Jungle Beach Photos

Dawn fisherman

The puppies, Porky and TwoTone

Kirsty and Seamus at the waterfall

Fi and Seamus having a dip

Posing over the bay

Suzie welcoming the dawn

My view from My chair

Lazy afternoon

Our hut

Gai, Raina, Fi, Suzie, Will, Nick and Anna

Jungle Beach Vietnam

The call for daft decisions was finally answered after considerable consternation and indecision, as well as a few ponderous pizzas in Nha Trang. Off we headed to Jungle Beach, 60km northeast of Nha Trang, feted by the Let's Go guide and google as a calm and quiet place on a secluded beach with none of the hassles that invariably dog a traveller in the more heavily touristed areas of Vietnam. "The Anti-Open Tour". Perfect antidote to a traveller's malaise.

On the 90 minute ride out of Nha Trang along Highway 1 we passed a series of small villages on this extensive peninsula, as well as an enormous Hyundai shipyard where the speciality is cutting huge car transport ships in half, adding another 20 metre section in the middle then welding the whole lot back together again to make a super-super-ship.

Almost at the end of an increasingly desolate road we pull up to an innocuous looking gate whcih gave little away as to what lay beyond. As we enterred we were greet by Sylvio, the French-Canadian owner, and a tray filled with glasses of fresh-squeezed lemon juice to refresh our palates. This was a promising start. The grand tour, hosted by Syl(vio), took us through the main house with kitchens, communal dining area, library, anda big poster of the Euro 2008 fixtures. The 3 acre site holds an assortment of huts, cabanas and suites, all constructed on site with bamboo frames, woven screen panels, handmade roller blinds and open beds with mosquito nets strung from 2 of the 3 walls. 4th wall is optional. As luck would have it the only 2 guests when we arrived were leaving within the hour and the pick of the huts was ours. We (as in Fiona) chose the prime beach hut with a huge covered veranda, strung with hammocks and furnished with bamboo recliners and tables. The view of the ocean could be enjoyed from bed or any of our handmade chairs.

Our first day involved little more than a swim on the pristine, empty beach, a quiet dinner and an early night. About as far away from the bustle of Nha Tranf as we could have hoped for.

We were woken shortly after dawn by the rising temperature and influx of sunlight into our sleeping area. This day started as they all seemed to during our stay; delicious breakfast cooked to orderas much lemon juice as we could drink and a swim in the cool, clear water. We had come out for 3, maybe 4, days before a planned return to Nha Trang then onwards to Saigon. As the days passed our exodus became ever more arduous a prospect and ever more unlikely.

Without wishing to descend into an interminable food review, we can sum up our meals very simply. Delicious, fresh, a constantly changing combination of dishes from meatballs to lemongrass-chilli beef, chunks of marlin to ginger shrimp, fresh morning glory to brocolli cooked in a tempura batter. All of this is a mere footnote to the culinary revalation that is Jungle Beach Guacamole. Fresh, citrussy, served with prawn crackers to make the perfect crunchy snack. Bliss.

As the days and nights passed we had the pleasure of enjoying a rotatio of guests from as far apart as Brooklyn and Melbourne, Singapore and South Africa. Being slightly off the beaten track, the place attracts a clientele generally from early 20s to early 30s (with exceptions from 7 to 70) who are looking for a counterpoint to the madness that seems to permeate most travel destinations in Vietnam. Doting honeymooners, resting writers, longterm travellers and people on emigration treks like our own were the proverbial bread and butter. Special mention has to go to Jungle Beach Alumni of Suzie, Will, Raina, Nick and Anna who provided some of the best company and most enjoyable few days of our trip so far.

Gathering wood (half a tree) for the beach fire

Nightly bonfires, catching some waves on our Chinese bodyboard, swimming in darkness to enjoy the phosphourescence in the ocean, treks and snorkelling, building our own sundial, watching monkeys on the heavily forested mountains looming around us, building chairs and plotting with Syl on the next phase of development and the finer points of a solar pizza oven. Far too many highlights to mention them all.

Fire on the beach

Our hybrid Vietnamese-English-Irish languse lessons with the delightful and ever-helpful staff made the prospect of yet another evening sipping beer and debating the nature of the universeeven more appealing than we could have expected. "Cam on, Gai" becomes "Thank you, Gai" become "Go raibh maith agat, Gai". Nios mo ris? Toi loi roi!! In the absence of any possibility of a Vietnamese tongue wrapping itself around the sylabbles of "Seamus", he has been rechristened "Anh" by the girls. This could mean anything from "A young driver" to "Heh, you" to "Elder brother". We live in hope.

The only break of consequence in our coma-inducingly pleasant routine is the 3km trek along the white sand beach to the village of Ninh Phuoc to check mail, read the latest from RTE and BBC World and confirm to our families that Yes, We Are Still Alive.

Faced with a land and sea voyage across 6 countries, several thousand miles and inumerable "Hello Motobike!", I hope we can be forgiven for our absurdly procrastinatory ways. It is without regret, dear reader, that i predict we may stay right here for some time to come.

