So that was Da Nang . .

The problem with travelling on our own with no support infrastructure (like the world-famous CavTours) is that it takes days and many miles to get to grips with the best ways of doing things. We're on our last evening (of four) and today I dominated a little taxi driver and took money out of his hand (legitimately, I might add) and told him which way to go. Ha! It's fair to say that Da Nang is not yet equipped to deal with the expectations of the average western traveller. We tried a number of times to find a tour operator open for business so we could thrust filthy dollars at them for a local tour. We even got talking to a nice old guy called Tung who flashed some pamphlets at us (they don't normally do pamphlets here) and tried to get us to buy a tour. Too paranoid to pay him in the street I got him to point out his office on my well-folded paper map. When we eventually made it there, the office didn't exist but the hotel desk clerk seemed to know Tung and offered to phone him. We said we'd think about it.

Language is a bit of a problem in Da Nang. English is not spoken much and they have difficulty understanding one-word questions. It doesn't help if I pantomime (in fact, Linda reckons I probably shouldn't -- too much like a manically-smiling John Cleese). In fact, they look positively panic stricken if you look as if you are going to start a conversation. To be fair, they all try their utmost to help out. Take the local pharmacy. I've been slowed down with a pain in the chest and dizziness for the last few days - a definite chest infection. But even writing "antibiotics" on a bit of paper didn't elicit understanding until Linda recognised Amoxicillin on a packet on a shelf did she remember using that for tonsillitis in Bangkok a few years ago.So, that problem solved. I'm still looking forward to getting on the wrong train tomorrow.

Lest anyone thinks we've spent the entire stay in the Bamboo Bar all week, we have tried to take in some cultural "stuff" too. First off was a visit to the Cham museum. The Champa (it says here) actually had a flourishing trading culture lasting some 14 centuries since AD 192 until it became marginalised as a Viet vassal state.. It followed mostly a Hindu religion until Islam made inroads in the 14th Century and all the relics recovered reflect worship of Siva, Vishnu, and the like. There's a archaeological dig in My Son south of Hoi An that we may try to fit in.

There's also a Cao Dai temple in Da Nang, Steve. However, it's nothing like the psychedelic wonder that exists outside Ho Chi Minh City and I waxed lyrical about that on a previous blog. Having failed with the tour operators, we jumped into a taxi today and demanded to be taken to China Beach, the place where the US grunts went for R&R during the War. It may seem that we are trying to recapitulate Apocalypse Now, Gary, but for all the locals refer to it it might as well be Apocalypse Never Happened. China (or My Khe) Beach was a bit of a find, though. Miles of empty sands with very little development blotting the landscape and no one on the beach. A good choice if Blackpool or Bournemouth doesn't float your boat and you don't mind staying out of the water (bad rip tides). Mind you, it is considered the middle of winter by the locals so that would explain the emptyness.  I say winter, but the temperatures are in the 20s (in Saigon the 30s; in Hanoi the 10s). The days have been overcast in the mornings and bright in the afternoons. If anyone is thinking of doing this trip, I would recommend doing the cultural stuff in the morning and chilling out on the beach PM. It cost a whole £2 for a taxi to the beach and £1.50 for two bottles of water and two rare rickety deck chairs under a tree. Ah well, better think about packing again. Off to Hue tomorrow (we hope).