Shamefully, we spent the morning in bed nursing off our hangovers. When we came to, fairly simultaneously at midday, we went straight back to the beach, on the bikes which we had parked in the hostel lobby when we got in the night before (they had moved them round the side by the time we were mobile though).

Once arrived at the beach, we meandered through the palmtrees where the local school seemed to be having its PE lesson, and went up to the restaurant on the beach side for some food. Whilst eating, we saw 3 friends from medical school walking along the beach looking for a spot, so we went over and made a little community of sunbeds with them for the early afternoon sun.

This was the day when I met Lu Li, my favourite beach seller ever. She had the same old crap in her basket but stopped and chatted for ages, she was loads of fun, so I bought some disgusting little thing from her because after half an hour, I felt I had to.

After a few hours, we were keen to investigate this plan to motorbike along the coastal/mountain road from Hoi An to Hue, so headed back into town to speak to the guys on the street who spend the day shouting "wan moto??". Most of them were unhelpful, and the little travel offices just laughed at us. We eventually found a small office where the lady told us it was totally doable and that she'd get the motorbike owners to meet us at our hotel the following morning - very exciting.

At this point, it monsooned. From clear skies and warm breeze to bucketting it down. So we ran into a little bar and had a bottle of Vang Dalat whilst the rain passed. We found the wine-glasses with Vang Dalat tattood on the sides of them very exciting and planned to steal them, but that plan seemed to be forgotten.

Once the rain stopped (about half an hour later) we picked up a warm toblerone from the street sellers and went back to the hostel to get ready for dinner with the others.

Dinner was again back down by the riviera-area thing in a loverly restaurant where the staff were obsessed with my neck piercings and loved practicing their cockney rhyming slang on us. A particular memory of this dinner was when Lydia lit her cigarette from the wrong end and the whole thing flamed up and a german couple behind us roared with laughter.

One of the staff then organised free scooters to a bar down the road where a tiny 60 year old man served us free "f*** buckets", which were just large rum and cokes, and we sat around chatting before heading back to the hostel on high spirits.