The Road to Chiêu Lầu Thi

I never need much excuse to head for the Hoàng Su Phì / Xín Mần area and I have pondered for years doing this route:

but have always bottled out.  There is a definite track on the satellite image, but it's 48km in the mountains, depending on locals for shelter, and I'm a little hesitant in doing it alone and a little reluctant to go with a Vietnamese friend where the consequences of lingering and loitering so close to the border might be more serious for them than for me.  I'd be /involved/, they'd be /committed/.

So yet again, I bottled out.  Online advice offered Chiêu Lầu Thi as a possible alternative.  Stunning sunsets from the top of Chiêu Lầu Thi at 2402 m.  And a reason to head back to Hoàng Su Phì.  This will do for now.

I find the nearest homestay and get friend Diep to ring up and check they are open.  Didn't work out so well last time we tried this, but I'm not great at learning from experience.  She books me in.  They won't have tofu, but they'll have peanuts, I'm told.  Grand.

So, take the Hà Giang bus - the view isn't the best, but I know it will get better -

View from Hanoi to Tân Quang

and hop off at Tân Quang, where I could pick up a vomit comet to Hoàng Su Phì.

Vomit Comet

Inside the Vomit Comet

Faultlessly executed transfer.  Beautiful scenery as we wended? wound? our way up to Hoàng Su Phì.

Various passengers emptying their stomachs into (supplied - the bus folks know what to expect) plastic bags.  Life's rich tapestry.  Along the way a Hmong lady, older than me, boards.  She is carrying what looks like a home made ice lolly.  Told she can't eat on the bus (and with the vomiting why would anyone want to?), she offers the rest of it to me.  Perhaps my white privilege would allow me to eat.  I smile and decline politely and she smiles back as she tosses the ice lolly out.  I imagine it sizzling as it hits the hot road.

As we approach Hoàng Su Phì, I book accommodation online.  Never been a fan of walking around looking for a place to lay my bones when I can book it ahead of time and know where I am going.  A homestay a mile out of town.  Fine.  I can walk that.  Disgorged from the vomit comet, I look for my accommodation.  Google maps knows where it is.  But I walk to the homestay with nary a sign of it.  I carry on a ways.  It's back the way Google tells me. 

Looking for my homestay

I walk back a ways.  No, back that a ways.  I ask a local.  No help forth comes.  I dig out the number for the homestay and get him to ring and ask for directions.  Back towards town.  How far?  Vaguety vague metres.  I head back into town.  My phone call has triggered action and I am soon accosted by a young man on a motorbike.  You are looking for the homestay?  Affirmative.  He offers me a lift.  We drive to a fine hotel.  I explain that I have booked a 'homestay'.  He bids me bring up the website.  He scrolls down down down down the colourful pictures until the last one which shows a pretty standard hotel bed.  That's the bed upstairs.  I can show you.  I am sceptical, but I have walked enough and he looks honest enough.  I check in.  Which floor would you like?  As high as possible.  4 floors up.  Ah.  A new hotel with no lift.  How retro.  I climb to my room and compare the bed to the photo.  I am not entirely sure what the 'homestay' charade profits anyone, but it is undoubtedly an identical bed.

Showered, I head out for eats.  Tofu is forthcoming.  They send out for beer.  Always good to be back in Hoàng Su Phì.

Next morning, I am up with the larks and head out for coffee.  There is a coffee place right next door to the hotel, but where's the fun in that?  I decide to see what else is on offer.  I am up too early for some places and I manage to persuade myself that the others aren't suitable since they don't look as inviting as places already passed by.  Lack of coffee makes me indecisive.  I come to the edge of town.  It's a beautiful morning and the sun isn't too hot yet.  I strike out.  A 'Frontier Zone' sign tells me that we are near the frontier. 

I already knew that.

This I know.  I stride on.  The countryside becomes lovelier and lovelier.

It's hard to turn for home.  Eventually, I set myself a limit:  If there's nothing more spectacular than what I've already seen in the next half an hour, I'll turn for home.  I turn for home.  Striding along the path, I day dream of coffee.  A nice young man on a motorbike pulls up and offers me a lift.  Why not?  It's getting hot and I've already seen the scenery on the way in.  He stops at the "Frontier Zone" sign where the road forks.  Ah, you're not going all the way back to town?  No problem.  I can walk from here.  But no.  The young man waves his official badge at me and points at the sign.  This, I now understand, is to be read as "You shall not pass".  His telling off was very mild and polite, probably due to the age difference.  I do my best to look contrite.  I have practised this look before.  We part amicably.

