props it can take now. Apparently by 2010 it will be capable of taking 2.5 million passengers a year in larger aircraft on scheduled and charter flights, compared to the 248,000 now. Not sure I’m convinced of that timescale, I couldn’t see any construction work. But when it does happen, the island will change a lot so if you want to see it at its peaceful best, I would make plans now. Given my difficulty in finding a room over the last couple of days, they will need to do a huge amount of building to cope with the demand. Expect to see it in the Airtours brochure soon…..
The original hotel booked here (who cocked up my booking) had offered to pick me up at the airport; they said I could go there and leave my bags whilst I sorted somewhere to stay. But it wasn’t needed – the hotel that I thought I had booked online (and obviously I had) last night were also there with Vietnamese efficiency. I am sitting here in the little restaurant at the Seastar having had a coffee waiting for my room. This hotel so far (I’ve not seen the room yet….) looks lovely. There are bungalows right on the beach (all sadly booked up), the only room available for me is a garden room, but it’s still close to the beach, which is private and very quiet. It's on Long Beach which, true to its name, is a very long stretch of white sand and calm blue sea, lined with swaying coconut palms. It’s also a bit of a bargain – the other hotel would have been 70 Euros (No 1 on Tripadvisor), this one is $30US (No 4 on Tripadvisor). I guess it's supply and demad, but accommodation here is a lot more expensive than most other places in Vietnam
I’m trying to work out who stays here, and the library of left books is always a good place to find out. I have just taken a look – out of a huge selection I have found three English language ones so far – the rest are German and Russian. Thank goodness for my little Sony eReader. There are also quite a few US accents around – I have noticed that everywhere – every accent and language under the sun, but no Brits…….
Friday, 20 February 2009
Roaming around Rach Gia (19 February 2009)
I was right, today has been a bit like the original Mekong boat in terms of reservations! Decide against the local bus to get to Rach Gia – stopping and starting and over four hours with nowhere to put my suitcase seemed too much of a challenge. So I take a car (just over two hours). It was a good job I did – I had had no reply from the internet site I tried to book the hotel in Rach Gia with so had no address. No one in Rach Gia appeared to have heard of it, so I dropped into an internet café to see if I could contact them. The girl there very kindly looked up the address so I gave it to the driver. It wasn’t looking hopeful – the address we had been given by her was in the middle of an industrial landscape some way out of the town – rooms looked a bit iffy (I had originally tried to book a room in a small four room villa also called a “full service hotel….” - this definitely wasn’t it. No one there spoke any English and as I had to organise a very early taxi for tomorrow decided against it. Something about the family living in reception with their TV and cooking pots going put me off…. And my taxi driver didn’t speak any English either…. Was all a bit of stalemate until the girl at the guest house had the idea of calling one of her friends who spoke English, good lateral thinking I thought. Long story short, but like a Victorian Grand Traveller (or a brash American….) I announced my driver should “take me to the best hotel in town, where English is spoken”. I was hopeful of a Raffles type place. Actually I am in the Hong Nam hotel in the centre of Rach Gia – it bears no relation to Raffles or even a Travelodge, but I guess at £8 a night, seems clean and includes dodgy wifi - what can you expect! It even has aircon, but that doesn't appear to be stopping the mozzies from getting through the gaps in the windows and doors.....
Looking around Rach Gia I’m not surprised this is the best available. Frankly the town is a bit of a dump with nothing to recommend it. Not sure what it's major economy is, probably rice export as it's where one of the wide Mekong tributaries flows into the sea, the Gulf of Thailand. Part of it is built on recliamed land. Its main tourist purpose is that it’s the stepping stone to Phu Quoc, the island. You can either fly (my plan unless that reservation has gone wrong too….) or take the four hour “Superdong” (what a great name!) ferry. So I settle into my spartan room, and decide to double check my Phu Quoc reservation which was for the next two weeks. Yes, it was going to be one of those days. Even though months ago, I had confirmed a hotel called the Cassia Cottage, they had apparently sent me an email asking for a deposit. I definitely never received that, so no deposit was paid, so they just let my reservation lapse without contacting me again. Lucky there’s wifi in the Hong Nam, but every major website I go on to comes back with no availability in Phu Quoc for the days I want. Some of the smaller hotels require you to fill in a form and wait for a reply, but I didn’t have time for that. And then I remembered Skype, and how you can use as a normal telephone. I think I now have a room for the first week in the Seastar Hotel. I emailed to confirm, and I haven’t heard back yet… I could be setting up a tent on the beach!
But regardless of the reservation traumas, the drive here was really interesting. We soon left Chau Doc behind and entered the rice fields. The road with buses and bikes (no cars) was about as wide as Button Street and lined either side, virtually all the way with tumbledown houses hanging on to the slope down to the small browny grey rivers, of which there are hundreds – more than there are roads - perhaps people have private boats instead of cars... Behind them were the rice fields, that amazing emerald green again, and stretching for miles. No sign of a Tiger economy here – the shacks were in a dreadful state, a lot made with corrugated iron which must be like ovens and shaking on their bamboo legs as we passed. I suppose it’s for that reason that everyone seems to live life out in the open - not for me, but there again if there’s no room at the inn tomorrow night, it might have to be!
Looking around Rach Gia I’m not surprised this is the best available. Frankly the town is a bit of a dump with nothing to recommend it. Not sure what it's major economy is, probably rice export as it's where one of the wide Mekong tributaries flows into the sea, the Gulf of Thailand. Part of it is built on recliamed land. Its main tourist purpose is that it’s the stepping stone to Phu Quoc, the island. You can either fly (my plan unless that reservation has gone wrong too….) or take the four hour “Superdong” (what a great name!) ferry. So I settle into my spartan room, and decide to double check my Phu Quoc reservation which was for the next two weeks. Yes, it was going to be one of those days. Even though months ago, I had confirmed a hotel called the Cassia Cottage, they had apparently sent me an email asking for a deposit. I definitely never received that, so no deposit was paid, so they just let my reservation lapse without contacting me again. Lucky there’s wifi in the Hong Nam, but every major website I go on to comes back with no availability in Phu Quoc for the days I want. Some of the smaller hotels require you to fill in a form and wait for a reply, but I didn’t have time for that. And then I remembered Skype, and how you can use as a normal telephone. I think I now have a room for the first week in the Seastar Hotel. I emailed to confirm, and I haven’t heard back yet… I could be setting up a tent on the beach!
But regardless of the reservation traumas, the drive here was really interesting. We soon left Chau Doc behind and entered the rice fields. The road with buses and bikes (no cars) was about as wide as Button Street and lined either side, virtually all the way with tumbledown houses hanging on to the slope down to the small browny grey rivers, of which there are hundreds – more than there are roads - perhaps people have private boats instead of cars... Behind them were the rice fields, that amazing emerald green again, and stretching for miles. No sign of a Tiger economy here – the shacks were in a dreadful state, a lot made with corrugated iron which must be like ovens and shaking on their bamboo legs as we passed. I suppose it’s for that reason that everyone seems to live life out in the open - not for me, but there again if there’s no room at the inn tomorrow night, it might have to be!
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