Plastic Fantastic in the South China Sea
If you need only one reason to visit the Vietnamese island of Phu Quy, it has to be the floating restaurants. Here, seafood is world-class. But first, you have to get there.
March 2 2025
NOTES
from an
ISLAND
By Jan Johannessen
Photography by
Mette Randem
A replica of a piano stands outside a hotel on the beach of Puh Quy.
The sun is shining brightly in the harbour of the southern Vietnamese city of Phan Thiet. In the shadows, Vietnamese travellers wait for the boarding to open for the ferries. They packed their suitcases full as if they were going away for weeks, but everyone will return to work on Monday. It is the Chinese New Year, and it is time for a weekend with relatives and festivities on the island of Puh Quy. Boarding!
As the ferry departs the dock, one of the crew members appears in the doorway. In his hand, he holds a large roll of plastic bags. I should have suspected something was wrong.
The area around the city of Phan Thiet is popular among kite- and windsurfers. Why, you ask? Because it's always windy. Now, a strong wind from the northeast has been blowing for days.
To get to the Puh Quy Island you have to go on a three hour cruise. The ferry ride hide dark surprises.
Inside out
After an hour at sea, the voyage has gone from a sunny tale to a battle against the forces of the elements. The sea is rough. The salty water sprays onto the stern deck. It becomes clear to me what the role of plastic bags is for. Around me, most of the passengers have emptied their stomachs into the plastic in sync with the boat's rolling. I am wet, cold, and nauseous. I desperately search for an unused bag.
Next to me, a man sits on the floor, holding onto one tightly. I snatch it out of his hand, turn away into a corner, and suffer in solitude. Two hours to land, two hours when new needs for more plastic bags will arise.
Seasickness can make you wish you were dead one moment, and then, the next, when you finally set foot on land, and the seasickness subsides, you've forgotten nausea, vomiting, and the suffering the rough sea caused you. You happy look forward to the rest of your life.
Twelve miles out in the South China Sea, we have finally found solid ground under our feet. People are bustling around on the pier, looking for their dear families, dragging their heavy suitcases behind them. Apparently, there is some order to the chaos.
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Taxi!
I scan for a taxi but see none. Now I understand why the contact at our hotel repeatedly texted us, asking if we had already rented a scooter or if the hotel should assist us. I had avoided answering, thinking it was none of the hotel's business. For God's sake, I am an experienced traveller. Well....
There aren't many Westerners in the crowd. I see one foreigner. He may speak English. I remember him from the boat. I don't think he turned his insides out, but his girlfriend did. I hurried over to get help understanding how to get from the pier to the island's north side, where our hotel is located.
No problems. It turns out he's a language teacher, originally from Russia, but now living in Vietnam to teach his language skills. The Russian has contacts on the island who have scooters for rent.
A two-wheeler is brought, and the rental price of 150,000 Vietnamese dong per day is stated. The owner asks for my WhatsApp number. That's it, then. I've never experienced a more straightforward rental agreement. No credit cards; they mostly use cash here on the island, no ID check or initials here, here, and sign there, on long and complicated contracts.
What about returning it? I ask.
Park the scooter at the pier, put the payment in the compartment under the seat, take a picture of where it's parked, and send the image to me, he explains.
We head north, following closely behind a delivery scooter transporting suitcases for the island's other tourists. He's going to the same hotel as us. We speed out of the pier, across a major intersection, onto some minor roads, and then straight across the island. The traffic is minimal. We see no cars, only other scooter riders. Soon, we were at the hotel's check-in area. Google Translate saves the communication. The room is on the second floor.
The most common mean of transportation is motorbikes. The windswept island is easy to navigate with only ten to fifteen minutes to go from south to north. Parking is wherever you find it suitable.
Wind and Karaoke
When we open the hotel room door, we understand the intense howling we've heard since we exited the elevator. It's the wind blowing through the cracks in the room's window, which faces the sea.
Here, where it blows day and night, we fear it will be like sleeping with our heads inside church organ pipes during the prelude. We politely ask for a room that faces away from the ocean, towards the street.
The howling is replaced by a rusty, out-of-tune singing voice streaming out of a speaker from the bar across the street. Karaoke is a popular pastime in the area. It eventually stops, and we fall asleep.
Tourist attractions
The hotel has an agreement for breakfast service at a café a few minutes walk further south. On the way, we see a couple about to get on their scooter. They drive only a few meters past us, across the intersection and park. I think it was a strangely short scooter ride as we turned left.
The man on the scooter comes running after us. His wife is right behind him. He smiles and says something we don't understand. He turns to using sign language, he points to his wife, who is ready with her mobile phone; we realize he wants to be photographed with us.