Back in town, I organize a xe ôm to pick me up from the hotel later and take me to the Chiêu Lầu Thi homestay.  I get coffee at the place next to the hotel.

Right on schedule, my xe ôm turns up and I check out and we are off.  Easy ride climbing up into the hills.  He seems to know the way.  He doesn't.  We stop at a house by the road to check where to turn.  Time for some tea and the xe ôm has a few puffs on the ubiquitous bamboo water pipe.  The lady of the house wears a "Jesse Jackson 88" T shirt.  So this is where dreams come to die.  Refreshed, we are soon on our way.

We turn off the road and are no longer in Kansas.  Heaps of sand and gravel block the way. 

Anything is a road if you want it to be

But beyond!  Lo a beautiful road surface as far as the eye can see.  Which is only as far as the first corner.

This is a road

We manoeuvre the bike past the heaps and are off.  Round the corner, the road takes a turn for the worse.  As we climb, the road goes downhill.

The road goes downhill

Soon, I am getting off to push the bike up and over hills and rocks.  My xe ôm suggests that I might like to walk the rest of the way.  But we have a deal.  And so we continue.  Finally, we arrive at the homestay. 

Nobody home

My man is delighted.  The place is deserted.  I arrange that he should come back in two days time at 12:00.  We swap numbers and he heads off back the way we came.  I am all alone.  I see a dog and some chickens.  Somebody is sure to be along at some point.  I check my situation:  Shelter is available if need be.  I have a mango.  Some water and water purification tablets.  And a xe ôm coming back in two days time.  Perfect.  I dump my bag and set off to explore.
There a few chickens and gangs of water buffalo wandering around.  The water buffalo sport Swiss style cow bells.  The occasional standoff with solitary goats as I wander further along narrow paths pass peacefully.  Not a soul to be seen.  Finally, there is a gate across the path.  Keeping goats out?  Or in?  Born in the year of the goat myself, I take the hint and retrace my steps.

As I arrive back at the homestay, I hear motorbikes struggling up the hill.  Dad, son and toddler have arrived to take care of me.

And they do have tofu.  And beer.  They cook over an open fire in the kitchen and we then sit by firelight on 4 inch high stools to eat.

Home cooking

After dinner, dad and toddler head off downhill in the dark by motorbike leaving son to clear up and look after me.  It's a beautiful clear night and the stars are out in force.  Sao băng, I learn.  Shooting star.  There is no mobile signal, no wifi and only limited electricity.  I leave my phone charging and am given candles to light me to bed.  The phone doesn't charge.

And so, to Chiêu Lầu Thi.  We set off on foot, in plenty of time to be there for one of those stunning sunsets I've seen.  White horses run wild.

Run horse, run

I'd seen the sign advertising something to do with horses.  This would be great country for pony trekking, I think naïvely.  We arrive at the path to Chiêu Lầu Thi.

Stronger than me

Workers hump bags of sand and cement up the steep slope to where they are building steps and a path to the top.  The water is pumped up in stages to where they are working.  It's hot and I take regular breaks watching guys in flip flops go on past.  We arrive at the top.  Through occasional gaps in the cloud, we see glimpses of the land below.  Of the sun, nothing.  Finally, I admit defeat.  There will be no sunset today.

View from the top

My host and friend

Well, there will be, but not to be seen from here.  We head back to the homestay.  As we arrive, the heavens open, the thunder and lightning starts, and it pours all evening and most of the night.  Entertainment is limited, so I crash early after another fine meal.  We both have beer.  I, at least, am old enough to drink beer.

I ask the son to ring my xe ôm and check he's still coming back for me.  No.  His wife says he has hurt his back.  Maybe he has.  Maybe he can't face the road again.  Maybe he hurt his back on the road.  Son says he will run me back to town.  He's more expensive than my xe ôm, but he's got a captive market and my options are limited.  And we both know it.  We pass some children on the way up on the way down.

