Good Night, Vietnam: Phu Quoc and the Kingdom of Dogs

To obtain my Vietnamese visa, I had two options. On one hand, I could rent a motobike and drive two or three hours west to Sihanoukville where I would exchange cash for a visa on the spot. This would make for a full day burning petrol, seeing a stretch of road I had already seen, and missing one of my final days in Kampot. On the other hand, I could give my passport and a few extra dollars to man who plies that road every day, have an extra day to say goodbyes around Kampot, and be set to go. It's a strange feeling handing over one's passport. I'd made a few phone calls and spoke enough with Ezza at Blissful to know this guy was running a legitimate business. It worked splendidly and within 48 hours I was toasting to my new Vietnam visa.

The last morning hours in Kampot were enjoyed at Blissful with their famous omelette (best in SE Asia) and an iced coffee. Of course, I had to purchase a kilogram of the pepper with which I'd grown so familiar. My affairs in order, I hopped on the back of Tikor's moto bound for the border. This is the same Tikor who guided Jessica and me through jungle and banana plantations to a hidden waterfall. The hour's ride was magnificent. This was a relatively new border station between Cambodia and Vietnam and thus the road was still largely undeveloped. I felt like I was in the remote coastal flat lands of southern Cambodia. Pausing briefly to make a photograph, I realized I WAS in the remote coastal flat lands of southern Cambodia. It was a beautiful feeling. I was saying goodbye to a country I had come to know over two months and was soon to be in VIETNAM.

I had a chat with the Fat Cats of the Cambodian border patrol. Before handing back my passport, the leather faced man in uniform behind the desk looked at me coldly and asked, "You are not come back?" I thought about making a smartass remark about coming back for the revolution. Deciding against it, I pointed across the border and said with a smile, "Vietnam!" Satisfied, he returned my passport and I walked to Tikor's motobike in no-man's land.

Borders are always exciting. This one was big, new, and quiet. Large red and gold signs were set off against bright white walls. The windows were still clean, the clean-shaven officers still inexperienced. When I arrived at the desk, I found two Chilean women trying to prove to the young men in crisp olive uniforms that Chile was a country in South America. I think they had to look it up in the big book of countries. It was here that I met Sasha of Australia. On the last month of a 12 month around-the-world journey, she was headed to Phu Quoc as well. We agreed to catch the boat together and set off with our motodrivers into Vietnam. (Yes, I said it. It was shortly before noon when I stepped onto Vietnamese soil, so of course I hollered out "good morning, Vietnam!") Unlike most motodrivers from Kampot, Tikor had enough sway with enough people to take me to a boat launch well within Vietnam's borders. After a good deal of negotiation and banter, Sasha and I had places reserved on the Phu Quoc-bound boat the next day. That night was spent in a very odd roadside hotel which we quickly determined was whistlestop love shack for Vietnamese couples escaping the confines of shared family housing. I also learned that the Vietnamese language was going to prove very challenging. Blank stares were the common response to my attempts to say even the basic "sin chao" (hello).

The boat was a riot. We took a little skiff loaded with people, goods, and motobikes out to sea only to jump aboard a bigger boat loaded with people, goods, and motobikes. We rested on cabbages and watermelons for a while until I hung my hammock in the back. Sasha and I alternated sitting on a pile of bricks and swinging over a pile of two-dozen tied-up, defeated chickens. A little girl, upon realizing the likelihood of falling through the toilet hole to the open sea below, squatted on the deck under the hammock and had a pee. Sasha and I had a laugh, taking a certain amount of comfort in feeling like we were a part of Vietnam. We were the only westerners aboard and we later realized we'd be grossly overcharged for the three hour trip. A lesson learned many times over in Vietnam.

Phu Quoc Island. The center of heated territorial dispute between Cambodia and Vietnam, the 574 square kilometer island is rapidly erupting into a major Asian tourist destination. It is renowned for its population of semi-wild dogs and production of fish paste (which is essentially packaged salty rotten fish mash). The place is greased for tourism. Upon arrival, a well dressed man wearing sunglasses said to me "Hello, Tom, would you like a moto to hotel?" Referring to himself as Number One, this man had been contacted by Sasha's motobike driver. I didn't trust him much, but we took the ride anyway. I would later come to believe he had a twin on the island, which weirded me out even more. Anyway, within the hour, Sasha and I had a terrific beachfront bungalow surrounded by palm trees for $9 per night. Good start to a new country.

This island was my birthday gift to myself. I had celebrated my Quarter Century Birthday for three days in Corvallis, surrounded by good friends. I was excited to celebrate the 26th on a tropical island, in an unfamiliar country, with people I'd only just met. As fate would have it, I was soon surrounded by an extraordinary group of travelers. Mark and Chloe, a lovely young couple from Canada, filled the salty sea air with guitar and song. Aileen and Dara of Ireland were quick-witted in their banter. Both old enough to be parents of the rest of the group, and each a solo traveler, Mike of Liverpool and Gabriela of Denmark, offered wise words and generous encouragement. Along with Veronique, a stunning, long-legged brunette from Montreal, and a quiet, thoughtful Tom from the U.K., our resort on Phu Quoc was packed with great company.

At the break of our first full day, Sasha and I teamed up with Mark, Chloe and the Irish for a motobike tour of the southern beaches. The ride was beautiful, meriting numerous photo stops. The beach was like no other I had ever experienced. The sand felt like confectioners sugar, and nearly looked the same. The water was warm and crystal clear. The only threat came from the odd jellyfish, but even these could be gently cupped in hand for examination of nature's inspiration for Dale Chihuly's blown glass. That night, the entire group got together for dinner and drinks. The bar played a rock and roll version of Happy Birthday and gave me a sickly sweet cocktail. The night wound to a close around a beach fire accompanied by the sound of the waves and the Canadian musicians.

June 2nd: I toured the island alone on my motobike. Sitting in a cafe in small town, I was very unexpectedly wished a happy birthday by Vietnam. While driving I had noticed the trucks used what we would call a "back up beeper" to indicate left and right turns. Thus, when backing up, trucks would sound out a polyphonic tune of a song of their choosing. Well, as I sat writing in my journal in the cafe, a truck backed up along the adjacent street. I had to laugh as it was piping out the "happy birthday" ditty. What a fun to place to celebrate the 26th!

The rest of my stay on Phu Quoc was enjoyed motobiking to distant beaches, lounging on the beach, crashing posh hotel bars, and hammock swinging in the company of three incredible dogs. I was given a marvelous birthday present by these three dogs, one that perplexes me to this day. But that's a story for another time.

Today I leave Vietnam. Tonight I will sleep in China. I have more to write after having stayed two months in this serpent-shaped nation.