Dune

We resolved this morning to hire a small moped and make like the locals, whom we have seen driving up and down the quiet coastal road.

We were furnished with two helmets and a mostly empty tank of petrol. K climbed on the back and we set off down what I believe is called 'Route 1' in the direction of Mui Ne.

We made a brief stop to fuel up at the tiniest of roadside petrol stations - the solitary fuel pump seemed to contained 2 of a maximum 5 litres, which the attendant syphoned into the tank.

With the needle marginally out of the red zone, we cruised along with the sea breeze in our faces as far as the fishing village at Mui Ne.

It was still early in the morning and the bay was replete with boats of all sizes. Local people gathered eagerly around those landing with nets full of the morning's catch.

We had intended to visit the sand dunes, for which the area is famous. However, while trundling along at 25kph on a modified hairdryer was fun for a while, we calculated the round-trip time to reach the white sand dunes, 36km away, and resolved to let a jeep take the strain.

We buzzed our way back to the hotel, booked a tour for the afternoon and fuelled ourselves on frittata and breakfast burrito.

In the meantime, we took advantage of the opportunity to admire the seascape. The sand is strewn with coconuts and razor-sharp shells. I took a brief walk along the beach in the surf, allowing the foamy waves alternately to crash into my legs and to draw the sand out from under my feet, such that I sank a little with each step.

Out at sea, the fishermen continued to work busily in their one-man coracles. On land, the neighbouring hotels entertained a smattering of tourists who appeared comically obese next to the lean frames of their Vietnamese hosts.

Part way along the beach, the sand gives way to a regular pattern of triangular stones, giving the impression of the scales of a giant, partially buried creature. It is upon this surface that the industrious fishermen land their boats. I wondered what they thought of the apparent lassitude of the land-bound visitors to this beach.

In the afternoon, a 10-person open-top jeep arrived and we were crammed into the back like pigs being taken to market.

The afternoon tour briefly took in the Fairy Stream we had seen under our own steam yesterday. We entered by an alternative route, unsignposted, between two buildings, which brought us out farther up the stream away from the rubbish-strewn bridge we had used the day before. An enterprising young man had erected a sign at the water's edge asking for an admission fee. I almost gave him the money for his guile.

The sandstone rocks gave a convincing impression of a partially terraformed Martian surface. Albeit with more tourists.

The colours ran and mixed like paint on a wet canvas. My feet sank therapeutically into the red mud. White sand oozed into the red river like fresh cement. The contrast between the primary red of the sand and the lush green of the vegetation was striking.

The tour continued with visits to other natural phenomena in the area - the red and white sand dunes.

As mentioned, the white sand dunes are more than 20 miles out of town. The journey by jeep took around 45 minutes and I imagined the test of endurance to travel the same route by moped.

We gripped securely onto the jeep's rollcage as the scenery whipped by us. The buildings are sparser this far from town - mainly shacks interspersed with a few luxurious-looking resorts and, exceptionally, a six-storey slate-grey monolith, its unfinished surfaces casting a shadow of what is to come for the development of the Mui Ne coastline.

Along with cows, dogs and cockerels, we also passed the occasional intrepid traveller making the journey by motorised hairdryer. The last few miles to the dunes are a bumpy dirt track. One moped driver, his face a mask of gritted determination, span hopelessly on a small incline. I didn't see them again.

White sand dunes

Despite their name, the white sands are a very pale yellow and give the effect of being a diminutive desert. The dunes are smooth rolling curves, whose surface bears small rippling undulations sculpted by the wind. The same wind draws the loose grains of sand over the surface, such that the round edges of the dunes look slightly out of focus, and the sand whips around one's ankles like tiny pieces of glass.

This would be a peaceful place, were it not for the quad bikes tearing up and down the dunes. Although, I must admit it looked fun.

Red sand dunes

On the way back, the jeep driver brought us to the complementary red sand dunes. Similarly, its eponymous sands are not so much red as a deep orangey yellow. I wondered whether the scarlet sands at the Fairy Stream had their colour intensified by the moisture there.

The entrepreneurial spirit starts young here. As the jeep pulled in, we were followed by a crowd of young boys carrying long flat pieces of shiny plastic and exhorting us to sled down the dunes.

By this time, the sun was setting over the dunes. Unfortunately, it was largely obscured by a bank of cloud that had rolled in during the afternoon.

Having been deposited back at the hotel, we repaired to Sindbad's for stuffed pita bread, fresh fruit and some more delectably rich coffee.