Kingdom of the Fairies

We awoke this morning to perfectly blue sky and descended to the open-air restaurant for breakfast. This wasn't quite as idyllic as it sounds, as there was a television showing cartoons blaring in the corner.

The menu included cháo, the Vietnamese rice porridge we had been meaning to try. The waitress assured us that the cháo trứng did not contain any meat or seafood, so we ordered two bowls. Having eaten something similar in Thailand, we knew what to expect, but the thin rice soup, laced with egg, was not entirely suited to the hot environment. It was a heavy meal, when what I desired was a light fruit platter. I suspect curiosity won out over sense on this occasion.

The accommodation is basic but affordable and we imagined the opulence of the other higher priced neighboring resorts we had passed. However, they all share the same aspect over the sea, which is simultaneously free and priceless.

The beach is a working beach, from which fishermen launch their tiny round vessels and cast nets. While the resorts line the main road along the coast, they are all relatively small and respectful. There are no ghastly high-rise blocks blighting the landscape (yet).

We spent the morning happily resting and reading, looking out to sea. A number of small fishing coracles were drawn out in a line being towed by a powered boat. Silhouettes of people paragliding off the coast could be seen further to the west.

I ventured into the sea. The water was warm! Not 'warm' in the sense of the Mediterranean or the Aegean at the end of a long summer, when the sea temperature should be at its highest, but when the muscles involuntarily contract on entering the water - positively warm, like a tepid bath. I had never experienced anything like this. I had thought it physically impossible to heat such a large body of water.

I did not venture much further than my waist, as I was surrounded by a number of small jellyfish. Other bathers did not seem bothered by their presence, but I was feeling less certain.

In a fit of originality, we swapped our loungers for upright chairs at Pogo's next door and resumed our viewing of the water lapping languidly at the shore, over a milkshake and a smoothie.

One of the features of Mui Ne is the so-called Fairy Stream (Suối Tiên), which lies not far from our hotel. We broke our lazy afternoon and walked along the dusty road parallel to the shore until we came upon a sign for the stream near a bridge.

Following the sign down a set of steps led us to the rather unprepossessing sight of the underside of the bridge. A shallow current of water flowed past accompanied by a few carrier bags and other miscellaneous detritus. Our only options were to ascend to the other side of the bridge or to return whence we came. Having done the latter, a man arrived and gestured for us to follow him back down the steps and to step into running water and follow it upstream.

Feeling rather suspiciously that this was some kind of elaborate ruse set up to catch unwary travellers, we nevertheless followed his instructions. Padding wetly through barely half an inch of water, our progress was slow, as my foot had been bitten by ants under the bridge and I was leery of other creatures that might make a meal of my lower half, so I wore my flip-flops as a protective guard.

The feeling of having been duped grew inexorably as we made our way up the ravine, which allowed no dry passage owing to the steep inclines on either side. The outlook was pretty but unremarkable.

Just as we were about to turn back, we rounded a corner onto a magnificent scene.

The white rock formations were dripping with sand as red as brick, just as icing on a cake. The red and white sands mingled in an explosion of colour that ran into the stream below. It was as though we had found water on Mars.

The ravine continued for quite a way before coming to an abrupt halt at the source of the water, which springs forth from the ground.

Amazed by the landscape, we returned to the hotel in search of food. There was sadly little choice unless we were prepared to nominate a fish or crustacean to perish for our evening meal. We relented in our insistence on eating only domestic cuisine and stopped at Sindbad's. There we dined on a selection of foods until we were as stuffed as a Persian prince: pita with tzaziki and hummus, salad with feta and olives, tomato and mozzarella with pesto, and bruschetta pomodoro.

Although completely inauthentic fare for the locale, the Vietnamese chefs brought their obvious competency in flavour to these Mediterranean specialties. A glass or two of Vang Da Lat red wine set this off nicely. Decadently, we finished with a sublimely rich Vietnamese coffee (hot) that verged on cocoa.