What we're trying not to turn into...



(Though James did nearly use the phrase 'ethereal haze' the other day)

We heard a quite mind-blowing example of a Gap Yah monologue the other day over breakfast at Angkor Wat.  At the table next to us, two plump young girls were having breakfast with an unfortunate American guy....

Guy: So I've been thinking of getting a tattoo but haven't seen a place I like yet...

G1, butting in:  Oh, rully?  My sister and me, we used to have nicknames for each other, like she'd call me B3-squared and I'd call her B2-cubed.  So, anyway, she, like, HATED tattoos, I mean, she'd have my head, like, litt-rully on a block if I ever got a tattoo.  LITT-rully.

So, anyway, about a year ago she came home and she, like, totally had a tattoo.  Only it was, like, EXACT-ly the tattoo that I've always wanted?  I mean, same size, same font, everything.  And I was like, 'what?'

So, anyway, when I was in THAI-land, I saw a bamboo tattooing place.  Have you ever seen bamboo tattooing?  No?  You have GOT to go.  Rully.  If you're going to get a tattoo you simply MUST get a bamboo one, they're just, UH-MAY-zing.  So, anyway, I went into this place and I was thinking of getting a tattoo done, so I showed the guy a picture of what I wanted, only the guy, he, like, didn't have the font that I wanted??  I mean, he had, like, similar ones, but not the exact font.  So I was like, look, if you don't have the font, then I am just NOT having it done.

So anyway, the guy took the picture and he like scanned it?  Like into his computer? And copied it.  It took like 20 minutes and it was just GREAT.  So I got it done.  Do you want to see it? [already walking around the table, hitching up her obligatory traveller harem pants]

Guy: Um, ok?

[G1 thrusts her foot onto the guy's chair exposing the ankle tattoo]

G2: So, isn't it, just, like, gorgeous?

Guy: Uhh...

Filled with excitement, we flew to the island of Phu Quoc for my birthday weekend, intent on sun, sea and relaxation after the hustle and bustle of Saigon. The flight there was simply stunning, as we soared over shimmering clear blue ocean and the verdant green north of the island's forests. It really felt like we were off on an adventure.

Apparently the government has big plans for turning Phu Quoc into a major tourist destination. Fortunately plans to execute this are clearly still in their very early stages, as we discovered pretty soon after arrival. The island remains an unspoilt paradise, with deserted beaches and an endless row of palm trees all the way down the west coast, pepper farms dotted through the middle.

For the most part, there is no road to speak of – small 500m patches of tarmac, seemingly randomly placed, break the monotony of bumpy rust-coloured dirt tracks. The signs of proper road construction are everywhere; but again, progress seems to be slow. Learning that the drive to our resort was the best part of an hour's journey from the airport, we rejected our motorbike pick up and opted for a taxi – thank God! I am astounded the car suspension survived the trip, so I think our experience on the back of a motorbike, laden down with 15kg rucksacks, would have been pretty hellish. Clearly someone has briefed the taxi drivers here on the sort of music that westerners like, and we spent the next hour or so enjoying instrumental versions of holiday classics including 'Guantanamera' and 'Careless Whisper,' as well as 'My Heart Will Go On,' just for James.

We were looking for deserted island paradise, and it's fair to say we found it. We were staying in an isolated resort to the north-west of Phu Quoc, which lay directly on the beach, complete with shaded hammocks that we spent many hours dozing in and cute little beach huts. It was a proper island getaway. However, with hindsight Phu Quoc seems to be the kind of place where money talks, and so our backpacker budget meant the accommodation was pretty 'rustic' – no air conditioning (which came at a $20 a night premium), no hot water and no electricity during daylight hours. Despite this, we actually really enjoyed the experience – even though James nearly expired part-way through the middle of the first night as a result of the heat!

We arrived at lunchtime and by 2.30pm we were settled on our own private beach, enjoying the sea breeze after the stifling heat of Saigon. Later we watched the sunset with only a couple of local fishermen and some cows for company. It was bliss.

My birthday itself was more adventurous than previous years: in the absence of public transport, we opted to hire a motorbike for the day (again, sorry mums, we promise we're not about to make a habit of it) and explore our surroundings. More by luck than judgement we made it all the way down the west coast to the port of An Thoi in the very southern tip, passing beautiful beaches and yet also some of the poorest Vietnamese homes we've encountered on the whole trip – huts literally fashioned from wood, palm leaves and, in a few cases, odd pieces of tarpaulin and corrugated metal. Despite this, most homes still (of course) have TV aerials. We had a slap-up lunch at one of the many resorts along Long Beach, along with a celebratory birthday beer.

