I got to the tiny airport the next afternoon with an hour and a half to spare. There are only a couple of gates at the airport, so you aren’t even allowed through security until it’s almost time to board your flight. As I waited I strategized about how I would make it from Saigon to Mui Ne. Scenario 1 – by some miracle I manage to make it back to my hotel in the 30 minutes after my flight lands, before my bus pick up leaves. Scenario 2 – I miss the pick up, grab my backpack from the hotel, and race to the bus station, still able to catch the bus before it leaves. Scenario 3 – I catch the next bus 5 hours later, and don’t arrive in Mui Ne until 1 in the morning. I don’t like this last scenario, but at least I have options. All I can do is keep my fingers crossed and wait….

Luckily my flight landed 10 minutes early, and I sprang to my feet ready to make a run for the door. One of those people, that thinks if they get out 1 minute earlier it will make a difference. But in my case it actually could. With only my carry-on, I ran from the plane and grabbed the first taxi. I checked the time every couple of minutes, willed my taxi driver to bully his way through the motorcycles, and called ahead to the hotel to ask them to have my backpack ready and stall the bus pick up. I arrived only 5 minutes late – to be given the news that the pick up had left. I asked if I could go to the bus station on my own and still catch the bus. No luck. Defeated, I plopped down on a couch to wait. One phone call and some Vietnamese conversation later, someone came out with my bag, hurried me towards the door, and said the bus would stop for me on the way out of town. Run, run, run Amazing Race style…. and I caught it after all – Mui Ne bound!

Mui Ne is a beach town on the South Coast of Vietnam, and is one of the most well known kitesurfing destinations in the world. I was looking forward to settling in for 9 days of kitesurfing lessons. I was determined to be up and running on my own by the time I left. I arrived to my hotel after dark, checked into my 6 person dorm, went next door for dinner and drinks with one of my new roommates, and then called it an early night so I would be well rested for my first lesson in the morning.

The pros about staying in a dorm: 1) it’s cheap ($12 a night, helping to offset the expense of kiting lessons). 2) it’s an easy way to meet people when traveling alone. 3) an extension of #2 – it’s a great opportunity to swap travel tips.

The cons about staying in a dorm: 1) virtually no privacy. 2) shared bathrooms. 3) contending with roommates sleep schedules. 4) not being able to really unpack due to shared living space. 5) no control over the temperature in the room (resulting in me sleeping with 2 towels tucked around me for a blanket).

After my first night in the dorms, I stopped at the front desk to visit with the owners, and inquired if a private room was available. It was fate – a booking had just cancelled leaving an open room that had my name all over it. I compromised with myself, and decided on the private room for the first half of my stay, and the dorm for the second half. My roommates were nice and all, but if given a choice I’m going for privacy.

With that sorted I went to the kite school for my first lesson. I spoke with the owners and my instructor about my previous lessons, and where I left off. I don’t know if it was listening to the German instructor in Otres Beach yelling for 2 days straight, the several month gap since my previously unsuccessful kiting attempts, or the sheer number of kites in the water in Mui Ne – but I had gotten nervous. We decided to start off with the basics again, and build my confidence from there. Back to setting up, controlling the kite, and body dragging in the water for a couple of days.

Later that afternoon I explored Mui Ne in the light of day. The Main Street in town runs parallel to the beach with low rise hotels, restaurants and bars on either side. I walked down the street to the right of my hotel for about half an hour, past the street side tables selling souvenirs made in China, eventually getting to an area with outdoor seafood restaurants. Then turned around and walked back past my hotel in the other direction. There was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, that was becoming more and more apparent as I walked in this direction. Meaty men with barrel chests in short-shorts, strutting down the street smoking cigarettes. Skinny ladies with padded bras and high heels, sashaying down the street smoking cigarettes. Everywhere signs, menus and conversation in Russian. Almost everyone was Russian!! Or should I say formerly-known-as Russian…..? Mui Ne must be like Mecca for them.

The next couple of days I read, went to the school for my kite lessons, visited my guy at the fruit stand on the way back, went for massages, and tried to find some decent food. I don’t know if it’s because they cater the food here to tourists, but it’s virtually flavorless. The one thing I did learn, is what to do with that little dish of salt, pepper and fresh lime that comes with almost every meal. For the two weeks prior I had been taking a pinch of the salt/pepper and sprinkling it over my dish, and then squeezing the lime on top. Wrong!! You’re supposed to squeeze the lime juice into the little dish, mix it with the salt and pepper, and then dip your seafood/meat into it.

That weekend a friend I had met in Saigon on the bus back from the Cu Chi tunnels came to spend a couple of days. He has managed to realize the dream of working while traveling – translating documents to Spanish online from where ever he is. I spent the next couple of days with kite lessons in the morning, and then meeting up with him in the afternoon to hang out and explore some more.

