(posted by: Stacy ; originally written 3 December 2010)
Our trip to Mui Ne, Vietnam began in a mess of a tourist office. As I looked around at the chairs,metal peeking through the not-so-newly ripped cushions, I began to wonder what our bus would look like. Of course, the tourist company we originally booked through was nice and neat - clean, even. But this location, the headquarters, would have sent me walking right back out the door I came in.
We boarded the bus loaded with books, new albums on our iPods, blankets, and toilet paper (just in case). The bus was akin to the tourist office - small, cramped, and a little smelly. It was going to be a long five hours. Six hours, a flat tire (which we drove on for two), five pit stops, and three cigarettes (smoked by the diver, on the bus) later, we arrived in the lovely town of Mui Ne. Doug and I both agreed that it was well worth the harried ride.
Mui Ne is fantastic. Regardless of the fact that we stayed on the wrong end of the long stretch of beach, we had a lovely time.
Day One:
We arrived in Mui Ne at about 1:30 in the morning. After putting our things in our very clean room, we made our way down to the beach. The gate was locked but the security guard let us out onto the cool sand. As we walked to the shore, we saw several people in the water. By this time, it was after 2:00. What in the world are these people doing? I wondered. After watching their arms methodically raise and lower as they moved progressively further out into the water, I realized: they were laying their fishing nets. I tried to imagine myself working at that hour, everyday, trying to catch enough to feed my family, but it was nearly impossible to picture.
After a short night's sleep, we woke up at 8:30 to catch the end of breakfast. It was actually quite good and included a variety of Western dishes. After breakfast, we went down to the front desk and booked two tours - one that afternoon and one the following morning. I settled in for a nice, long day of reading on the beach and Doug took off for his typical million-hour workout. It was the perfect day for both of us.
I sat there for hours: sunbathing, reading, drinking a beer, reading, sunbathing. All morning, I'd watched foreigners rent jet skis and wanted to try it out myself. After convincing Doug that yes, we have plenty of time before the tour, he agreed to a fifteen minute ride and we jetted out into the ocean. Doug went first, then me, and we had quite a time of it.
After showering and changing, we made our way down to the lobby for our 2:30 tour to Fairy Stream, a fishing bay, white sand dunes, and red sand dunes. Our tour was to take place in a work-style jeep that had a slew of cautions pasted across the dash, including, "Ear protection must be worn while operating this vehicle."
The entrance to Fairy Stream (which we later found out was located about ten minutes walking distance from our hotel, mind you) is crowded with tour guides from ages seven and up, all wanting to take you through the "very deep waters." So, we hired one of the boys and made our way through the soft, muddy stream. Arriving at a sandy hill, we made our way to the top and looked out over the land. It was beautiful: jungle-green trees, red sand, water glinting in the sunshine, a soft breeze cooling us off after the short hike. We made our way back down the hill, running and jumping, catching air down the slope. We got back to where our driver was waiting and looked for the army green jeep. He wasn’t there.
About twenty minutes later, another man in a different jeep came and explained that our driver was “doing him a favor” and that he’d take us to the rest of the sites. We climbed into the car and let the air roll over our warm faces as we made our way through the town, along the coastline, and finally to a bay, where the boat to water ratio seemed to be slightly off balance. Giant wicker baskets, like Thumbelina’s thimble boat, floated in the water: the silhouettes of men and women in round-bottomed structures moved slowly along, their arms moving in the same methodical motion I’d seen the night before.
After a few obligatory photos, we set off again to see the white and red sand dunes. The white dunes are quite a shock to one’s climatic knowledge: aridity in a jungle of a place like Vietnam, next to a lake and surrounded by palm trees. They are expansive and beautiful – smooth and supple like powdered sugar, sticking to every part of your body, painless to the fall and high enough to sled down. Rented four-wheelers buzz up and down the slopes; black spots are visible on the furthest dunes, a sign that another tourist got stuck going up a much too steep incline. The lake below is a dark blue-green, its perimeter a thick carpet of lily pads. After the white dunes, we headed to the red dunes. The dunes are dwarfed in magnificence by their whiter sisters, but they made for good sledding anyway. Tired from hours of exploring, we headed home, ate dinner, played cards, and went to bed. We had an early day ahead of us.
Day Two:
We arrived twelve minutes late to our 7:30 appointment and waited another twenty minutes for the driver who had left us the day before. Great, I thought, as I realized that it was the same guy. We set out for the hour-long drive to the largest reclining Buddha in Vietnam, which proved to be a wet, dirty, mess of a ride through the pouring rain in a windowless jeep. We finally arrived at the religious site, washed our grimy faces, and paid the three entrance fees. We hopped on the tram that would take us to the gondola that would take us up a very high mountain to a long set of stony steps that would take us to the three Buddhises that would take us to another set of stairs … that finally led to the Buddha.
From a distance, the white of the Buddha was visible through the thick coniferous trees of the mountain. Its massiveness can only be described like this: imagine that you are looking at the horizon and, instead of blue sky, you see alabaster white. That is the Buddha’s presence: overwhelming in its sleep, smiling at nothing, a communist emblem on his breast and a jewel on his forehead. Laughing in a sort of mockery of everything that we admire and despise, chuckling at our human pettiness, our anxiety, our inability to just be. Around us, Buddhists bowed, prayed, smoking incense at their foreheads and freshly placed fruit at the altar in front of them.
We left in a sort of reverie, silenced by the quiet of prayer, the stillness of the jungle, and the sanctity of the Buddhist religion. Quiet and reflective, we made our way back the way we’d come, boarded our bus, and returned to Ho Chi Minh City.
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