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The racket from our motorbikes fought against the cries of the chimpanzees in the jungle. Several scattered to the safety of the undergrowth to our right as we weaved through the mountainside. We had to fight the urge to keep our eyes away from our view on the left: infinite ocean meeting boundless blue sky whose sun kissed the shore below. Instead we focused on each turn, careful to avoid the potholes on this bumpy road. There were four of us in total. Two housemates, a friend and myself. It was our friend’s idea. Often in Vietnam the line between truth and story is often blurred. Tales told during evening pho spread through the land until their truth is sworn upon. So when Daniel told us of an abandoned shipwreck on an undiscovered beach we can discover, we revved the engines of our scooters and began our adventure with more hope than expectation. Nothing could be seen on the mountain road which suggested there had been any change to ___. Our scooters were certainly more thankful than us that the steep climbs, sudden drops and hairpin corners had finally ceased and that we had arrived at a small, rocky path. Daniel suggested we continue with the bikes down this cracked road but the walls of his bike silenced him. We parked on the side, hoping our helmets would be untouched by bandits and langurs. The path was treacherous with dusty rocks our footpath, the hot Vietnamese sun our only guide. Mercifully the heat was less intense than at other times of the year, the humidity merely lightly poking us rather than the full on assault it commits at other times of the year. Crickets, monkeys and goodness knows whatever other secrets the jungle held seemed to whisper about the unknown trespassers to their land. ‘Can’t be much further now,’ my housemate Ryan said. At 6’ 5” he certainly had a better idea of when the path reached the beach than the rest of us. He was right. Only a sharp turn to the right later and there we were, the explorers mercifully stepping out of the shade of the forest, onto the carpet of gold beneath are thankful feet. Being English teachers living in the area it is easy to take for granted the scenes of Vietnam, whether the chaos of the thick motorcycle traffic to the kaleidoscopic marketplaces but every now and then I have to pinch myself to know such things were really real. Through squinting eyes we could make out the backdrop of weaving mountains which seemed to gently push the azure sea to lap up onto our shore. In front of us to our left lay an abandoned bamboo shelter which we gratefully used as shade and a place to leave our possessions. And in-between we saw it: the front end of a cargo ship, it’s front and rear poking out of its final resting place. It nestled near our cliff face. By walking it would have been a mere ten minute stroll, but with my swimming abilities a outing to little more than a mixture of doggy paddling and frantic thrashing I knew it would take a little longer. After setting up the GoPro we took our first tentative paddle. The water was the clearest I had seen in Asia and fantastically refreshing. At first I swam with fierce intent but soon rolled onto my back, feeling the sun shine down upon us and delighting in my view of the mountain jungle and sandy shore I had just departed. Max and Ryan, my housemates, had given a mighty roar as they climbed upon the vessel. It took me a few minutes longer but soon I was up, yelling, ‘I feel like a pirate!’ deliriously, before beginning my hunt for gold. We explored the shipwreck, finding maps (not of the treasure variety, unfortunately) various logbooks and even half a bottle of wine (left untouched) we meandered around the rest of the ship which remained resolutely above sea level, before climbing up to the top level and jumping off to return our slow swim back to land.