Our last few days will serve as a short family trip, to allow us to unwind and relax before we rejoin the rat-race. We have chosen to spend that time on the beautiful island of Phu Quoc.
We arrived very early this morning having caught the06:35 flight from Ho Chi Minh City (You see I can write a blog without mentioning the name Saigon). Again, there was little sleep to be had. We arrived at the great capital in the early evening of Saturday and got an airport taxi to our hotel (which I had purposely booked as it was a stone’s throw away). Our taxi driver was not a happy man; even less so when he saw me – I’m not sure why I have this affect on people.
As we made our way to the hotel, we thought we saw a sign for our hotel, so in my typical knee-jerk fashion I asked the driver to stop, as I suspected he was trying to go around the block a few times; this isn’t uncommon in Vietnam. Last time we were in Vietnam we actually tracked the Taxi’s route with a sat-nav and it clearly showed the driver was taking a much convoluted route.
The driver stopped the car, started shouting something at me in Vietnamese (probably about my mother) then got out of the car. So I joined him, got out of the car and started to walk back towards the sign we’d seen. I was a little embarrassed when I saw it, because the sign clearly had our hotel’s name on it, but it also had an arrow pointing into the side street which we hadn’t seen.
Is there a dish, Egg Foo Mi? I apologised to the driver, but he didn’t take it. He did however take an extra 15,000 dong which I didn’t contest :s
Our hotel, the Sunflowers Hotel was a pleasant hotel, as with most new hotels, elaborately decorated. It was clean, comfortable and cheap which is all we needed as we were going to be catching an early morning flight the next day – so barely even breaking into our suit cases.
After we settled in, we decided to go for a shirt stroll for find some food. We find a very contemporary establishment with a spacious garden seating area. We thought we’d give it a try. The prices reflected its look, it was Vietnam’s yuppie bar and no Saigon beer to boot. Not only that the menus were in Vietnamese only and the waiting staff just stared blankly at me as I asked if anyone spoke English.
Our next attempt looked a little more promising, but looks can be deceiving and this was no exception. A non-English trend was starting to form in my head. Perhaps we were just a step too far from the tourist hotspot even for me. We take a stab in the dark on the menu. As it turns out, it wasn’t typo bad and certainly nothing to write home about.
We eat up and head back to the hotel, it’s an early night for us as we have an early flight ( have I mentioned that already?). Except I can’t quit switch myself off again. Everyone is asleep and the hours slowly pass by as I lie awake in the dark trying not to wake anyone. Eventually the alarm goes off at 4am I’ve not really slept, but I still feel refreshed.
Ho Chi Minh City Domestic Airport is a hive of activity at five in the morning, I can say I’ve seen an airport that is so busy and crowded at that time in the morning. I’ve had my fair share of early morning flights, having had to commute between Cardiff to Glasgow on a weekly basis for extended periods of time earlier on in my career. I remember Cardiff International Airport being reasonably vacant for the mot part, maybe a few dozen sleepy passengers trundling along through check-in.
This was a different kettle of fish; so many people impatiently pushing along through the queues, trying desperately to get to the check-in desks before the person in front. If I’ve not said this before, I’ll say it now… The Vietnamese have little or no patience; neither do they have any sense of orderly queues (Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum notwithstanding). The queue can easily be ten deep, and a little boisterous Vietnamese woman will happily push past you as if you were just a goal-post.
The flight to Phu Quoc is short and sweet, just under the forecasted hour and fifteen minutes. The airport we land in is unfamiliar to me. The last time I came here (with Mr Carter) we walked across the Tarmac from the plane to the tin-shack of an airport terminal.
Phu Quoc International Airport is now open boastign a shiny new glossy terminal building atis very modern and fresh. Vietnam moves at such a fast pace; these buildings seem to spring up faster than a flower blossoming in the sun.
The new airport is fed by neatly laid roads that were mere dirt tracks when I was here last. The place is barely recognisable.
