It was said by our yoga teacher that there is greater 'prana' (life force) in the countryside than in towns and cities, which invigorates oneself. Whatever it might be about these environments that is restorative, the powerful natural forces are certainly more evident outside of built-up areas. The wind that shapes the dunes, the water that hews the rocks into complex shapes at the Fairy Stream, the lightning that illuminate the clouds, and the tidal forces that cause the waves to beat upon the shore: All are evident in this place where they can be viewed without significant human intervention. It is from this that we renew and refresh ourselves.
Sat in the shade, an arch framed perfectly the view I will see as I close my eyes in years to come and think of here. A small wispy cloud hangs, top centre of frame, over a wash of pale blue sky, which fades to white at the horizon. This contrasts starkly with the deep blue of the sea, which graduates through teal to a light turquoise. Far-distant ships rest on the horizon and their closer cousins trawl the waters while, closer still, the translucent bodies of floating jellyfish are underscored by a slash of yellow sand.
I had finished The Art of Travel and so reflected on its contents.
De Botton writes well for those who feel the need to intellectualise travel rather than just doing it because it is fun. His summary of the anxieties of travel, the impetus to travel, as well as the imperative to do so, reflects well my own thoughts on the matter.
Travel, if done well, is a way to internalise the external world and thereby to enrich and improve one's own life. Towards the end of the book, De Botton quotes John Ruskin, who succinctly sums up the approach to travel we hope to approximate on this trip:
"No changing of place at a hundred miles an hour will make us one whit stronger, or happier, or wiser. There was always more in the world than man could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for going fast. The really precious things are thought and sight, not pace. It does a bullet no good to go fast; and a man, if he be truly a man, no harm to go slow; for his glory is not at all in going, but in being."
And so, we travelled at a stately pace back to Saigon by bus. Using a different operator (Tam Hanh), we had similarly comfortable reclining bed seats. Foolishly, we had not breakfasted on anything more substantial than a couple of bananas.
For want of anything more substantial, we bought a bag of cốm dẻo (literally 'soft rice') at the first rest stop, which looked and tasted like blocks of sweetened compressed popcorn flavoured with ginger. This is apparently a specialty of Phan Thiet and was tasty but about as satisfying a meal as a bag of popcorn.
Fortunately, at the second stop the ubiquitous bánh mì stall was selling bánh mì ốp la (fried egg baguette, from the French "oeufs au plat"). Without the usual pâté, but with the crunchy cucumber, carrot-daikon pickle, coriander and a squirt of soy sauce, this was just what the hungry traveller needed. It disappeared too quickly to get a photo.
We arrived back in Saigon after sunset, where it had been raining. We had not experienced any rain in Mui Ne, lending credibility to the assertion that it has its own microclimate.
Back at home, our host welcomed us by preparing bún riêu ốc - a tomato-based soup with snails (vegetarian ones made from taro) and vermicelli rice noodles. The soup was intense and flavoursome from the tomatoes, with crunchy fried tofu and straw mushrooms rounding it out. Lettuce and a lemony mint-like herb were served to garnish the soup. Afterwards we had one of my favourite tiny fruit - rambutan.
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