June 18, 2014
This post is a continuation of a set looking back to a trip I took to Vietnam in December. See related Vietnam posts by following the “Vietnam” post tag.
Tanner and I met in Ho Chi Minh City on December 21st with little more than a rough idea of where we wanted to go, never mind when or how. One idea that started to take shape only in the days before our co-journey began (Tanner had been travelling solo up to this point), was to visit the offshore Vietnamese island of Con Dao. We knew little about the island itself but one traveller’s comment on a buried internet message board rang out in my mind. He was comparing the island to the very well-known and heavily-touristed Phu Quoc island in the southwest, reputed for it’s lavish resorts and white sand beaches. “Con Dao is Phu Quoc island 20 years ago, before it’s mass discovery,” he wrote. “If you can get there, go.”
Finding information on the island was a challenge, the one reliable English site being from a local dive shop owned and operated by an American ex-pat. The island, or islands, as Con Dao actually refers to a group of them, are sparsely inhabited with somewhere around a few thousand permanent residents. Getting out there is a journey in itself and perhaps part of the reason for the small population and low profile this place has managed to keep. Our two options were a 12-hour boat ride from a hard-to-get-to coastal town or a one-hour flight from Ho Chi Minh. It wasn’t exactly a tough decision for Tanner and I, currently shacked up in the heart of said capital and we agreed to hop the first plane out in the morning.
Unfortunately, the world doesn’t revolve around my plans (as much as it pains me to admit that) and all flights the next day were sold out. So the day after it was! Tanner, hand over your credit card to the impatient and disgruntled travel agent so we can get out of this joint.
A couple of days, at least one decent night’s sleep, and several all-too-affordable bottles of Saigon Green later, we were at the airport. After eating over-priced noodles and perusing obscenely-priced “authentic Vietnamese” handicrafts that I had no intention of buying, I was growing restless. Choosing a solid and dependable travel partner whose neck you won’t want to tear out in the trying moments is an absolute must for international adventuring and I know that I couldn’t ask for better than Tanner in this regard. But people are what make travelling a worthwhile pursuit and after three days of 24/7 bro-mance, I was in the mood to add some new flavours to our mix. “I’m going to try talking to some people,” I confidently announced to Tanner, whose nose was firmly planted in a book.
“Mmm k.”
I scanned the small departures lounge, taking in the scene of young foreign couples, locals who looked like they must be returning home with the boon of the big city, young foreign couples, and young foreign couples. “Uhhh, did I misread this island?” I worried to myself. Prime romantic destination – that’s where I was headed with my bro-friend for a holiday escape. Sigh.
I eventually settled my eyes on a tall and approachable-looking couple who were having a quiet conversation a few rows away. They looked about our age and I eventually worked up the courage to slink over and take a seat nearby at a distance that meant conversation wouldn’t require shouting but not so close that it suggested I was looking for anything more than conversation.
I waited for a lull in their talk before wedging myself in and starting the awkward social dance that is a first impression.
“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you guys going to Con Dao?”
“Ah yes we are.” Sing-songy. What is that accent?
“Do you know much about the island? I wasn’t able to find much information on the internet.”
“Ah it’s sapposed to have sum really nice beachez and be quite relaxing I think.” Very sing-songy. It was European for sure but I couldn… “Where are you frum?”
“Oh I’m from Canada. And you?”
“We are from Sweden.”
Sweden! Of course. The accent that makes me want to put on a wool sweater and sprinkle bird seed on snow drifts for happy little blue birds.
Eventually Tanner made his way over and we were formally introduced to Peter and Maria, from near Stockholm. The conversation carried naturally and we found ourselves discussing a wide range of the possibilities waiting at our destination, for Peter and Maria knew about as little as we did about Con Dao. As we boarded our flight, we made tentative, non-committal plans to meet up on the island, as we had no idea where our hotels were in relation to each other and no reliable way of making contact.
Such is the way of travelling, I was discovering. Tanner already had pockets full of stories of Germans he’d met in Hanoi or Israelis in Laos or Swedes in Bangkok so he was well versed in the game of transient friendships. This was my first encounter, but I felt like it held promise.
The flight to the island was uneventful, as we hope all flights are since we’re hurling through the sky in a metal tube loaded with humans and jet fuel. At the airport on the other side, numerous drivers held placards with names while the taxi crowd skulked around the perimeter with hawkish stares, clearly on the hunt for aimless or hapless arrivals. We collected our bags and moved toward the remaining one or two placards to double check they weren’t radical misspellings of our names before the cabbies smelled the itinerary wrinkle and closed in.
“Hey where you going? I take you!”
“My car outside! Very good! Very good price!”
Tanner and I had to squarely face each other and raise our voices to have an awkward conversation while the four men made a circle around us and proffered incessantly.
“Did you tell them we needed a pick-up?” he questioned.
“I wrote it on the reservation form but I don’t know if they’ll have seen it.”
“Well no one is here waiting for us so we wait or we go with one of them.”
I conceded and went to the young guy who had been the first to offer us a ride, figuring this was the fairest way to make the decision. He asked which hotel we were staying at and I told him, then he asked me to repeat it, so I did, and he nodded in recognition. We negotiated a price, 50,000 dong for the two of us (~$2.50), and we were loaded up in a van which already held a few others from the flight.
It was a 30 minute drive from the airport (read airstrip) down to the town so we had time to make friends with a new couple in the van, these two from Denmark. We made small talk with them till they got out at their hotel and carried on chatting with an Aussie who lived on the island. He recommended a local bar where locals and tourists alike can spill a pint and then he was out at his stop. After the better part of an hour and seemingly zig-zagging everywhere there was to go on this small island we were legitimately beginning to wonder if our confident driver actually knew where our hotel was. Finally, after dropping off the last passengers save for Tanner and me, he turned around in his seat and said, “Okay, what hotel you staying at?”
Gotta love the islanders.
To be continued…
Sumo on Ice 
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If this blog entry was a book, I would have been turning the page to start the next chapter.🙋