Central and Southern Vietnam

Special mention to Glenn and Fergus of Finnegans and Sean in the Irish Embassy in Hanoi. Always good to to dragged to more and more good eateries and drinkeries on your travels.


We managed to drag ourselves out of the place eventually, settling on Hue as our next stop, a day by train down the coast. After a day of ironing out accommodation and avoiding ghastly tours to see bombsites, we made the most of the scorching weather and settled into some air-conditioned bars with pool tables, interspersed with trips to the citadel, the old town and the Hue Tourism Education Restaurant for a great meal. Bumped into a crowd of lads all the way from Tuam we had previously met in Finnegans, eveyone seems to be on the same route around here. Where ya come from? Heading north or south? Where to next? Oh, me too. See ya there.


A short bus-hop later and and we're in Hoi-An, home of the tailors of Hoi-An and (incidentally of course) the UNESCO World Heritage Site that is the Old Town. Chock full of bars, restaurants and cookery schools, the old town was the first real evidence of old world charm that you could reach out and touch. A tour of the city took in Ancient Houses and Assembly Halls, a fascinating mixture of Chinese and Vietnamese Architecture that tells a muddled tale of occupation and rebellion long before the Americans and Ho Chi Minh went at it. The My Son Temple complex an hour out of town has been reduced from it's original 70 temples, rediscovered in the late 19th century by a moustachioed Frenchman, to less than 30; the remainder having been blown to smithereens by the US of A (yeeeh hawww!!) when the VietCong based its operations there in 1969. A single hour was enough to walk the whole complex twice, a miniaturised and brutalised version of Angkor.

In our ever increasing list of bizarre coincidences a day of lounging by the pool in Hoi An was interrupted, in a good way, by a fellow traveller from Malahide joining us in the pool and commiserating with all of us on our hangovers. The usual swappage of routes, plans and tales ensued and Fiona was halfway through the round-the-world-no-planes-we're-daft spiel when he comes out with "This might sound thick, but do you know a Cathal Brugha?". Well, yeah. We do. Turns out that shortly before they left home himself and his girlfriend had bumped into the Brughas at a funeral and learned all about our routes and plans and he (Rob) had been regalling people all over Vietnam with tales of these eejits who were heading from Ireland to Melbourne without using a plane. Eejits.

We've had plenty of people, mostly Ozzies, who tell us it can't be done, no way you'll get to Oz without a flying machine of sort or another. Eejits like us, this sort of talk only strengthens our resolve.

After a day of cooking lessons for Fi and Paddy, we again bumped into our Tuam shadows at a pool table. This was to become a recurring theme as we headed down the coast. In another freakish but inevitable coincidence, a CBS Midleton alumni suantered into the Thanh Binh III Hotel with a hurley under his arm. Small world. We avoided the urge to have a cheap wardrobe made in Hoi An which the eager tailors could then fill with shiny suits, silky shirts and custom-made-on-the-spot shoes, heading south again to the beach party capital of Nha Thrang.

Naturally, five minutes after arriving after a day of reading and snoozing on a train, tucking in to our half-cooked burgers, we once again ran into our erstwhile Tuam buddies. One of them had headed for HCMC to make his way back to Oz, the others happy to take it easy and enjoy the beach, sun and ales that Nha Trang offered in buckets and spades. The tiny Irish Pub, the dodgy TexMex, splendid Louisiane Brewhouse and disreputable Sailing Club all clamoured for our attentions.


After a couple of days nursing the mildly pathetic Seamus out of a tummy bug, we turned our attention to celebrating his promotion to a twentysixth year. A sleep in followed by croissants and frosties to kickstart the afternoon. Hours lazing by the pool in the Louisiane sipping fresh juices then onwards to glory. Glory being a rake of pints. Huzzah!


Stuart from Sydney was also celebrating his advancement in years and was happy to encourage the beer, whisky and bad karaoke fest that followed. May 30th is an esteemed day all round. His girlfriend achieved a feat unmatched in all of Asia by picking Seamus out as being from Coonty Cark, like. Respect.


The adventure continues while we try to figure out where we're off to next. The beaten track is losing its appeal, daft decisions are called for.

Vietnam, Vietnam, Vietnam

Eye of the storm

Myanmar and China in swift succession.

The tail end of the cyclone brought horrific weather to the mountains of northern Vietnam and the tremors from Sichuan were felt in higher buildings in Hanoi. Hard to imagine the isolated suffering of the people left unaided by the junta, so soon after the Christmas Tsunami of 2004. The toll in China continues to rise as excavations continue in the rubble of collapsed schools and other building around Sichuan. Our friends in Xi'an were severely rattled, trapped in their 24th floor apartment where the effect of the quake is even more pronounced than at ground level. A friend in the Irish Embassy in Hanoi (around 1000km from the epicentre) evacuated along with the rest of his staff. There was no noticable effect at ground level.

Our thoughts are with the people who were lost and especially those who have lost.

