Day 349 - Phu Quoc, Vietnam

"It's about the destination, not the journey", say the lentil-lovers at the Lonely Planet. Of course, that's codswallop. If it were true, mystery flights would be far more popular.

As regular readers will know, neither the Duchess or I are ones for long, arduous trips. Getting from Kampot to Ho Chi Minh (from where our flight to Phuket was scheduled to leave; 14 hours by bus) was proving to be a real coal in the Christmas stocking.

So when Rachel stumbled upon the information that Vietnam Airlines had flights between Phu Quoc Island and Ho Chi Minh City for $60 a head, I damn-near dropped my bacon sandwich.

You see, Phu Quoc is only twenty kms off the coast of Kampot, Cambodia. Whammy! Not surprising really, because it used to be part of Cambodia. Double whammy! Did I mention Phu Quoc was on Rachel's 'Alternate South East Asia list' too? Triple whammy! Good morning Vietnam!

Of course, it was never going to be that easy, was it?

There is some animosity between Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. It's a little hard to fathom at times - I speak none of the languages -  but seems to be war and land-related. Phu Quoc is caught up in it all, so going directly there by boat is a no-no.

Instead, you need to go two hours to the Vietnam border, cross, go six kms to the coast and a then take a two hour boat ride. But then you're there.

Phu Quoc is an island about 48kms long and, at it's narrowest point, about 14kms wide. That makes it quite a good size for a drop of land. Big enough to have all the necessary creature comforts, but small enough to travel around quite easily.

After landing ourselves an almost-absolute beachfront bungalow at Hiep Thanh (after the Sea Garden heat episode, air conditioning had become a must-have) we set about the business of exploration. We hired yet another scooter and, being wary of Vietnamese drivers, set off.

We soon discovered that, outside of the main town of Duong Don, Phu Quoc is, as the Alternate list suggests, about as close to unspoilt as you can get without having to revert to primitivism. The asphalt runs out about a kilometre out of town, leaving miles of clay-red dirt roads winding through national park or along pristine white-sand beaches. It's astounding.

We spent two days zipping around the island, stopping at unspoilt beaches to dip our toes and being the occasional taxi for the odd schoolkid who flagged us down in search of a lift home. We visited a pearl farm, playing with the resident monkey, Kapu, who seemed to enjoy nothing more than sticking stuff in his mouth and chewing. Cute.

Racing back in the direction of town one evening, we zipped past a small restaurant-shack advertising 'Cold Beer'. Suddenly, from the depths of the shady interior, came a brilliant smile, as wide as the Harbour Bridge and as white as the Opera House in the sunshine. We did a U-ey and stopped for a chat.

We had a beer on the shoreline. This was something special. Nothing but palm trees and sand for miles in either direction. Wing, our fine lady host, mentioned she sometimes offered a private BBQ on the beach and, if we'd care to partake, she'd be happy to head to the markets next morning.

Sometimes in life, if you really pay attention, important stuff happens in the background. Miss it and you miss out. Feather, brick, truck and all that.

Simply by noticing a smile on the side of the road, we found ourselves twenty-four hours later tucking in to a snapper the size of a cat, watching the sun set slowly down over the horizon. We even caught the green flash the moment before it disappeared.

Sometimes, you visit a place and know you're there at just the right moment in history. I felt that way about Guatemala, about Rio and about Bolivia. In two years time, Phu Quoc International Airport will open, bringing all that goes with that. In that moment though, sat on the beach with sated appetite and bottle of wine slowly chilling, I knew that I felt the same way about Phu Quoc.



All the photos from Phu Quoc are here