The Sahara of Vietnam — Mostly Harmless

I HARDLY SLEPT THE FIRST NIGHT. Our hut was right on the water, and waves pummeled the retaining wall that anchored us to land. Every minute the crashes seemed louder, stronger. The South China Sea wanted in.

This battered coast, while beautiful, is not what brought us to Mui Ne, the driest region in Southeast Asia. These waves, this wind, lure kite surfers from around the world, but our sights were set 30km inland to the sweeping red sand dunes of the Binh Thuan Desert, which lend Mui Ne the nickname, “The Sahara of Vietnam”.

We mourned the loss of the sweet little beach we had at low tide.

Although not quite Sahara-sized, the dunes are still a magical sight, and a quick scooter ride outside of town will bring you to their sandy feet. Out here, the beach landscape changes to vistas of red and yellow, spotted with dusty greenery and thirsty livestock.

Dry, hot winds threatened to bowl us over at every turn. We struggled to keep our two-wheeled composure through most of the journey, but a hairpin turn on loose gravel left our ride on its side, with our left legs underneath. I hopped up, literally without a scratch, but poor Fernando left a flesh donation on the tacky pavement.

Painfully puttering back to town, we made a pit stop at an apothecary for bandages and ointment. A kind woman tried in vain to help me find what I needed, despite the language barrier. I acted out a bike accident and an injured leg, and she handed me a small white box with black and red writing. Turning it in my hand to examine all sides, I saw an image of a devilish viper. I had been offered either snake venom as medication, or medication against snake venom.

I gave back the box and mimed again, this time emphasizing an abrasion - the blood, the pain when touched. What I eventually walked out of there with, we’ll never know, but we applied it to Fer’s wound twice daily, and it healed, albeit very, very slowly.

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One particularly hot morning we jumped on bicycles and took off in search of a local curiosity known as the Fairy Spring. After one stop for tire repair we found the trailhead in a family’s backyard. Here we were joined by a few opportunistic young boys who tried cleverly to convince us local guides were necessary to navigate the waters of the spring.

We carefully walked our bikes over a sandy path, punctuated by broken bricks. With the boys in tow, chattering about one danger after another, we peered ahead at the muddy spring and wondered at its appearance. We were warned of the depth, the suction-like quality of the earth, and the chances of getting lost. Upon arrival the water did look quite deep, so we began the guide fee negotiations.

Just then a small girl came running down the stream, only she wasn’t running “in” the stream, but rather, “on” the stream.

Agog, two thoughts came to mind simultaneously - “I’m witnessing a miracle, this kid is walking on water”, and “we were nearly duped”. The stream was not as it seemed. Not deep at all. So shallow, in fact, that the sandy surface below shone through a crystal clear trickle, only two inches deep. Walking up the stream, one seems to hover over the surface like a fairy, hence the name. It’s a fantastic illusion.

Flanked on one side by rusty dunes, the stream greets colorful tributaries of hot, runny sand. Pools of thick sludge develop where land and water meet, creating quagmires like quicksand. If you fail to watch your step you could lose your footwear for good.

Turning the final bend, we were met by a small but strong waterfall, about 20 feet high. What seemed like the first breeze of the day quietly rustled the palm fronds above, and cooled our sweaty skin. A welcome respite from the intense heat, and a true reward for our efforts.

We returned to our bikes, waved goodbye to the boys and pedaled home, hoping our bungalow hadn’t been swept out to sea.