Monday, September 14, 2009
Phu Quoc island in Vietnam offers chances to relax
The Daily Telegraph (London)
September 12, 2009 Saturday
Sam Llewellyn
The plane crawls high above the Mekong delta - flooded paddy, intestinal
loops of river, roads crammed with Honda 50s and lined with shops selling
rice and Marlboros. Then suddenly there is sea, muddy at first, then a
cheerful turquoise. The propellers change pitch. The nose drops. A green
mountain flicks past the wing, then a white beach. We bank steeply, lining
up with a runway on which two people seem to be riding bicycles. And down
slams the plane on the pockmarked concrete of Duong Dong airport, gateway to
the Vietnamese island of Phu Quoc.
Outside the terminal a little group of drivers are whisking red dust off
Japanese four-wheel-drive taxis. In Duong Dong high street, our driver
carefully skirts a cow and calf, who regard us with soulful Jersey eyes.
"Manchester United,'' says the driver, using the universal language of
south-east Asia. He grins. His English gives out. So does the tarmac. Towing
a lofty plume of red dust, we pass a memorial bearing a star and the
likeness of Uncle Ho, and jounce into the interior.
Phu Quoc is the biggest island in Vietnam. It sits in the Gulf of Thailand,
minding its own business. Until recently, this consisted of the manufacture
of a world-beating nuoc mam fish sauce, the cultivation of black and white
pepper, and the maintenance of a nature reserve occupying most of the
northern part of the island. The fish sauce is so pungent that Vietnamese
Airlines is reputed to have installed special sniffers to prevent passengers
taking it in their luggage and endangering the purity of the baggage hold;
the pepper is undeniably delicious, growing in palm-shaded vineyards in the
sandy interior. During the Vietnam War, a camp on its east coast held 40,000
North Vietnamese prisoners, but little trace now remains. As Ho Chi Minh's
tanks drove into Saigon and Americans scrambled into choppers on the Embassy
roof, the population of Phu Quoc got on with its farming and fishing.
The island's northern extremity lies less than 10 miles from Cambodia, and
in 1975 it was briefly invaded by the Khmer Rouge. Soon after the Khmer
Rouge had been chased away, backpackers started to arrive. A few hoteliers
followed. The four turboprop flights a week became four 64-seater turboprop
flights a day. And there they seem to have stuck, for the moment. "We are
roughly where Phuket was 25 years ago,'' said one of the co-proprietors of
the Mango Bay Resort, leaning back in his armchair as the sun plunged into
the sea.
Phu Quoc now has many hotels, mostly of the beach-bungalow type. Most are
concentrated on Long Beach, a 12-mile strip of white sand running south from
Duong Dong. Those closest to the town back onto a dusty dual carriageway
studded with melancholy hawkers' stalls selling cans of green tea and the
aptly-named Harpoon Gin. A safer distance down the beach is La Veranda, an
elegant air-conditioned establishment with a swimming pool, cooled towels
and sorbets delivered to sunloungers at noon. La Veranda is the poshest spot
on the island and appeals to colonial nostalgics with deep pockets. A
charming hotel at the opposite extreme is the Bo Resort, on Ong Lang beach
well to the north of Duong Dong. Bo is a group of cottages dotted around a
beautiful garden on a headland with splendid views over wild sea and empty
shore, and knock-down prices.
Somewhere between la Veranda and Bo in both style and location lies Mango
Bay. This is an eco-friendly straggle of elegant cottages with verandas,
sprawled along three quarters of a mile of wooded coast. More than half the
Mango Bay's guests do not leave the resort, and as you lie in the warm,
glass-clear water watching a squid boat on the horizon, it is easy to see
their point. The restaurant is simple and excellent, the cocktails cheap and
powerful, the massages deeply relaxing. One of the three owners has started
a butterfly breeding programme and a propagation scheme for endangered
orchids that grow wild in Phu Quoc's jungly interior. The cottages are not
air-conditioned, but they are made cool and airy by the sea breeze. We lay
in the gauzy cloud of our mosquito-netted four-poster, breeze wafting in at
the linen-curtained windows of the hardwood bungalow, watching a fat lizard
patrolling the bamboo ceiling for stray mosquitoes. The only sounds were the
brush of waves on the beach, the distant thud of a fishing boat engine and
the hoot of an animal in the far wooded distance. It might have been one of
Phu Quoc's resident gibbons. Whatever it was, it was calling us forth to
look at the world beyond Mango Bay.
There are rumours (unsubstantiated by recent sightings) that Phu Quoc is one
of the few places in the world where dugongs still live. I asked the French
hotel manager. "Dugong? Non,'' he said. "They keep very much to the deep
forests of the nature reserve.'' Suppressing a well-founded suspicion that
the dugong is a marine mammal, I asked how we could visit the nature
reserve. "You cannot,'' said the Frenchman, with powerful Gallic finality.
"It is for nature, not people.''