The rest of my time in Mui Ne went by in a blur. I went to the school every day – sometimes I had lessons, sometimes I just hung out and watched – waiting for the wind/wave conditions to be right for me. It can be mesmerizing watching the good kiters as they skim along the water, get lifted high into the air, spin, switch directions. They make it look effortless, and I guess once you get to that level it is – but underneath it they must be hyper aware. Aware of the direction and strength of the wind, what size kite to use, where the other kiters are, how much pressure and where to put it on their boards, how fast to dip and weave their kites, always thinking ahead to the next minor move; details, details and more details. It’s amazing. Between the hotel that I stayed in, and the kite school I ended up talking with people from all over the world. England, Singapore, Australia, South Africa, Lithuania, France, Philadelphia, Denmark, Switzerland. I mostly hung out with a group of Aussies (one being a 14 year old guy who was also taking lessons, and who was at about the same level as me, despite the 20+ year age difference), and a South African couple. The husband was a devastatingly handsome land baron, and the wife was a former ballerina. A glamorous couple for sure – despite the fact that he had a potty mouth, and she spent half her time shaking her head and apologizing for him. The husband and one of the Aussie guys were like brothers-from-another-mother, and ripped on each other like teen age boys to the entertainment of whoever else happened to be around.

I spent Christmas Eve at a dinner organized through the hotel in a cozy little restaurant crammed with extra tables, spilling out into the sidewalk. The hotel owner dressed as Santa, one of the guests sang, a lone Irish guy posed as a priest and gave us a drunken blessing.

Christmas Day was spent at a dinner organized through the kite school. No pics, but a couple of sober people fell off their plastic chairs.

My last scheduled day of lessons I was finally out in the water alone with my instructor watching from the beach. My task was to get up on my board and kite solo from where I started on the beach, to the finishing spot at the other end, with my instructor watching from the shore. First attempt – got up on the board, stayed up for a bit, then fell. I lost my board in the fall and had to body drag with the kite trying to back to my board. I body dragged back and forth, back and forth, trying to spot my board in between the waves – until next thing I knew I was at the finishing spot, and had to go back to shore, shamed, without my board. My instructor went to retrieve it, and we went back to the beginning to start again. Got out, got up…. fell down. But at least I was able to retrieve my board this time!! Got up again, fell down again. Then there I was again, at the finishing point – unable to retrieve my board again!! And so went my last day of lessons until I ran out of time. Epic fail!! Looks like after a combined 7 days of lessons across 3 continents, this kiting challenge will follow me home. More salt in my wounds – I found out my 14 year old Aussie competition was able to get up and ride on his own. Grrr……

My last night I met up with a friend of a friend who was living in Vietnam for a while. We had never met before, but after a few emails back and forth, made plans to meet for a drink. A bit like a blind date. I visited with her and her friends for a while, thinking what a small world it is these days when almost anywhere you go there will be someone you know through someone!

The next morning I would be leaving for an overnight Easy Rider trip inland to Dalat. The Easy Rider concept started years ago, as a way to see a less touristy side of the country. Basically you ride on the back of your motorcycle driver/guide’s bike between destinations, with your bag strapped down behind you, driving through the countryside, and stopping along the way. With that in mind I tried to lighten my load, and purged clothes, sunscreen, padded bike shorts – trying unsuccessfully to get down to one bag. Sorry driver, it’ll be me plus my two bags.

After 4 short days in Saigon I was headed back to the beach – the Con Dao Islands. By this point being on the move every couple of days for months (with a few exceptions) was beginning to lose its appeal. On the one hand there is so much I want to see, but on the other hand it would be really nice to unpack my backpack for a while, have some familiar faces to talk with and not think about where I’m going next, transportation, and accommodation. Tough life right? At least I would have 6 days in Con Dao.

The Con Dao Islands are a chain of 15 islands off the South East coast of Vietnam, and held military prisons during the French and American wars. The prisons were notoriously brutal with tiny caged cells, and a reputation for torture. Due to the isolation and nature of what went on there, the islands were left largely unspoiled with 80% left as protected areas containing forests, coral reefs, and marine life (including sea turtles and dugongs). I had read that it would be expensive since everything had to be shipped in, and that service and accommodation standards were low for the price. It has only recently started to catch on as an international tourist destination, which of course made me more curious….

The only way to get there is to fly, or take a 12 hour ferry from Vung Tau. I opted for the flight. I left in the afternoon, and was joined by one of the girls that had been staying in my dorm. To be honest I was surprised when she said she wanted to come. She had seemed a bit stand offish, and had a habit of making faces at me when I spoke. I found out later she had a hard time understanding what I was saying. (Me? She had a hard time understanding me?!) She said it sounded like I was speaking with gum in my mouth. But she wanted to go diving, so I guess she was willing to get over it.