A better way to travel

Back in town, I head back to my hotel to book in for one more night.  The desk is deserted.  I wander upstairs looking for someone.  Anyone.  Rooms are open. The house maid's set of master keys is in an open door.  Not a soul to be seen.  I give up, dump my bag by the desk and head out to lunch.  My phone has given up the ghost and won't charge any more.  It's like being back in 2002.  No google maps.  No booking.com.  No google translate.  No whatsapp.  No camera.  No gmail.  Travel is so easy nowadays.  I head up to the phone shop.  They try 6 different chargers before concluding that it's the phone.  The boss takes a look.  50k. half an hour.  Fine by me.  I would happily have bought a new phone if I'd had to.  I sit out the back and watch while he fixes my phone.  His son brings in a battered Nokia dumbphone with a broken screen.  Dad takes a look.  50k.  Son gets customer approval and fixes phone.  They have dozens of boxes of screens and parts for all sorts of phones.  Smartphone with a broken screen comes in.  180k.  A rat walks casually across the floor.  Doesn't have a phone, but maybe he's heard of the good value to be had here.  Soon my phone is fixed.  I whatsapp my wife.  She hasn't heard from me for days.  I wondered where you'd got to, she says.

I watch some guys cleaning up the river - it's an endless task.

Back at the hotel, I collect my bag and check back in.  In the morning, I ask about buses back to Hanoi.  I am assured that there will be the bus from Xín Mần to Hà Giang at 10:00 or maybe 11:00.  Or 12:00.  I am given a free ride to where the bus would stop a couple of times and returned to the hotel when it fails to appear.  Finally, I am there.   And there is a bus.  I board and wait for the driver to appear.  I see a western tourist standing in the shade.  I am solitary but not unsociable.  I get out and get us both a nước mía.  Turns out I know Mike from the internet.  Not the first time I've met an internet acquaintance in the Hà Giang region.  We are soon off.  Back to Tân Quang.  Mike goes off to find a hotel for the night before he heads on to Lao Cai.  I settle down for coffee.  My bus comes before Mike comes back.  And I am whisked away and back to Hanoi.

So,  stunning sunset, saw I none.  But it was fun.  Give the road construction and path-up-Chiêu-Lầu-Thi guys a couple of years and it will be an easy day trip from Hoàng Su Phì.

And the white horses?.  Apparently their bones are used in traditional medicine.  $15 a tael for white horse bone gel.  I don't know what it cures, but I won't be trying that.

Into the heart of darkness: Mỹ Lại

So, after missing my first train up from Tuy Hoa, I finally get the TH1 and roll into Quảng Ngãi a little after midnight.

I've changed trains here late at night before and know that Quảng Ngãi will have gone to sleep long before I arrive.  Sure enough, the streets are all but deserted.  I wander down shadowy streets to my hotel where I knock up somebody to let me in.  They'd been warned of my late arrival, so I don't feel too bad.  Wait, was that a real stuffed tiger in the lobby?  Too late to worry about that now.  I need some zeds.  Been up for so long.

Up and out with the larks for some coffee.  Yup.  That's definitely a stuffed tiger. 

Not sure about the wisdom of this

I'm only booked in for one night and decide that hotels with stuffed cats aren't really for me.  I book in to somewhere with 'Riverside' in its name.  Stretching the facts a little as it turns out, but it's fine.

I take Google map's slightly longer road from my hotel to the Quán Cơm Chay An Lạc on Trần Hưng Đạo.  This turns out to be a good choice.

The road less travelled

Food is good.

I wander out to Quang Trun Street to look for a xe ôm to take me to Mỹ Lại.  Hmm, not so thick on the ground.  But I am invited to have a seat and a drink of tea until one can be found.  An ageing granny is impressed by my physique.  Not something that happens to me often.  A lady xe ôm, or at least a lady who is happy to be a xe ôm for a while is flagged down.  Granny's eyes sparkle with the possibility of romance only she can see in the situation.  I take in the state of the bike.  Quảng Ngãi is one of the poorest provinces in Vietnam.  Young folks with any get up and go have all used it to land jobs in Saigon or Hanoi.  It's becoming an old folks place.  I'm not sure there's much optimism about the future.  I negotiate a price to be dropped at Mỹ Lại.  My xe ôm lady seems a little vague about the route, but Google maps will surely get us there.

