---

At the conclusion of our ride across the Mekong, we arrived in the forgettable town of Rach Gia. Thursday morning we set off by plane to the island of Phu Quoc, just a short 30 minute flight over the sea.

Phu Quoc is about 60 km long and 20 km wide, and has 15 or 20 hotels, all clustered around the only decent roads on the island in Duong Dong. Noa booked it because, she said, it was a relaxing beach vacation spot. I think the proliferation of penis euphamisms in it's name is a more likely reason. The only other claim to fame of Phu Quoc is that it's native industry is a Vietnamese fish sauce called Nuoc Mam you can get anywhere. You can also smell it anywhere. Imagine rotting sardines with tabasco belches mixed with the locker room of a rugby match at halftime, and you're close to the smell.

Wednesday we were dead tired, so the arrival at the airport- orderly, clean, organized, and nicer than most small US airports (I'm looking at you, Oakland and Burbank: pull it together, you've been outpaced by the third world) and a short beach walk were about all we could muster. Noa and I took some beach and room naps, then had erev krochtmoch dinner, a 'Special Merry Chees-mas dinner' as the lady at the front said, at a place where you could pick your own fish to grill. This might have been the 10th meal of fish and rice in a row, but it was probably the first non-snakehead fish dinner in a while. I drank my fair share of the native Vietnamese beer, Tiger beer. It's pretty much MGD. Then off to bed.

Thursday morning we got up for the breakfast and Noa went right back to bed. Mid-morning we re-emerged with a plan to rent a motorbike, go down a random road, and find our own private beach for sunning and light canoodling. We got our bike and headed out of town, from paved roads to bright orange dirt tracks in just 5 minutes. Our first efforts were to head east across the island, but that ended at a farm at the base of a dam, so our next try sent us to the far north end of the island of the town of Bein Trahn.

One thing you notice about Vietnam is there are a lot of bike mechanics. It seems like a quaint little 21st century iteration of the local blacksmith until you need one. Then, they are like the US Embassy, the green berets and a medivac rolled into one. Along this dirt road, miles from any town in either direction, the rear wheel starting spinning uncontrolably and the bike started wobbling something fierce. We got off the bike to find a flat rear tire. I was sure I had hit a rock too hard. I was also worried that it would be something far worse than a flat, and that our $9 days rental would turn into me owning a motorbike on an island I have no intetion of visiting again.

I pushed our bike (while Noa walked alongside) in the 90 F heat with 100% humidity. Thankfully, we only had to go about a 1/2 km to find a mechanic. He noticed an inch-long screw sticking straight out of our tire, pulled it loose, and changed the innertube in about 15 minutes. It cost all of $4 to fix.

Back on the road, we cruised 25 km until we reached a few shacks with palm umbrellas and chairs by a beach of coconut trees and went swimming and sleeping and reading; her, 'Dreams of my Father', Barak Obama; me, 'Collapse', Jared Diamond. There was a lone fishing boat in the water and some old, long unused canoes on the waters edge. When we got hungry, we sat at one of the thatched-tin roofed houses and ate fish and rice. As it got an hour from darkness, we hopped back on the bike and returned to Duong Dong, uneventfully. Our day ended with an exhausted meal on the hotel roof of soup and french fries, then sleep. The next morning, we set off for Siem Reap and the temples of Ankor Wat in Cambodia.

---