It was a pretty lonely time in Vietnam for me. After about a week of mooching around in Saigon, I decided I should really go and do something and see Phu Quoc Island. Phu Quoc sits off the coasts of Cambodia and Vietnam and I heard that you can see the sea turtles swimming onto shore to lay their eggs. The journey there was unfortunately long, cramped and inevitabley treacherous. Getting the bus ticket was hard as I had to get it from the bus station and explain where I wanted to go to people who couldn’t speak english. Quite outrageous. Don’t they speak English out here!?
I eventually got my ticket to the coast and set off at 10pm later that night. I arrived at the docks at 5 the next morning, having to endure the usual crap karaoke music and millions of potholes and reststops where the driver would bark at me to get out. Not knowing where I was and where I was going I was relieved when a guy sorted out my boat ticket for me and pointed me in the direction of the docks where a pack of barking dogs were waiting for me.
Superwhat??!
I waited a while for the boat in the crowd pushing queue and eventually got on, albeit grumpy and tired. I slept through freezing air con and karaoke music to find myself at the island. Brilliant timing. Unfortunately for me, there were no turtles there and Phu Quoc Island was in fact, Gay Island. Yes, lots of gay Vietnamese guys working in bars and clubs and boring old honeymoon couples walking along the dirty beaches. The main attraction on the island was supposed to be a fish sauce factory. Yup, a stinking factory that makes some kind of famous fish juice.
It was difficult to hang out with anyone on the island since it was mainly old people and honeymooners, but on the first day I got talking to some girls on the beach and headed out later that night to Eden Bar, the only bar on the island that seemed to stay open late and play music. The girls were flying out the next day so left early (nothing to do with being in my company I might add) I was drunk so I thought I’d have a few more drinks.. well, it turned out that the drinks I was getting were on the house. How could I refuse? Only thing was, the bar owner and the manager were quite camp and I quickly suspected, gay.
The next night I went back to the bar hoping to meet some new people to hang out with.. there wasn’t anyone - the place was dead. Once again I was plyed with free drinks from the local gayboys and got drunk until the point where I started to think ‘there’s no such thing as a free lunch’ and scarpered back to my guest house, beyond the woods in the pitch black and past the derelict buildings where the boys go cottaging (yes, it happens over here too!)
Running blindly through the woods fearing for the virginity of my arse I eventually got back to my room and bolted the door behind me. I felt good, hadn’t drunk too much this time and I wasn’t locked up in some dungeon with men with oranges in their mouths. The room wasn’t spinning and I had a clear head.. until about an hour later I got a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach and I could feel the bile rising. I instantly vomited for no reason all over myself. ‘Oh, well that’s weird’ I thought.. until again, I was sick but this time I ran into the bathroom and managed to hurl into the toilet and onto the floor.
After 8 hours of explosive bowels and projectile vomiting I decided I had to get rehydrated and see a doctor. I literally crawled out of my room because I felt so weak and walking only made me vomit. I asked the daughter of the guest house owner for some water. After a few sips I climbed onto my moped and rode very leisurely into the town to get an ice cream. Why? I have no fucking clue, I just wanted one and thought It’d be safe. I got in and ordered my ice cream and after a few spoons was back on the toilet being sick. A French sex-pat who was married to the owner took pity on me and showed me the way to the hospital and told them all what was wrong with me. Turns out he had the same sickness himself last week.
A week later after being room bound I was glad to be leaving the hell hole. I got on the boat which was once again freezing and listened to Karaoke music at a thousand decibels. There was a woman next to me chewing on a really smelly root spitting in a bag and an old man on my other side with a mouth full of chocolate coloured teeth. Not far from me was a man with his leg in a splint, bleeding from a giant break in his leg all over the floor. Nearly4 hours later the boat docked.
On the minibus back, I met a guy called Brad who shared my annoyance of the loud music and spitting and eating on buses. I managed to save him a couple of quid by arguing his price down as the bus driver tried to charge him double. I told the driver he was full of shit. By the time we got back Saigon, the floor was totally covered in sticky food and rubbish and I had developed tinitus from the unecessary music.
