From Nha Trang coast to Ouy Nhon coast via mountains

If like me your preference is a cooler drive, then going from Nha Trang coast to Ouy Nhon coast via mountains is the best option. Besides, it's a lot less boring than going up the coast road with all the lorries, buses and tourist mini vans.

There are some quite dramatic landscapes going nearby the Hồ thủy điện Krông H'Năng resevoir,

but for the most part I didn't feel like stopping to take photos, sometimes you just want to enjoy the moment without sticking a ruddy camera in front of it.

Yet I forced myself to stop at least to capture one of the semi traditional hill tribe houses along the way.

After arriving at the coast I couldn't come to terms with giving up my passport to a well-known farang run backpackers, due mostly to their flimsy storage locker and less than secure retrieval method. Besides, I did actually need my passport for an appointment the next day. I was graciously invited to find somewhere else to stay, which was a bit of a downer after a long hot drive, but it turned out to be a good thing in the end. Whilst I might have missed out on the party there, the local run "love" motel just down the road, took me in and eagerly introduced me to many hidden activities of the area. Even their beach seemed to be somewhat unknown to anyone else but the local fishing folk.

Still, I did visit some of the more obvious tourist spots, like the next fishing village along, where it seems that same backpackers has opened up a chain of boastful accommodation.

On the one side the poor locals eek out a living with their fishing,

and on the other side a beach more devoted to tourists, no rubbish here, dominates the scenery.

In-between the two is evidence of a community struggling with basic necessities as their resources are split between ever-increasing numbers of visitors.

As I passed the water well stuffed with each home's water pump, I could see the locals pointing at it in a complaining tone. Having a quick peek over the top of all the electrical and plumbing gubbins, it was easy to see the pathetic slip of water at the bottom being the cause of their strife.

Later that night, back at my "love-inn", as locals gathered at the adjoining cafe for a night of debauchery, I popped momentarily into my room to be confronted by a sultry semi-nude woman, framed on the wall above my bed.

There was something of an ominous look about her that gave me some foreboding of the night ahead.

Later still, in a bit of a stupor, stumbling in, flicking the light switches, dropped the room into a subterranean day glow, black light club vibe, that I never would have had the pleasure of tackling if I'd stayed at the boring backpackers.