The term tourist attraction suddenly takes on new meaning. We are the tourists, and we are the attraction. The man stands between us; his wife takes pictures. In the end, both the man and his wife are satisfied. We are mostly surprised.
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Plastic Fantastic
Phu Quy is praised for its green and lush nature, crystal-clear water and white beaches. There's just one problem. The sea is full of plastic trash, and the waves crash onto the white beaches.
It doesn't seem like the locals care; the trash lies there. There's little to invite to lazy days on a beach full of plastic waste. Apart from the plastic, the water quality is excellent. It's entirely crystal clear. Out in the lagoon, some kitesurfers are playing. I would have been tempted to dip if it hadn't been for all the plastic trash between me and the South China Sea. We got on the scooter instead to go sightseeing.
The water is crystal clear, but filled with plastic garbage. The waves and wind shuffle it on to he beach, where it stays.
Like a Naan Bread
It doesn't take long to cross Phu Quy. The landscape is rougher in the north and east, and the towns are wind-swept. In the south and west the island is flatter and more sheltered.
The island's highest point barely reaches 100 meters into the sky. A blogger described the island as a naan bread. It's flat, with some small elevations here and there.
The island's main town is located on the south-shore. You will find plenty of restaurants, hotels and guesthouses, government offices, the ferry terminal, banks, and whatever else you need. The island is a modern community making a living out of fishing, and now hoping for tourism.
Out of Gas
From behind, I hear the passenger anxiously asking if there is enough gas in the tank. Yes, I reply, a bit annoyed. It turns out I am completely wrong. The scooter starts coughing and sputtering in the middle of an uphill slope along the west coast. Out of gas! I turn around while the scooter still has power, coast down the hill, as far along the flat as we can manage. Calculations make us stop right outside a bar and restaurant. Refreshments!
It turns out that the establishment also serves gasoline—the scooter's elixir is sold in glass bottles. We order a litre and some refreshments for ourselves. Out comes gasoline, a blue drink, a red drink and something that was supposed to be mineral water, but due to language problems, it turns out to be soda.
Chinese New Years is vastly celebrated, and many Vietnamese living on the mainland return to the Puh Quy Island to celebrate with friends and family.
Happy new year
Both the scooter and its driver and passenger have been filled up. We are ready to head out over the Phu Quy roads when the young waitress wonders if we want to stay for lunch. She points to a group sitting in the shadows. It is her extended family with parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. They have gathered to enjoy this year's New Year's lunch, and we are invited.
Yes, please, we reply, and as we sit down after the transfer from the bar area to the family gathering, we are offered beer, whiskey, delicious chicken soup, and boiled chicken. We have brought the red and the blue non-alcoholic drinks from the bar. The pressure from the hosts to have me open a can of ice-cold beer is heavy. Everyone wants to toast and wish a happy new year, and toasting in beer seems to be better than toasting in non-alcoholic drinks. With respect to local customs, and for that reason only, I finally surrendered and opened a cold local brew to participate in all the toasting. Cheers!
The conversation is slow—not because we're not trying to get it to flow. When everything has to be typed into Google's translation app, exchanging words takes time. They are all family, except for the friends; most are visiting. Some grew up on the island but moved away, and the men all work in offices. The teenager dreams of Australia; cheers. We nod, smile, and are treated like royalty. Thank you, and amen.
Keep the Faith
When we turn off the scooter engine, it is deathly quiet. A detour from one of the main roads has led us to the bottom of the island's highest peak, Cao Cat.
A staircase leads upwards through a forest to the temple Linh Son Pagoda, which seems deserted as we pass it on the way to the top of the mountain. Only a couple of slippers outside a door reveal that there are people here. It's the middle of the day; maybe they've celebrated the new year like us. Perhaps they are having a monk's nap after lunch.
At the top stands a statue of Buddha. A Japanese tourist has climbed up the mountainside from the north side. He rushes around the edge of the cliffs to take selfies. It all looks quite risky, not to mention life-threatening. We help the Japanese man and his brother, who also appears, to take pictures of them at the top of Phu Quy. It's not quite Mount Everest, but it's a good view nonetheless. Had it not been for the haze, we would have seen quite far, out to sea. Time for dinner!
The highest mountain is just above 100 metres. Here you find a temple close to the top, and a Bhuddah at the peak, and maybe a tourist running around making selfie images.
Over stayed
The waiter at Sea La Vie speaks English surprisingly well. He explains the menu, takes our order, and rushes towards the kitchen. The restaurant is modern, lounge music comes softly from a speaker, and the sea view is impeccable. The waiter, a young man in his early 20s, is back with the drinks. He's originally from Ho Chi Minh City, also known as Saigon. He tells us that he came here for a month-long stay, two months maximum. The plan didn't hold; he had been here for a year. In his spare time, he dives. We tell him about the rough trip over from the mainland. The best season is March to July, the young waiter informs us. At the end of January, we are on our way out of the windy season. The weather should become calmer soon. Outside, the wind howls again. It would subside, he claimed.