Half way there, a puncture brings us to a halt.  As always, the nearest sửa xe máy place is within rolling distance.  A grotty tube is extracted and a previous repair has obviously failed.  A new tube is inserted with the rear wheel barely disturbed.  Everybody comes out to be my friend.  The patriarch engages me in earnest conversation.  He places his hand rather higher up my thigh than I am used to as he leans in to emphasise a point.  I don't reciprocate.  There are many subtleties to be mastered when it comes to personal interactions in Vietnam and I'm still not sure of all the rules.  I ante up 60k for the repair to be deducted from the fare and we are off.

Lady xe ôm is set to fly past the Mỹ Lại site until I bring her to a halt.  We arrange for her to come back for me in 3 hours.

I am alone at the Mỹ Lại memorial.

There is an age thing at work when it comes to Mỹ Lại.  Many intelligent, educated folks know nothing of this place.  Then there are those who want to forget.  And those, like me, who grew up with Vietnam on the television in our early teens.  I have always been a bit of a news junky and I remember hearing about Mỹ Lại back in the day.  It made no sense to me then and it makes no sense to me now.  Vietnam pretty much dropped off my radar after my 20th birthday: 30/04/1975, the fall of Saigon.  I remember the fall of Saigon.  I don't remember much else of that birthday.  The seeds planted lay dormant until 1997 when I first came to Vietnam.  Since then, Vietnam has taken so many little pieces of my heart.

So here I am.  At Mỹ Lại.  Where 504 Vietnamese civilians, old men and women, young men and women, children and babies were systematically slaughtered by American troops.

There is no room for whataboutism here.  This was a war crime.  This was a war crime covered up right up as far as the White House.  This was a war crime where the heroes of the day, and there were heroes, were not given credit for truly outstanding courage until 30 years later.  This was a war crime where only one man was ever convicted.  And the day after he was convicted, Nixon ordered him moved from prison to house arrest.  3 and a half years later he was a free man.  He lives, still.  The heroes are all dead now.

The heroes on that day were few: Thompson, Andreotta, Colburn.  Their story is worth reading.  Another, after the fact, hero was Ron Ridenhour who sparked the investigation which led to Mỹ Lại coming to public attention.  Few others back then can claim to have done the right thing.

Charlie Company was dropped off at Mỹ Lại early in the morning of 16th March 1968, expecting to meet stiff resistance from the 48th Viet Cong Battalion.  They found only old men, women and children and proceeded to implement a policy of Burn All, Destroy All, Kill All.

Hugh Thompson was a helicopter pilot who saw lots of bodies and Americans shooting, but no incoming fire against them.  He had pointed out wounded civilians who needed help.  When he returned after refuelling, he found them dead.   He pointed out another wounded woman and watched a captain approach her and shoot her,

Unable to understand what he was seeing, he landed his helicopter between a group of Vietnamese civilians and the G.I.s of Charlie Company pursuing them.  He told his crew Glen Andreotta and Laurence Colburn to cover him and open fire on the troops if they fired on him.  A standoff ensued and the shooting came to an end.  He reported what he had seen and done to his commander.  Thus started the cover up.  And 30 years of ostracism for Thompson.  No action was taken against anyone in Charlie Company or anyone in the chain of command.

That would be the last we had heard of Mỹ Lại without another hero:  Ron Ridenhour.  Ridenhour heard tales of the massacre from soldiers who had been in training with him.  He began to search out all the members of Charlie Company he could find and collecting their stories.  Ridenhour had friends, 'good guys', in Charlie Company.  He, and often they themselves, could not understand how they could have lost all sense of morality.  Wary for his own safety, he wrote nothing down.  Once back in the world, he sent of a 2000 word letter to Nixon, the secretary of defense and some members of congress, documenting what he knew of the massacre.  An investigation was now inevitable.  An army photographer had been present on the day and had documented the massacre and the photos shocked the world.

Thompson reports on a visit to Mỹ Lại many years later, that one of the ladies he saved came up to him.  "Why didn't the people who committed these acts come back with you?" He said that he was "just devastated" but that she finished her sentence: "So we could forgive them."

Mỹ Lại wasn't the only American massacre.  And the Americans weren't the only ones guilty of massacres in Vietnam.  But that changes nothing of what happened here.

I explore the museum.  The names and ages of the 504 dead are prominently displayed.  Man's inhumanity to man on display.  Thompson, Andreotta and Colburn's part is shown.  Seymour Hersh's "Letter from Mỹ Lại" has me weeping openly.

