Mui Ne No Object

Our room that we found in Mui Ne was a veritable palace. 

We seemed to be the only people in the little (loosely described) 'resort' apart from a German family who spent all of their time shouting at their youngest child about something. God knows.

Mui Ne is a beach-side town that I think hides a dark secret. 

Down on the beach there were hundreds of fish who had jumped to their deaths up onto the sand, including big fat and fetid puffer fish. A 24 hour investigation was launched, but we found nothing and soon forgot about it. (Until just now.)

After a day pissing about on the beach we brokered a deal with two moped drivers to drive us down to the White Sand dunes, which we had been told you could slide down them on a plastic sheet. Exciting stuff, eh? 

Unfortunately, the ride there was probably the most exhilarating part of the day, with us narrowly avoiding death and also being able to catch a glimpse of the fishing village up the road.

When we arrived in the scorching midday sun, a young lad tried to expunge thirty dollars out of us to hand over a plastic sheet. This wasn't going to happen, although his bargaining posture obviously worked in some way as I did part with five dollars - why? It's a bit of plastic! He charmed the pants of us though, taking some decent photos of us in front of a little oasis in the scrub-land and picking Daggers a big pink flower from the middle of it. 

Cocky little bastard.



Once up on the dunes and after our first go at sliding down them, we realised we'd wasted quite a bit of money and time getting there. You slid down them at about two miles an hour, and then you had to walk back up the fucker. Why we hadn't thought about this before I still don't know.


But, ever the optimist, I got the best out of the day, and ticked one box that I hadn't managed to do in the deserts of Jaisalmer.

That evening Helen and I went to a posh looking place called SNOW. This looked like the sort of poncey bar you'd find in Bournemouth, full of white laminate and blue lighting, but it actually turned out to be dirt cheap and lots of fun. 

Run by a one-legged Russian man, we enjoyed a few drinks here and played a lot of pool. I was disappointed however, when I had the 'Special' cocktail...

False advertising

Helen and I essentially had the bar to ourselves, until...

Come eleven o'clock, this place would fill up with what can only be described as the Vietnamese branch of the Russian mob. 

HUGE skinheaded men with tiny trophy wives would come in, order champagne and then dance like demented ten-year-olds for hours. And hours. (Maybe their special cocktails worked.)

All good family fun. A family with a capital F that you would want to steer well clear of.

The morning after, we set off again up the road to a town called Nha Trang - Disneyland on crystal meth.