I left my big backpack at the hostel, and brought only my carry-on as we ran to catch the bus to the airport. At check in there was a bit of a mishap involving some of my toiletry items being too large to carry on. My friend agreed to put them in the bag she was checking, but in hindsight I wish she hadn’t. She spent the next hour and a half having a near panic attack about what kind of illegal, dangerous items I had made her responsible for in my toiletry bag. Ugh.

That evening my travel partner and I separated, and I checked into my room on the beach. I fell asleep to the sound of waves outside my door again. I missed that.

I woke up the next morning and went for a walk to explore the town. I walked along the waterfront, and took in the beach, mountains, and fishing boats. I spotted a round boat for the first time. It is essentially a large basket floating on top of the water, propelled by the driver waving an oar around in the water in front of the boat. How this was invented was beyond me!

I walked through the town, to the park office just outside of town to ask about hikes. My first impressions as I walked around – the natural parts were beautiful, but the town was…..sleepy? There were some hotels, restaurants, a couple of local shops, a small market, a park. Not to mention clean paved streets, intersections and cars. A strange contrast of developed and undeveloped. Even though the infrastructure was there, there really didn’t seem to be that many people, and not much to do. It almost had a feeling of a semi sterile ghost town. Maybe it was because of the grey weather, maybe it was the time of year. People tend to visit Con Dao when the conditions for diving are better (March to September), or to see the sea turtles nesting/hatching (May to November).

For lack of anything better to do I spent the rest of the day at my hotel reading. The girl I came with from Saigon stopped by after her dive, and we made plans to go for a hike together the next day. We left early the next morning, picked up lunch along the way, and set out into the forest. The hike was steep, and we came across all kinds of critters along the way – birds, giant spiders, crabs, something that looked like a millipede, huge geckos, black squirrels. By the time we reached the empty park station at the top of the mountain we were breathless. We followed the trail around the building and were greeted by a couple of curious monkeys. We clutched our lunches protectively as they hopefully eyed us and our bags. One by one more monkeys appeared, forming an eerie monkey posse inching closer and closer. I laughed and stared, but we weren’t about to share our food so we picked up the pace and kept walking. As we continued our hike to the beach on the other side of the island, the trail became less and less clear. How we managed to stay on it I’m not quite sure, but I’ll give my travel partner the credit.

We stopped at a beach full of washed up coral, and then continued on to Ong Dung Bay. We assessed the rocky beach and debated going for a swim. My mind was made up when it started to rain – if I was going to get wet anyway, I might as well be in the ocean. My partner was not interested. She said she didn’t like to swim in rocky areas where you couldn’t see the bottom because you could step on something and cut your foot. I stared blankly. We hiked all this way, it was hot – I was going in the water. With her words in mind I walked cautiously over the rocks, and then swam out, lazing in the warm ocean. Looking back towards the island the view was stunning! I immediately wished I had my camera, and swam back to get it. I teetered along the rocks as I walked back to shore, and waved to my friend smiling. Then….sh-t!! Searing pain shot through my heel as I lost my balance and fell forward. With tears in my eyes I continued hobbling along until I could lift my foot out to inspect. I cringed when I could finally lift it above water to see the blood pouring from a gash that went from the bottom of my heel up along the side. Damn it. She was right. I walked back grumpy, borrowed some antiseptic, wrapped my foot in tissue and painfully put my sneakers back on for the walk back to town. At least she had the good grace to be sympathetic and not to say “I told you so”.

The next 4 days were uneventful. I laid on the beach, read, visited the restaurants. The menus were pages and pages long, but when I tried to order I began to understand the reputation for questionable service. On average out of all my meals, at least two of the items I tried to order were not available. One time my hotel restaurant just said they were closed entirely, and wouldn’t reopen until the following day. As I left to find another restaurant my waiter/friend came to bring me back, and said they would serve me. Except 3/4 of the dishes I tried to order were unavailable. I really couldn’t do anything but laugh, and eat whatever he could pull together for me.

I had hoped to go on a snorkeling boat trip, but they didn’t go out while I was there due to poor visibility. On my last day I finally rented a bike, and rode around the island. I wish I had done it sooner!! I was able to take in more of the island, the coast was overwhelming, and it was good to get some exercise (even with my injured foot). The ride was hilly which was a bit of a challenge since my bike didn’t have gears, and the brakes were dangerously close to bare. No problem – I rode the flat, and part way up the hills. When my legs tired out I took in the view as I walked the rest of the way up the hills, and then part way down so I didn’t burn the brakes out. I think I ended up walking almost as much as I rode!

I left the next day a little anxious about my day of travel. I would be flying back to Saigon, and catching a bus to Mui Ne. The anxiety part came in because my flight was pushed back by 5 hours, leaving me with just a half an hour to get from the airport to the bus. Once again Con Dao was providing an exercise in patience and flexibility! It’s a beautiful place if you can maintain your sense of humor, and don’t mind spending some quality alone time….