I have read a lot on Mỹ Lại and Vietnam, but a book by a survivor is on display.  Nobody is about.  My Em oi! brings a young lady up from below stairs.  I would like to look at that book, I say in my carefully rehearsed Vietnamese.  She gets me a copy out.  It doesn't take much reading to persuade me to add it to my collection.

I buy Pham Thanh Cong's memoir.  Herded into a bunker with his mother and siblings and a grenade tossed in after them, he alone survived.  He too talks of forgiveness.  Forgiving is easy, he says, But we can't forget.  Perhaps one day, America will have a president brave enough to come here and say "sorry".  And accept forgiveness.  It won't be the current one.

It seems that the Vietnamese are ready to forgive and the Americans just want to get on with the forgetting.  Not the best way of learning from history.

Outside, the concrete paths between the groups of houses have tracks of bicycles and children embedded in the surface.  All is quiet.  Only the people are missing.

Footprints and bike tracks

Only the people are missing

The ditch.  170 people were murdered here

I sit and have a cà phê sữa đá while I wait for my lady xe ôm .  It's a beautiful site.

My lady xe ôm turns up on time.  We head back to Quảng Ngãi but have only gone a couple of hundred meters before a clattering of metal pursues us along the road.  Lady xe ôm seems happy to continue.  I persuade her to stop since my right foot and the exhaust are now wobbling in the wind.  We head back to collect up the scrap metal littering the road behind us.  But, there's a couple of bolts I can't find, so we can't even finger tighten the foot peg and exhaust enough to ride on.  Lady xe ôm rings for the cavalry.  I head up to explore the conveniently nearby temple to Trương Định about whom I know less than nothing.  The Mỹ Lại memorial was lightly visited - this place looks like it's yet to hit the big time.  I light some incense sticks to the world.  The rains come.  Finally, I see lady xe ôm waving to me.  The cavalry has arrived.  Another lady xe ôm has come out from Quảng Ngãi to fetch me.  I bid farewell to my first lady and we head into town.

Excellent veggy food then a stroll to my new hotel.  I never watch TV at home, but at night, alone in Vietnam, off the beaten track, entertainment is limited.  I discover American Masterchef.  It's all new to me and it's like discovering Christians v lions at the Colosseum.   Darrick forgets to use his vanilla bean and admits he had never whipped cream before.  Gordon is shocked and Darrick realizes his dream has died.  I give up on the TV feeling a little guilty for intruding into Darrick’s pain.  The walls here are not well soundproofed.  I can hear the couple next door, but I am asleep before the lady gets to where she is going.

Up at the crack of dawn and off to Chu Lai airport for my flight to Hanoi.  It was from here that the helicopters took off for Mỹ Lại in 1968.  The revetments are still there.

On to Hanoi.  I am glad I came.

Further reading and listening all worth your time:

Ron Ridenhour on his part (and thoughts) on Mỹ Lại: Part 1  Part 2

Kill Anything That Moves: The Real American War in Vietnam by Nick Turse

Biography of Hugh Thompson: The Forgotten Hero of My Lai by Trent Angers

4 Hours in Mỹ Lại by Michael Bilton and Kevin Sim

Mỹ Lại 4: A Report on the Massacre and Its Aftermath by Seymour Hersh

The Witness from Pinkville by Pham Thanh Cong

By road, land and sea to Mũi Đôi

So, back to Vietnam in 2018 for the 20 somethingth time.

Couple of things to do in Saigon and Hanoi, Sơn Mỹ / Mỹ Lại, Tu Lan Cave Adventure with Oxalis, ten days or so in the middle as yet completely unplanned.

And Mũi Đôi.  Again.  After my failure last year to complete my visits to the last of the most Northerly, Southerly, Westerly, Easterly points in Vietnam, this year would be different.  Failure to plan - plan to fail.  Which to choose this year?  Sure to be one or the other.

So, fly up to Tuy Hòa with JetStar.  Left 7 minutes late, arrived 17 minutes early.  Booked into the Thanh Lam hotel.  Dump my bag and head out to eat at Quán Chay Bình Hòa.  I'm never sure if it's a temple with attached restaurant or a restaurant with attached temple.  Food is excellent as always.  And cheap as chips.  Cheaper.  And healthier.

