The Sand People

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Hello - We've just travelled for 22 hours non-stop to reach Halong Bay. I'll get this up to date tomorrow...until that time:

I will begin with this;

A few days ago I was stood happily upon the picturesque beachfront of Mui Ne, Vietnam. No cloud dared obscure the sky with distracting shapes or sun-blocking drifts. It was perfectly and unanimously blue. The white sand shone just a few steps from our bedroom and beyond this the sea lapped upon the shore in time with the gentle breeze... A couple of umbrellas lolled in the heat. They reminded me of drooping wild mushrooms with their humerously shaped bamboo heads - but the sand... the sand was something straight out of paradise...

These thoughts connected with something bigger as I spoke them aloud... It could have been that by narrating my own life I caused some irritation to something bigger than myself. Or perhaps it could have been my sickeningly romantic view of a sandy beachfront...but I obviously angered someone, or something, because an event took place in the following hour which would change my view of sand forever. And Rich's, come to think of it.

On impulse and with some vague planning flying around somewhere in the background, we decided to visit the Sand Dunes of Mui Ne. Mui Ne is a small fishing village to the North East of Ho Chi Minh City. I immediately liked the place, even though it is pretty much just a single, never-ending road of guesthouses and modern-style bars. The bars were no good because of my recent esophagus trouble, so we focused on enjoying the beach and seeing a few of the sites.

Our guesthouse was fantastic. I imagine the food would have been "bad", almost creeping up to "below average" as I could see no kitchen, nor anyone who wasn't incredibly busy sleeping or just lying around doing nothing. The beds were OK - a rough mosquito net covered mine and the sheets were mostly clean. There wasn't any internet access and there was a fish tank which harboured a creature so foul I couldn't stand to look at it. I still have no idea what it looks like. What made the guesthouse worth staying in was the fact that as we stepped out our front door - we stepped onto the beach.

Which brings me back to topic.

We approached a Vietnamese gentleman on a motorbike and obtained a rough idea of the cost of a trip to the Dunes. I should probably note that without a motorbike, a Vietnamese man isn't really a man at all. A little like a crab without it's shell, or a pelican without it's beak. From my current level of understanding... to be a successful Vietnamese citizen you require two things - a moto...and a frequently used horn. The man I was speaking to was an accomplished patriot and was able to provide us with what we required. As I spoke with him he fumbled around in his pocket for something. I had presumed it was a cigarette. I was wrong.

We had heard that "Sandboarding" at the Sand Dunes was a fantastic experience and was not to be missed...though we didn't know exactly what it was. Imagine our difficulty then, when our driver produced from his filthy jacket pocket a laminated card containing more than one single option for our destination. No one had suggested that there might be more than one sand dune...no one had. In a land of trickery and enigmas - this was a problem.

We were told of two places we could attempt Sandboarding. The Driver's voice resonates like sickly poison in my mind even now...although each time I re-tell it he sounds more and more like a pirate:

Driver: You could go to the White Sand Dunes...it's a bit far out so if I were you...p'raps you'd like me to take you to the Yellow Dune's...
Me: Yellow Dunes... I've not heard of that. How much further did you say the White Dunes were again?
Driver: The whaaat?
Me:...The...the White Sand Dunes. Like on the card?
Driver: Never 'erd of 'em.
Me: But you just said...

- The Driver leans in smiling with his sparkling golden tooth...his hook-hand glinting menacingly in the sun. A parrot whistles sarcastically somewhere out of sight... It pierces the the background noise of a heard of grazing motorbikes and the occasional passing truck, whilst me and my travel companions exchange uncomfortable, desperate glances. - After about a minute of starring into the abyss between Driver's working teeth, I heard my voice crackle back to life.

Me: Whatever you think's best.
Driver: Yellow Sand Dunes it is then! Garr! (I will add that the word "Garr!" may, or may not have been used during this conversation, depending on who you ask.)

He roused the possy with a cheery shout and two more bikes scrambled into position from somewhere amongst the scattered treeline. I like to think of the newly arrived drivers as wearing bandanas, bearing cutlesses at their sides and smiles sharpened to a point. This detail is of course, a lie, so I'll allow you to adopt whichever reality suits your current state of mind. We each chose a bike and climbed on the back of the seat, gripping the metal handlebar on the back of the bike with both hands for support. The bike engines spluttered into life... and we were on our way once again.