The all important books - Updated

These are the books that have filled our 18nights and many more days on trains........(so far)
We've included marks out of ten- just for fun.

We've added a few more (without marks)


Cloud atlas - David Mitchell 8.5/10

The lovely bones - Alice Sebold 8/10

On chesil beach - Ian McEwan 7/10

Never let me go - Kazuo Ishiguro 6/10

No country for old men - Cormac McCarthy 7/10

In Siberia - Colin Thubron 7/10

Shadow of a silk road - Colin Thubron 8/10

The last Templar - Raymond Khoury 4/10

The 'Myrsco'? helix - ? 3.5/10

The black Angel - John Connolly 5/10

The runaway - Martina Cole 7/10

Everything's eventual - Steven King 3.5/10

The damage done - Warren Fellows 3/10

Dead souls, Let it Bleed, Black and Blue, The Hanging Garden - Ian Rankin 6/10

City of bones - Michael Connelly

Some Hope - Edward St Aubyn

Senior Vivo and the coca lord - Louis de Bernieres

'Round Ireland with a fridge - Tony Hawkes

Sophie's world - Jostein Gaarder - Katie, read this one, you'd love it!

Saturday - Ian McEwan

The killing fields - Christopher Hudson

Lonely Planet unpacked

Void moon - Michael Connelly

And then we came to the end - Joshua ferris

Under the banner of heaven - John Krakauer

City of Joy - Dominique LaPierre - Fiona's favorite

Horse whisperer - Nicholas Evans

May you be the mother of 100 sons - Elizabeth Bumiller

The girl in the picture - Denise Chong

Heart of darkness - Joseph Conrad

The summons - John Grisham

100 years of solitude - Gabrial Garcia Marquez

I chose to live - Sabine Dardenne

The return of Merlin - Deepak Chopra

The memory keepers daughter - Kim Edwards

Forgotten Kingdom - Peter Goullart

High Society - Ben Elton

Night Fall - Nelson Demille

Sea Lion - ?

Point deception - Marcia Muller

The tunnels of CuChi - Tom Mangold and John Penycate

First they killed my father - Loung Ung

All the pretty horses - Cormac McCarthy - Favorite Writer

The gathering - Anne Enright

The kite runner - Khaled Hosseini

Brave new world - Aldous Huxley

Animal farm - George Orwell

Bravemouth - Pamela Stephenson

Haunted(Oz Ghosts) - John Pinkney

Into the wild - John Krakaur

The zahir - Paulo Coelho

From potters field - Patricia Cornwell



and a plethora of vaguely useful travel books

Lonely Planet Trans-Siberian Railway

Lonely Planet Beijing

Lonely Planet China

Let's go Vietnam

Lonely Planet Southeast Asia

Frommers - Australia

Northern Vietnam part deux

Hanoi, where cats are tethered to shop fronts and dogs roam free in feral, dribbling packs.

Hanoi, where a taxi can travel 7km in 90 seconds in crawling traffic.

Hanoi, where a grimy dorm bed is $7.50 but a spacious double room is $15.

Hanoi, where Bobby Chinn, his miked up staff and his daft haircut serve up finest lamb overlooking the lake.

Hanoi, where we find ourselves yet again after a week in the mountains of Northern Vietnam.

A few days spent soaking up the noise, shrieks, Irish pubbery and lakey shrubbery of the Old Quarter of Hanoi and the three of us loaded up on the night train to Sapa, nestling 1600 metres above sea level in a beautiful mountainous area near the Chinese border crossing of Lao Cai-Hekou. The train broke, the staff smoked, the karaoke continued until 4am while Paddy and Seamus were taught the finer points of Vietnamese pronunciation while bellowing loudly into a microphone and hoping smoke didn't start erupting from the underside of the train again. Vietnaaaaam, Vietnaaaaaaaaaamm!!

View from Hotel room(without fog)

Another hour by bus and we arrive into Sapa, a town consisting of one part hills, one part hotels, three parts restaurants and the rest a mass of H'Mong villagers flogging everything from blankets to cushions, trinkets to Class A drugs. We resisted the powerful urge to go on a three day trek in the rain and checked into the Mountain View Hotel. Misty View Hotel more like. Visibility approaching zero and 2 hours kip on the train catching up with us, we surrendered to a lazy day. A two day stay in the mountains turned into a week, with good food, walks in the surrounding hills and a few good nights out with pool, chess, poker and Halida.

M'hong girls take their pool very seriously

Another exciting day playing look-who's-scamming-us-now and we're back in Hanoi, 5am and the taxi is mysteriously clocking up dongs by the dozen as the meter tells us that we're half way back to Sapa by the time we reach the hostel. 7am before we find a room, plans ahead include a visit to waxy HoChiMinh, the oh-so-important Visa extensions and tickets to Hue, 12 hours away by train, sitting on the coast where the Gulf of Tonkin meets the South China Sea, promising beaches, another UNSESCO World Heritage Site, cooking courses for Fiona, a new hat for Paddy and hopefully some waves and a hammock for Seamus.