As we head out of the terminal, i search earnestly for a Vietnamese driver with a piece of paper with my name on it, as I’ve already arranged a transfer pickup with the hotel. The confirmation email arrived only a few days previous, s it should be all good. It’s not. π¦ As each of the awaiting drivers start to peel away as they find they respective guests, we’re left standing alone at the terminal doors. All the drivers are gone, and so are the taxis. I’m a bit perplexed. As I reach into my pocket for my phone, a short Vietnamese chap (yes even shorter than I – I’m actually a touch above average height in Vietnam I have you know;)) approaches me and speaks perfect English. He says that he can get me to my hotel. I tell him that I have a pre-arranged transfer, to which he tells me there are no other drivers and he can help. He asks me for the hotels phone number and starts dialling. After a very brief chat on the phone he grabs my bags and tells me to follow him saying that he’s sorted it out with the hotel and he’ll take me there. It’s all happening too fast, and I’m getting a little flummoxed.
Wi little choice, we all bundle into his people carrier as he loads in our luggage. I notice he’s not a licensed taxi, but what am I to do… There are no more taxis left and its 07:15 in the mornings… I decide to go with the flow and see what happens. I’m more than aware that something dubious is happening, but I’m hoping i can still manage the situation. As we reach the airport gates, the security asks the man for the nominal airport taxi tax. The little chap smiles and points at me, casually saying I need to pay them 40,000 dong. No chance! I haven’t given him any money yet, and I’m not about too. I feign ignorance, but he’s no fool either (that’s a little too obvious at this point). And presses for the money. I flatly refuse and tell him to take us back to the terminal.
The next thing I know, he puts his right foot firmly to the floor with his accelerator pedal firmly gripped in between and his van speeds off through the gate. Somewhat startled, I just stare at him, but no sooner are we out of the gates, he slows down and then starts to talk to me casually. E reassures me that everything is on the up and up, and that the hotel will pay him once e explains the situation. I know he can sense that I know his game, but he carries on regardless. As we continue along the road, he pulls out a tourist map and asks if I’d like to stop off at any of he key tourist stops, as he’s more than happy to do so. “Dear God, it’s 7 in the morning is anything really going o be open at this time?” Is my most polite response, “Lets just get to the hotel shall we” I try my best not to sound aggressive or threatening. He smiles back, and says “Yeah sure, no problem”
We arrive at the Resort Hotel, and it’s a mess. There is a lot if building work going on, and the place looks grubby. Just behind reception around the corner from the swimming pool is a cement mixer, on full spin and the labourers next to it feeding it with sand. The day isn’t getting any better.
The receptionist can’t find the booking, until the manager arrives. Eventually the booking is found and an explanation is given for the lack of driver at the airport. They mixed up our reservation with another guest. ‘Le-Thanh’ is such a common name over here, it’s not surprising they mistook me for some six foot German tourist with a shaved head and goatee.
The manager assays that the hotel will pay for the taxi, as it was their mistake. I can stop with the German accent now.
We finally get taken to our room by a very unenthusiastic concierge, who more or less just throws our suitcases in throw the door. I’m sure I’ve seen this sketch on TV, though I’m sure it was funnier than it is now. We’re not happy. We’ve had the worst start to the day imaginable, followed by a second grade Vietnamese knock off of Faulty Towers. I’m half expecting the concierge to tell me his name was Manuel and he’s from ‘Rach Gia and he knows Nothing’ :s
It’s time for a family meeting, an emergency meeting. It’s agreed that this place is awful, and we can’t stay here. Lucky for me I have my laptop and their wi-fi security is appalling. Within minutes I’m connected to the web and searching for some alternative digs. Somewhere further down the road, more expensive but it have far better reviews than this place.
Give credit where credit is due, the Manager was more than helpful when I explained the situation. He even promised to ensure that I to a full refund on my booking (which was fir three night) less the cost if the taxi. I can only take his word on that, but to be fair he sounded very sincere.
I’m now sitting in the sanctuary of a different and very new holiday resort which was nothing more than rumble which I rode over on my moped 15 months ago. This place is amazing, there is something true in the saying, “You get what you pay for…” In more ways that one, I can agree with that.