This was a good point, and unanswerable. So we rented a Honda 50 from one of
the Mango Bay's gardeners and set off into a land without tourists.
Red dust rose behind us. Peppercorns wafted spice from the roadside, where
they lay drying on blue tarpaulins watched over by Buddhist shrines. The
road narrowed to a five-foot path. It wound behind the beach, threaded
fishing villages studded with reeking piles of anchovies, crossed causeways
through mangrove swamps, passed mile after mile of empty beaches. Farmers
had limed their mango orchards with shell-sand. Fish pens the size of
kitchen gardens lined the sides of creeks. A watchtower stood in the forest,
flying the red flag of the People's Republic, the guard keeping an eye on
things from a hammock strategically slung in the gun emplacement. We paused
to let two wild bulls fight it out in the middle of the road. A
feathery-trousered eagle sailed out of the clouds on the mountains and sat
gigantic in a tree, regarding us with a fierce yellow eye.
In the early afternoon we arrived at Cape Ganh Dhau, the island's
northwesternmost corner. Howling and clanging emanated from a rickety
building overhanging the beach. This turned out to be the proprietor of the
local restaurant, a noted poet and electric guitarist. He laid down his
guitar to show us to a table on the shaky terrace. Five miles across the
sea, the first islands of Cambodia loomed out of their thundercloud. This is
smuggling country. Some of the islands in these seas are no-go areas, full
of drugs and guns, gangsters and brothels. Another is one of at least six
islands on which Captain Kidd is said to have buried his treasure. Lunch
arrived.
This consisted of a saucepan of boiling broth on its own gas stove, and
slabs of raw fish to cook in it. After a mighty repast of squid and sea
snails I waddled onto the beach. Small boys were walking past, eating white
berries off sprigs of greenery. A polite child gave me a handful to try;
they tasted a little like myrtle. At this point the restaurateur picked up
his radio mike and launched into a poem for the benefit of our five fellow
lunchers. They clapped politely when he had finished. "What was that?'' I
said to the slightly bilingual waitress.
"Hymn to Sea Insect,'' said the girl, watching apprehensively as her boss
headed for his guitar.
We drove back to Mango Bay and soaked off the road dust in the warm sea,
watching a remora trying to attach itself to a bather until it was time for
cocktails at sunset. It had been a day fraught with interest.
Naturally, there are plans to make Phu Quoc even more interesting by
bringing in mass tourism. A government minister appeared recently and
inaugurated the building of a new international airport capable of
accommodating full-sized airliners. Completion is promised for 2012. "Which
means 2015,'' said an Australian in the bar. "If at all.'' Before the world
financial system caught flu, tourism entrepreneurs had parcelled up the
island into lots and erected billboards showing vast developments with
canals, marinas and thousands of villas. These schemes are now in abeyance,
but they may return. Phu Quoc is one of the world's great islands. Go now,
while the going is good.
PASSPORT TO PHU QUOC
Between October and April. May and June can be ferociously hot. In July,
August and September there is a slim chance of good weather (and a high
chance of cut rates in hotels) - but torrential rains turn the roads to red
slime and the sea to soup.
How to get there
Vietnam Airlines (www.vietnamairlines.com) flies from Ho Chi Minh City and
Rach Gia; the fare from Ho Chi Minh to Phu Quoc currently costs pounds 165
return. It is wise to get return tickets, as the small number of daily
flights makes it possible to get stuck on the island.
Singapore Airlines (www.singaporeair.com) offers London to Ho Chi Minh for
pounds 515 return inc tax from March 3 to April 3. Less frequent ferries are
also available from Rach Gia (six hours, daily) and Ha Tien (four hours,
every other day). Both these mainland ports can be problematic of access.
Where to stay
Mango Bay (www.mangobayphuquoc.com): rates range from about $60 ( pounds 36)
per night for a bungalow, $100 per night for airy plantation bungalows
(sleep two) and $210 for the two-family-sized Reef House. Breakfast
included. Dinner will set you back about $15 a head.
La Veranda (www.laverandaresort.com): an international style resort with
international style prices, starting at $250 a night for a pleasant
air-conditioned room and rising to $400 for abject luxury and an ocean view.
Restaurant prices reflect the general air of international smartness.
Bo Resort (www.boresort.com): charming cold-water cottages from $50-$84 per
night (breakfast not included) and restaurant meals $10-$15 per head.
Prices vary depending on the season, the occupancy levels and in some cases
the whim of the owner. It is worth haggling.
Hotels run boat trips to islands for snorkelling and picnics. Dive schools
operate out of Duong Dong. Windsurfer and jeep hire are available through
hotels (though the most interesting roads on the island are too narrow for
four-wheeled vehicles).
Where to eat
Seafood is excellent. Eat in Duong Dong market or with hawkers, using mime,
for about $1.50 a meal. Western-style cafés in Duong Dong. Fine dining at La
Veranda and good simple restaurants at Bo and Mango Bay.