Quán Chay Bình Hòa, Tuy Hòa

Next morning, up before the larks to take in the Phu Yen museum, breakfast and organize transport to Đam Mon.   The Phu Yen museum is a cavernous building which dwarfs all it contains.  Did not seem to be overrun with visitors.

And so, back to hotel to pick up my bag.  Slightly off the beaten tracks, the hotel folks want some photos of me, presumably to use for publicity showing what fun is to be had there.  That's fine by me.  They were lovely folks and the hotel was perfect.  I tower like a giant over the manageress and I tower over few.

Bag loaded and xe ôm off to Đam Mon. I know where I'm going.  After last years fiasco, I have discovered a hostelly/homestay place which looks lovely.  I had had friend Diệp ring them up and check about booking.  No need.  Just turn up.  Well, here we are, just turning up.

Perfect looking place to stay

If only they were still open

We pass a new resort being constructed.  I am not sure there will ever be enough folks to fill it.  And they'll never get my business.

Arrive in Đam Mon.  Where do you want to go? asks my xe ôm.  I fish out the phone number for the homestay.  No answer.  A local stops to help.  He sees the homestay owner's name: Phan Hùng Thi.  His eyes light up.  Hop on he says.  I hop.  My xe ôm follows behind.  We scoot for a couple of minutes and get to Phan Hùng Thi's house.  It's not a homestay.  It used to be a homestay.  I am shown the evidence - recognizable stuff from the photos piled up and covered in spider web.

My xe ôm sees this as the perfect time to leave - his work is done.  The local leaves - his work too is done.   Thi shows me round and explains that I need somewhere else to sleep.  More hopping and scooting as he drops me round at Nhà nghỉ Thanh Sươn.

I am soon booked in.   No names, no passports, no locks.  Great big ensuite room.  I have a shower and chill.  Owner knocks on door.  I am given to understand that she would like to give my room to a newly arrived couple and move me to another room.   No problem.   I am moved to a smaller nonsuite room.  I resume my chilling.

I have looked at the routes to Mũi Đôi.  There appear to be two: the one I failed on last year and another lightly marked path which heads for the beach before petering out.   I decide to fail better this year and pick the first path.   I go out to check I am clear where the trail starts.   I am.  Perfect.   Purchase supplies.  6 litres of water and some biscuits.   Settle on a 5 am start to beat the sun.

Dinner time.  An chay? No problem.  Seems like most of the other guests are working on the new resort.  Join us.   One of them has pretty good English.   One has some English but, he's the boss and doesn't like to show himself up in front of his underlings.   They are all friendly.   And alcohol is consumed in a responsible manner.   Always a concern after that epic night in Xin Man in 2011.  But my experience of construction folks is that getting hammered on rice wine every night isn't something they can do.

The owner asks if I need a guide for Mũi Đôi.  Internally, I snort - need a guide? I have long experience of doing this sort of thing on my own and getting completely lost without any need of a guide, thank you.  Externally, No thanks, I'll be fine.

Up and off at 05:00.  I am soon at the site where I went off piste last year. Fool me once, shame on me.  Won't get fooled again, I muse.  I pick my way down the washed out track.  It soon becomes impenetrable.  Well, at least I can't penetrable it.  Fooled again.  Right.  Quick think.   All hope will not abandoned here.

I backtrack and moonwalk down the sand slope to the other path.   The one that peters out.   Well, let's see.  Easy going and the path eventually plops me onto a beautiful beach.  The sort of beach I like for skinny dipping.  Almost deserted.  There is a shack with signs of life and a fishing boat anchored off shore.

Perfect for skinny dipping?

I look for where the path peters.   Impenetrable thicket of thorns or scramble over house/car/fridge sized rocks.  I am already thicketed out, so that way is a no go.   Over the rocks?  Looks like a long way.  Google tells me it is 2.9 km and I'll be able to do it in 40 minutes.  I am alone.  I have seen Danny Boyle's "127 Hours" and I do not have even a Vietnamese Army knife.  40 minutes seems unlikely.

Is there a path to Mũi Đôi? I ask at the shack? Over the rocks.  Any other way? Sad shaking of heads.  All overgrown.  Go by boat, they suggest indicating the boat.  How much would that be? I ask.  500,000.

That seems like a lot to me, but I am in the uncomfortable situation of :

1. obviously having few alternatives
2. obviously already having sunk costs in this venture
   and
3. having no idea what a reasonable price for hiring a fishing boat might be (5 million a day I learned later.) 

