Mui Ne: Sand Dunes

Before heading out on the open road this morning, Andrew, Jo and I stopped by a small fishing village to top up our rented motorbikes and score a few VND at the ATM. We didn't make it too far into the market for supplies, unfortunately, because it was a little too crowded for our liking:

Having been relatively sheltered from the West since the Communist government took power, commercialism hasn't fully taken hold of the country. In place of product advertisements, many billboards here often focus instead on government sponsored messages:

Atop our list of priorities for the day were the picturesque dunes that lie due west of the town. The Red Dunes closest to Mui Ne were skippable thanks to the overabundance of tourists and the hoards of pushy children renting out sheets of plastic for sand sledding. I had considered renting one but these kids were just plain obnoxious (to the point of jumping in front of our bikes to slow us down) . These ones here were yelling out the customary "what your name?" "where you from?" and "wan dollah!" phrases that are oh so common in these parts:

Thankfully, the White Dunes, a fair distance away, were far more subdued. A tour was wrapping up just as we arrived so we had the whole place to ourselves.

I should have bought water before heading out today:

Instead of sliding down the sand on a sheet of plastic, I took the poor man's alternative and rolled down what must have been a four storey high dune (you will have to click on the small image below to see it) :

Hobbes waited up top and got sand all over his fur:



A lake of lotus plants below a dune:

The sand spills over onto certain stretches of the road, making driving a little bit trickier:

Though Nazi like in appearance, these swastika adorned grave sites are actually Buddhist in origin:

It was about four thirty when we found our way back to Mui Ne. With a few hours to kill before the bikes had to be returned, we went to the city center to photograph the colourful fishing boats moored in an inlet.


A sudden storm broke out soon after and we dashed to a nearby restaurant to wait it out. A half hour passed and the rain subsided enough for us to make the twenty minute drive back to the guesthouse. This was more or less when everything went wrong. First of all, unbeknownst to me, my bike had been burning gas twice as quickly as Andrew's all day. It didn't help that my gas gauge didn't work (it seems that most motorbikes are like that here). So about five minutes into our ride home, my bike stalled. Since Andrew and Jo were riding in front, they just kept on going. It was around this point, as I pushed my bike along to the nearest gas station (which was a stall full of gas filled coke bottles) , that the rain started again. Sensing my desperation, the gas station guy jacked up the prices. And it didn't end there. After I flagged down Andrew and Jo, we took a wrong turn and wound up ten minutes down the highway to Saigon. Anyway, things were sorted out and we arrived back at the guesthouse soaked and miserable.

On the upside, I fixed the shower so we had hot some water to warm up.