Bungle in the Jungle

When you read "an idyllic slab of beach heaven" and "very isolated" in the same hotel review (admittedly written by the ham-fisted dorks from Lonely Planet, but still...) and your alternative is Nha Trang, an even more touristy version of Mui Ne, it's a no-brainer, right? Well, yes and no.

But let's begin at the beginning, because it's a very good one. In fact, motorcycle riding-wise, I think I busted my cherry (Sorry, it's those Lonely Planet guys' influence), although, to continue the awkward analogy, the date did not end as well as one might have hoped. But what a start!

Ah, Hwy 28! I should have taken more photos, but I was so entranced, I completely forgot. 
Not that the ride didn't have its moments.

When you're not watching for buses, trucks and other two-wheeled devils, you've ALWAYS got to keep your eyes peeled for what I can only describe as "craters", because they're much too big to be called potholes. Cavernous pits notwithstanding, the ride was a dream - until I hit the notorious Hwy 1A, which carries the vast majority of traffic north and south and should probably have its signs shaped like a skull and crossbones. Horrifying would be an understatenent akin to calling Donald Trump opinionated. Thankfully, the nightmare only lasted 20 km and, after Google Maps led me down a cow path for no apparent reason other than to piss me off (do NOT tell me machines have no emotions or malevolence. This happens far too many times to be a "coincidence"), I had no problems reaching Jungle Beach. 

I was personally welcomed by the owner Sylvio, a former Canadian who came here in 1995 and never looked back. Syl, as he insists on being called, looks remarkably like a burnt-out Kurt Vonnegut, except for the gut hanging out over his sarong - his sole item of clothing I might add. He's one of those larger-than-life types who you can see running a profitable Ponzi scheme or being a circus ringmaster. In any case, over the years he's managed to build a thatch and bamboo Tiny Town on the beach, which he now runs as his fiefdom. It reminds me in many ways of Bulungula, the mini-commune Linda & I visited on the coast of South Africa - difficult to get to, relatively isolated and a hippie haven (communal meals here too, my friends. Let's REALLY get to know one another).
At first glance, the beach certainly appears "as advertised" - isolated, non-touristy and tropical as all get out.

And I've got to admit that, while a bit more "rustic" than I had anticipated - no windows, mosquito nets, shared bathrooms (Eeewww!) - it does have its charms.

             Photo from my balcony last night.

Ready for the "but..."?

Unfortunately, the rest of the beach, while admittedly not overrun by hotels and restaurants, is a glowing tribute to the Vietnamese peoples' dedication to keeping their environment as pristine as humanly possible.

It's only when you visit Third World countries that you truly realize how anal-retentive (in a very good way) we are when it comes to garbage and litter. I have no idea as to the causes, which I'm sure are many, much less the solution and I'm not going to belabour the point, since I've already done that in many previous rants. It's just sooooo aggravating to see what is undoubtedly a beautiful landscape besmirched by garbage, especially those fucking plastic bags and bottles - the scourges of the Third World. I'm frankly terrified now that when I enter the Phong Nha Caves, I'll have to wade through a river of garbage to get in and out. Nothing I can do about it now except pick up my own crap and move on.

Which is what I did this morning. One more of yer classic beachy sunrises,

 one more heart-to-heart with Syl, one more cup of Vietnamese spoon-standing-up-in-the-cup coffee and it's northward ho. And guess what? We're gonna meet up with some old friends today. And it won't be pleasant.

Next episode: Guess Who's Coming to Ganh Da Dia?