The drive to the Sand Dunes was pleasant. There are constant views of the ocean and beachfront; palm trees and other island-esque foliage line the shore with a very calming, relaxing effect. This teamed up with the momentum produced breeze made us feel pretty content. In the distance we caught glimpses of the Sand Dunes creeping closer. I thought for a minute that it winked at me, strange, but Asia is a strange and wonderous place. We passed a bridge overlooking the open harbour where hundreds of clone fishing boats were sleepily moored - all painted the same colour and all facing the same direction. It's an impressive sight...but nothing in comparison to the golden mass of the Yellow Dunes.

As we jumped off the bikes the lead Driver barked something at his minions, who scuttled under a couple of nearby rocks, awaiting the time they would be summoned again. He then turned to us and smiled...the gold tooth shining prominently in the now merciless sun.

Driver: You'll be half an hour.

I thought about protesting. Surely we'd be Sandboarding for at least an hour or so? Then again, I didn't know the sport so I nodded my head and turned to face the sand. When I turned back around the man was gone.

The Dunes dominated the landscape. We stood in the shade of a few shanty-shops selling the worst hats known to man. I considered that if I was freely offered one of those hats, whilst walking naked and lost in the desert...I would politely, but firmly decline. Nah, they weren't that bad. I think Rich quite liked them.

The moment we stepped out of the shade we could feel the intensity of the heat. We thought we could see the blurry hallucinations of children making our way towards us from the Dunes. It turned out that these hallucinations were actually genuine children who immediately began trying to sell us things. Mainly - they wanted us to sandboard...which was convenient because that's exactly what we had planned to do. What I didn't understand was why these small but bold creatures of the sand were also holding out large pieces of plastic in our direction. I then made the connection. Sandboarding is actually just sledging on sand...with a name that makes it sound more challenging and interesting. We shrugged and paid the 50,000VND they requested. That's right - 50,000 notes! That's about $3...but they promised we could have as many rides down the dunes as we wanted. It sounded like a pretty good deal at the time.

As the money exchanged hands I thought I heard the cackling laughter of our Driver somewhere behind me. I looked over my shoulder - there was nothing there except for a still-burning cigar resting in the sand and the obscure smell of gasoline.

The children had an interesting little business going. They were completely independant and each had their own job. The one's that reeled us in from the roadside were just good speakers. They greeted us and told us the deal - once they lured us over to the Dunes, the next guy takes over. He seals the deal. He goes over what has previously been offered and makes it sound better. Once this is agreed the money exchanges hands and we were passed onto the final guy. I like to call him the bastard...for reasons I will shortly explain.

There were others we had no dealings with. The younger kids sit by the very few and sparse trees around and cry to attract attention. This irritates me. I can only imagine what kind of people these kids will develop into. They'll be like a cross-breed of Human-Vulture-Rats. Others just make the "Eyes" at passers by and hope to get the pity vote. They're exceptionally skilled and very clever.

Walking up the sand in our flip-flops was a challenge. I'm basically a shade-hugging vampire myself, so to be walking up sand dunes in the heat of the day was unbearable to me. There was no shade. I was genuinely concerned that parts of my body would slowly turn to ash...but we trudged on. It took us maybe 10 minutes to reach the sandboarding hill...it looked pretty steep and impressive. The Dunes beautiful and looked amazing against the backdrop of the palm trees and the ocean... but they were in all honesty, a bitch to climb and hot on the feet.

The kid took us further down the hill, and suddenly the slope became less impressive. He dug up some cooler sand and began to throw it down the hill. The base of the hill was now only about 11-12 feet down from where we were standing. Gradually this cooler sand built up into a small track...I couldn't tell you what effect this had on the overall experience. He then filled the plastic sheet with sand and gesture for our friend Nicole to get on. She looked a little nervous to be going first but we assured her it would be fine and probably fun...how horribly wrong we were. In the worst misjudgement of my career so far, we sent Nicole from the Sand Dunes of Mui Ne to the depths of hell in a single push.

