Our first real cock-up had to happen sooner or later.
And shunning Vietnam's most popular beach resort (Nha Trang) and reportedly it's most stunning beach (Mui Ne) in favour of Ca Na was certainly it.
It's just we were fed up of the bustle of busy towns and cities and wanted somewhere to lie low for a while.
A borrowed Rough Guide made the place sound like a quaint port - Whitby, or Padstow, or somewhere.
However, picture the most run-down seaside resort you can imagine, remove any cutesy seaside buildings, reduce it to only one road and ban people from strolling in the harbour and you have Ca Na.
There were some lovely stretches of beach but the fierce gale that blew for two days meant you were sand-blasted every time you dared set foot on them.
It's probably really nice during high season.
In order to leave, we had to yomp three miles with loaded packs along the side of Vietnam's main Highway 1 to get to the pick-up point.
To add insult to injury, the cafe there tried to charge us three times the going rate for our meal.
Thankfully, the One With The Common Sense had the brainwave of saying we'd check with our bus driver what the real price should be. The waiter - fearing he'd lose the coach company's regular trade - panicked and reduced the price accordingly before offering a squirming apology.
What followed, however, was the 14-hour overnight bus ride from hell.
Sitting, legs crammed above the wheelarch on a glorified minibus, we wondered how the rest of the passengers would fit on board - only for the driver to fold down seats which filled up the aisle.
I spent most of the first three-hours stifling yelps as the driver overtook around blind bends on the mountainside.
Meanwhile, the feet of the canoodling Vietnamese couple sitting alongside us kept prodding me and a couple of Vietnamese girls were demonstrating their perfection of the art of silently throwing up into plastic bags, sending the aroma of regurgitated fish sauce through the vehicle.
Still, at least I know how it feels to be David Beckham (or Phil Neville round our house).
It was when I heard the guest house had gone up and down the street announcing that a foreign couple was staying with them that we knew we were special.
She had apparently been inviting people around to see the white couple.
Our presence in Ca Na had already left several children agog and set tongues wagging. But when we eschewed the flash-looking hotels by the beach in favour of her place, we won a special place in this lady's heart.
It turned out they had only been open a week and we were the first guests.
She was so happy, she grabbed The One With The Common Sense by the arm and led her on a tour of the building before inviting us in to share dinner with the family.
And so we found ourselves sitting cross-legged on the floor - with great difficulty on my part - eating delicious salted fish, deep fried seafood and a beautiful concoction of pork, black bean (I think) and chilli, with soup and rice.
Conversation was conducted through her son, who spoke good English - albeit with an accent less intelligible than your average Glasweigian.
It made for a very special experience and while Ca Na might not have the attractions of its more illustrious neighbours along the coast, it certainly gave us something we wouldn't have found elsewhere.
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