That's for both ways? One way.   Two ways 1 million.  As always, tea is offered.  And coffee and rambutans.  Surely, the price will go down if I show I have all the time in the world.  Coffee, tea, rambutans.  Still at 500,000.   I have a snooze in the hammock.  Still at 500,000.

At the negotiating table.  

One of the fishing guys wakes up, strips off completely, soaps himself all over and washes himself down.  I can see the fishing boat behind him.  It's slightly surreal.  Well, perhaps I could have done my skinny dipping after all.  We're obviously all friends here.  We're still at 500,000.   I finally relent and agree.  One of the guys phones the skipper of the boat.  A coracle is dispatched to fetch me. 

Coracle

The couple whose arrival resulted in my ousting from my room tumble on to the beach.  They too want to take the boat.  I've just paid for a whole boat, but they have to pay too.  The skipper is very happy.  We are coracled out to the boat.  All aboard, we set off.  Round the point and along past more house/car/fridge rocks until we drop anchor and coracle ashore on another small beach.   From here, it's only about 550m of rocks to clamber.  So, 2.9k of rocks from the pickup beach, - 550m from the drop off beach = 2.35km of rocks avoided.  500,000 spent.  So 212 đồng per metre of rock avoided.

The Vietnamese couple, who have walked much less than I, need a nap.  We crash out in the shade.  I have no idea how we get back to the flesh pots of Đam Mon from here, but each problem in its own time.  Vợ is going to carry on napping.  Chồng, who I learn is called Thanh and I set off.  I like to solotravel, but I'm happy to have him with me.  No need for a backup Vietnamese Army knife here, Thanh can get help if things go awry.  Or I for him, I guess.  But the rocks are dry and gritty and the main problem is just the heat.  And it was hot.

Finally we arrive at the the last house sized rock.  A flaky rope ladder dangles into the waves.  Another rope allows access to the bottom of the ladder with dry feet. 

The end is in sight.

Climb up the ladder, ignoring the frayed condition of the rope and pull my self up.  Thanh joins me.  The eagles have landed.  We swap tales of A Pa Chải, etc.  Kindred spirits.

Can't help smiling.  It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the sea is blue, there is a bit of a breeze.  And I have now stood at the four corners of Vietnam.  Life is good. 

Still need to get down that ladder, but nothing can hurt me now, so am unafraid.  Down the ladder we go and Thanh decides it's time for another nap.  We snooze under huge rocks with the waves lapping near by.  Life gets no better than this.

Like the bear hunt, we must now retrace our steps.  We look for signs of a track leading out, but it's all impenetrable.  So, over the rocks back to base camp where Vợ has woken.  Lunch.  They are better prepared than I.  But it's fine. How do we get out of here? Well, local knowledge is always good.

Apparently, we can wave at a fishing boat heading home at about 16:00 and we can get a lift back from them.  More snoozing.  A fishing boat is flagged down.  Thanh negotiates.  1.2 million for the three of us.  Maybe my 500,000 for a whole boat wasn't so bad. 

Mission accomplished

We head on round the coast to Hòn Ghềnh and make our precarious way ashore by coracle again.  I'd like to say I'm getting good at this, but it's still pretty precarious getting in from the boat.  Thanh gets us transport back to Đam Mon on the back of a three wheeled motorbike transporter - 3 of us for 50k.  There's a box of fish onboard too.  Thanh buys some for a derisory amount.  We are soon back at base.  It's been a long day, but I feel that I should have a huge "Mission Accomplished" banner to hoist. 

So long and thanks for all the fish.

Dinner with my construction buddies.  I am invited for coffee in the morning.  06:00? Perfect, I say. That's my usual holiday getting up time in Vietnam.

Early morning coffee view

Up at 06:00 for coffee by the sea.  My construction buddy, Vung, offers me a lift back to Tuy Hòa train station.   It's only 60km away, so a 120 km round trip for him.  A little longer since we take in a few places along the way.  Miss my train of course, so I get a few hours of eating and coffee in Tuy Hòa before catching the train north for Quảng Ngãi.  It's been fun.  Promise Diệp I'll take her there next time.  Before the resort opens.

Next stop Quảng Ngãi for Sơn Mỹ / Mỹ Lại.  Not for fun.