She slid for about 2 seconds and came to an abrupt stop half-way down the hill. It looked about as fun as sitting down on a humerously shaped chair. Sure, it's a little different...but evetually you come to realise that it's still just sitting down. She proceeded to get off the plastic and her feet sunk into the sand...she shrieked. We, obviously, began to laugh thinking this was some kind of joke...but then she started crying and collapsed into the sand, her legs writhing in agony. Then we felt bad.

Unable to help, we watched her attempt to climb back up the dunes only to collapse again because of the pain from the intense heat of the sand. We tried to shout directions as to how to climb back up, but there was no obvious route. She seemed pretty stranded.

I was delighted to know that it was my turn next. I hailed the boy and he began throwing sand down the slope again. For some obscure reason I held out the hope that my experience would be better. It wasn't.

I counted to three and launched myself off this tiny, miserable sand mound. I slid the expected distance and then came to a stop. My feet sank into the sand and I shrugged it off...it was a little hot but nothing that could do any real damage. Then, just as I was about to make some "I'm a big man who doesn't feel pain" comment, the real heat kicked in. It was ridiculously hot and my feet were dying a hideous death. Nicole hadn't made it anywhere and was miserable on the side of the dunes...the child said nothing. He just sat there, preparing Rich's Hell wagon for his final journey into Satan's playhouse. I attempted to brave it and charged up the hill, but my feet physically would not keep going. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I caught a glimpse of Yurgen calmly jogging across the Sand Dune's upper tier. It could have been the heat.

Eventually with Rich's superior viewpoint we worked out the best route to safety. Through one of the most agonising 10 minutes of my life I clamboured up the rocks and sand until I reached a place...which I can only assume was hotter than the core of the sun. I took another break and then ran through fire to gain the top of the hill. My feet felt strangely clean as I strode back to my seated friends. Nicole was still nursing hers. The child remained speechless. He sat there in silence and continued to prepare Rich's vessel of the sand. He looked at Rich...and in a moment of sheer madness, Rich stood up and took his position on the slope. Learning from our mistakes he conquered hell in just 6 minutes.

Boy: You ride again?

Needless to say we took up a hammer-throw position and launched him as far as we possibly could into the burning crater upon which we suffered. Nah, just kidding he's fine. I do hate him though.

Apparently, collectively, we passed the test. As we stumbled back in our dreamlike state to the Driver...he had returned to normal. His friends wore their normal attire and broken English stumbled awkwardly from their lips as they asked us if we were ready to go. We paused for a drink in the Bad Hat Cafe and climbed back on the bikes. Without another word between us we set off to our little room beside the beach and never looked back.

We spent the afternoon relaxing and I happened to spark up a conversation with one of the local surfing community. It ended like this:

Surfer: You're sure it wasn't the White Sand Dunes?
Me: Yeah, why?
Surfer: There are no Yellow Sand Dunes in Mui Ne.
Me: ...............ah.

Ultimately we had a pretty interesting day and we found Mui Ne to be a pretty good place to be. It was a little quiet in places but overall had a nice atmosphere about it. Any descriptive language I have used may or may not be misleading from the actual truth and any conversations I have used may or may not have taken place. As a result of the days activities, we all recieved burned feet (though no actual damage) and Rich recived an absolute mauling from a bunch of sand flies. He's still nursing them better...they look horrific.

Beards are going terribly - our moustaches are now growing into our mouths and eating food has once again become mildly unpleasant.

Thanks for the messages and for reading this blog - I'm now mostly recovered from my food-pipe acid burns and things are back on track.

Take care,

Chris

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Comments

[booyah]

stuff...
Sounds to me like your driver was infact the antagonist LeChuck from the old-school Amiga classic 'Monkey Island' - an evil ghost pirate! look on the bright side; as bad as food pipe related burns go, you could have had escape pipe related burns! mammoth, if you ahven't already done so, i would like make a request. in all of these paradise beach spots you so relentlessly love to make me jealous of you with, please PLEASE get a picture of you in such a spot, with a winning smile on your face. you KNOW this must be done!