The islands north and east coast are constantly under attack by wind. The best season to visit is spring and early summer.
King Cash
We check out of the hotel on the northeast side. At the reception, we are told that they don't accept cards—only cash. I turn my pockets inside out, and the photographer turns her pockets inside out, but we don't have enough hundred thousand Vietnamese dongs in bills. ATM? Not here, the receptionist explains. We have to go to the main city in the south. Luckily, our next hotel is also there.
We promise to come back to settle the bill and head south. The ATM fail to be where Google Maps says it will be. With some help from locals, we finally found a cash machine. The ATM doesn't spit out more than 2,000,000 dong at max. A maximum withdrawal limit has been set to ensure enough cash is available for everyone in need. Luckily, there are two of us, and we can thus fill our pockets to the brim with stacks of bills.
Most of the people on the island are gathered in the harbour for the annual rowing competition. Securing a good spot means you have to show up early, or be creative.
Row your boat
Almost all the island's inhabitants have gathered at the harbour, along with their scooters. The island's annual rowing race is ready to go off. Five teams are participating.
The winning team gets 15,000,000 dongs and the honour, of course. In addition, the winner can attract sponsorship interests of hundreds of millions, Vietnamese dong, to be said. The teams come from the island's various neighbourhoods. The athletes are mostly fishermen. May the best team win!
The starting shot goes off, and the rowers get their boats to speed, head out to the turning buoy, hurry back; loud cheers from the crowd, turn around by the pier and set off for a new round. I lose count of the number of rounds, but in the end, the team in the lane closest to us is unbeatable. Cheers, applause, and then everyone goes home.
There are thousands of scooters in the harbour's parking lot. We are glad we are staying in a hotel so close that we didn't have to bring our own two-wheeler. If we had driven, we would have no chance of finding it before the parking lot had been emptied. Now, the scooter is parked at the hotel and easy to find. We went to pick it up.
Three Stars
It's like driving in a bee swarm: scooters to the right, left, in front, behind. The exhaust fumes are thick, and the soundscape is cacophonous. But despite the heavy traffic, everything flows smoothly; everyone adapts, lets others pass, and is let pass, and the traffic dances like a perfect waltz along the road. Everyone wants to get home safely after the boat race.
However, we are not going home. We're going to dinner. On the map, we have spotted several seafood restaurants bobbing in one of the island's lagoons. On the way from the beach and out to the rafts, the captain of the small boat tells us to put on life jackets. Before I understand the ups and downs of the orange square, we have arrived and are about to get off.
At the floating restaurant, the waiters are clearing up after the previous guests' feast. On the neighbouring raft, the female cooks sit at the open fire over the pots. One places giant prawns on serving platters—prawns as big as lobsters, I would say. I secured a picture for later so I could show it to the waiter when ordering what she had just prepared.
Some restaurant guests have gathered around the fishing nets attached to the raft's edge. In the nets, the food is alive and kicking. Different types of lobsters in various sizes are pointed out, scooped up, and ready to be prepared by the chefs. When the guests before us have handpicked their food, we ask for two lobsters. The waiter wonders if we want anything else. I hold up the image of the prawns from earlier.
My travel mate has travelled the globe for two decades as a food photographer searching for the world's best dishes. She exclaims that she has never experienced anything like this: Sprightly fresh seafood served in the world's most Spartan restaurant, sitting on a plank raft in the middle of a lagoon, enjoying dinner surrounded by a reef. Apparently, it's not easy to find its equal—not even for those who have done their best.
The shuttle boat takes us back to land. We jump off into the warm water and wade up the beach. Straight back to the "capital!" It's Saturday night, and the bars are open for karaoke!
Solid Ground
We arrive at the harbour early in the morning. We cruise around a bit and find a suitable place to park the scooter. As agreed, we put the money in the compartment under the seat and leave the key in. It only takes a minute before the renter is there, smiling and wishing us a good trip back to the mainland. He had spotted us long before we sent the picture. Two Europeans stand out easily here.
While we wait for the ferry to depart, we pull a Coca-Cola from the bag. I learned from the trip from the mainland to Phu Quy that we don't need breakfast. A sugar injection will have to suffice. I'm having a few small sips from the cola can, hoping it wasn't too much. Seasick for three hours? I dread it.
We board the ship and secure a place on the stern deck. A woman is running back and forth, posing and shooting selfies. I don't see the man with the plastic bags anywhere.
