China Beach was a television show that aired for four seasons, from 1988 to '91, a hospital and Vietnam era drama that showed the carnage of war from the perspective of the doctors, nurses and other triage personnel stationed at an evacuation hospital unit.
That unit was stationed in the vicinity of Da Nang, the well known R&R coastal city. The American and Aussie soldiers nicknamed the series of beaches that make up the greater sand-spit "China Beach".
The resort we booked, Sandy Beach, was located at Non Nuoc Beach, and the resort was mostly titled on paperwork and signs as "Sandy Beach at Non Nuoc". The resort was a solid ten to twelve minutes down the coast from Da Nang, and while it certainly wasn't all alone, the isolation was noticeable.
There was a deck past the pool so you could watch the waves without having to get in the sand:
Here's a picture of the pool and the South China Sea beyond:
This time of year I mentioned before was the hectic ocean time of year, and at different intervals there were flags set up telling of the relative safety of the surf for swimming. Red flag is no-go, yellow is very-careful, and green was have-fun. You can see here, an "at-your-own-risk" red/yellow mix:
Of course that didn't stop me from heading out. I was mostly surprised about how the waves, being controlled by the seafloor, would come in at all sorts of different angles. You could feel it trying to drag you out to sea, which was the one very serious consideration that had to be made for an afternoon dip.
Also in the zone between our beach hut and Da Nang are a series of jagged marble pimples called the Marble Mountains. They've been mined for centuries and the marble is well known throughout Asia. I believe there are seven of them, and this next picture is the largest and most accessible:
This, part of our last few days on this fortnight trip, was the first place we saw any renditions of the Chinese fat "happy Buddha". Up until the shop at the base of the Marble Mountain we'd only seen the skinny, seated and meditating Buddha, like from Ong Bak. I guess that shop knows their customers...
So, the resort...
We missed the whale island. We missed Hanoi. We missed Halong Bay, one of the premier sites in northern Vietnam. We missed the Valley of the Jars in Laos. We missed Hue, one of the imperial Vietnamese sites. We missed these spots only because we wanted to see a river delta floating market and tickets to Saigon were cheaper than to Hanoi--and it was tough to get to Siem Reap from the North of French Indochina. We'd decided, when we were all beat up on the way out of the Jungle, to take the last few days easy and relaxing and consign those tings that we either knew were going to miss, or had timed ourselves out of, to another trip in the future.
Sandy Beach was that rebound relationship: at a moment of vulnerability you find yourself convinced that what you need is this, even if your gut says 'that's probably gonna stick in your craw...'
We checked in late after a long, long day on a bus, and found our room; a good sized spot with a big bed and instant hot water. The fridge had beers and they were cheap-ish, and we indulged.
Sandy Beach had free shuttles to and from Da Nang and to and from Hoi An, a port town that grew in power until a major river's course was altered and it, the town, largely forgotten. Hoi An spent over a century as a sleepy forgotten village, and then tourism discovered it. Mostly intact, quaint, and romantic, it was a spot we had wanted to see.
Free shuttles are wonderful--something you hope your money is going towards--but the schedules of the shuttle belie what we dislike about the resort vacation. The resort had restaurants, bars, a pool so you wouldn't have to touch the ocean, tony shops and a massage parlor. They tried to give the intrepid traveler all they could ever want. They even had shuttles...
To Da Nang, the shuttle times were 12 to 2, and then 3:30 to 5:30. That means they left the resort at noon, and would return to pick you up at 2; later, they'd leave the resort at 3:30 and return at 5:50. And to Hoi An, which was further south than Da Nang was north, 10 to 1 and then 7 to 10.
What a crock. That was the most ridiculously convoluted paragraph to show my dislike: the times were complete unhelpful. When we went to Hoi An we left as early as possible and stayed as late as possible. In Da Nang it proved impossible---we got a cabbie ride back to the resort.
These kinds of resorts are designed to make everything easy and clean and, for lack of a better notion, Western. Corrie and I travel not to replicate our world elsewhere, but rather to experience the world as they who live there experience it.
Those aren't really compatible.
Give us the grit and the smoky underbelly, the food carts and the hand gestures...you can keep the well-practiced English language staff and awful pizza.
Oh well...at least we got our relaxing beach time:
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