Sand and Mud

You dont need to crave speed but you do need to enjoy eating large amoutns of sand to go sand surfing, or rather, sand sledding. The dunes that are strangely situated next to the beachtown/fishing of Mui Ne are differentiated by locals by their color. Yellow is said to provide the best location for sunsets, while red has the best "waves". The sand spills abruptly onto the road separating the dune sand from the beach sand. Upon the arrival of our rented motorbikes (thats right, im driving motorbikes with the best of 'em), dozens of young female entrepreneurs press large sheets of plastic on all sides of us, accosting us together like a SWAT team. With the rental of the sled comes our very own nine year old guide, who after trudging up the semi-permanent shifting mountain, plops me onto the tobogan, knees to chest, arms grabbing the front which curves up with pathetic intentions, feeble promises of protection from the violent onslaught of sand like pins and needles from a dry hell. By all means, don't scream or laugh. Sand soon found its way into ears, hidden crevices in my purse and cameras, and I was crunching the stuff for days, finding grains behind my knees and under my toenails. Only at the summit before the descent do you realize your proximity to water. After a slide, visions, smells and sounds of the ocean dissapear. The wind blowing off the water created swirls in teh sand that reminds me of the fake wood found in 1970's television series. After Mui Ne and the strange town of Dalat, a mix of a Swiss mountain village with a large imposing swatch of Asian paint, a town curiously "known" for wine (terrible, despite our drinking several bottles), Jon, Julie and I descended upon the beach town of Nha Trang, hoping to heat up under the melting sun SE Asia promises backpackers. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, so after a night at the bars (what else is expected of one in a beachtown without proper beach-like activities?) we splurged on a visit with Aly, Marianna and Mark to the hot springs and mud baths. Been months since Ive been pampered. Stations are numbered and lost half naked tourists are led from bath to shower to tub to pool by smiling attendants. First off is the mud baths. An attendant turns the tap, shooting murky silty mud into the carved marble bath, just large enough for the six of us to lay, head to toe, the length of the tub. You can float in mud, splash in mud, soak in mud, while away childlike hours in mud, giggling, dunking, attempting a whirlpool, and rolling over one another like logs. We rinsed off the mud under open air showers, walked through a gauntles of piercing jets of water, and were eventually led into a hot mineral springs tub like cattle. Still moving about with Jon, Julie, Mark and Aly, heading off to Hoi An today, whenever the bus gets around to taking off. Ive spent unfathomable amounts of hours waiting in the heat, travelling in the air-conditioned buses, I feel I should calculate hours spent on the road. Silliness, P, silliness.