Unfortunately, on the way home, disaster struck, and we managed to get a puncture, resulting in a massively flat tyre (even I noticed it was flat, which shows how bad it was). Through the wonders of sign language we tried to get a local mechanic to pump up the air, but to no avail – the tyre was well and truly dead. After a phone call to the resort owner, Mr Phuong, he agreed, somewhat bemusedly, to come and rescue us. There was nothing for it but to head back to our lunchtime restaurant and have another beer. Some 45 minutes later, we realised why he'd sounded bemused: he thought we were lost and couldn't find our way home again! We quickly put him right and so I found myself, on my birthday, watching the same mechanic from earlier performing a tyre change. Fortunately it was a quick job and we were soon chasing the sunset back to the resort. And I've learnt a lot about tyres as a result!

When I went to visit my friend Shan in Miami last year, he suggested we go for a stroll along South Beach. After 5 minutes under the Floridian sun, I realised that I had placed myself in serious peril. It was Hot. Every single molecule of water in my body was suddenly trying to find a way out at once. It streamed down my back, legs, ears, fingers, completely soaking my clothes. It ran down my face and into my eyes, blinding me. I stumbled forward through the sand, one arm outstretched, the other trying to mop my face and simultaneously hide it in shame from the god-like locals.

Ho Chi Minh City was hotter than Miami.

It was 40 plus degrees in the shade - an airless, claustrophobic heat that pressed down on you under a blanket of smog. The only breeze came from passing mopeds.

Our first day in the city we set off at 0800, and already the tarmac was shimmering. We got a couple of hundred metres from our front door before a taxi-driver spotted our T-shirts stuck to our backs and lured us into his air-conditioned car. This reprieve probably made things worse when he dropped us off in the north of the city 10 minutes later. It was a like stepping into a furnace.

We were trying to get to the Jade Emperor or 'Ghost' Pagoda – a temple you visit to bribe the gods of the afterlife into going easy on you - but we just couldn't find the place. We staggered around the neighbourhood in ever-expanding circles for about an hour, trying to find it. A couple of guys working in a street-side garage watched with widening smiles as we walked past them three times – each time a little redder in the face and a little soggier.

Finally asking for directions, a friendly drive-through mango juice saleswoman pointed us in the right direction. Unfortunately, aside from a few comedy carved statues – gurning demons with farming tools – the temple was a bit of a let down. The most interesting thing there was a small dog who had hidden himself behind some old chairs so that he could growl in a ghostly fashion at anyone with the nerve to enter his domain.

From there we decided to walk (Why? WHY?!) the 7 blocks down to the museum formerly known as the 'Museum of American War Crimes' – the War Remnants Museum. I tried to stick to the shade, hopping from shadow to shadow, but was still sopping wet by the time we arrived and had to wait outside till I dried off.

The museum is dedicated to recording and highlighting the inhumanity of the Vietnam War – as long as it's American inhumanity. There were some pretty eye-opening exhibits, but I felt the museum's extreme pro-Communist bias lets it down a little, especially as it's so unnecessary. The most engaging sections were therefore those that didn't need a commentary. One floor was given over to an incredible series of photographs of the Indo-China and Vietnam wars by Larry Burrows, Robert Capa, Sean Flynn and others. We later learned that every photographer featured in the exhibition died in Vietnam or disappeared into Cambodia.

A couple of blocks East of the War Crimes Museum is the most famous sight in Saigon – The Reunification Palace. The former HQ of the South Vietnamese Government, its gates fell to NVA tanks on April 30th 1975, signifying the Fall of Saigon and victory for the North Vietnamese.

The original French Colonial palace was bombed flat in the 60s and rebuilt in a wonderful Ken Adam Bond Villian style, complete with a rooftop disco lounge and an underground bomb-proof command centre. Sandwiched between these two floors, the rest of the building is a combination of clean, bright modernist spaces linking rooms full of 70s kitch – circular leather sofas in the entertaining room, a giant oval conference table with leather armchairs and inbuilt microphones, and lots of muted beige, orange and pea green colours.

If, like us, you arrived in Nha Trang at 0630, broken and dizzy under the weight of a sleepless night and an oversize backpack, you could be forgiven for mistaking Nha Trang for an off-season Costa del Sol resort. Unlit neon signs for All Day Happy Hours, Full English Breakfasts, Guinness on Draught and the Premier League loom large in the bar windows lining the beachfront. Having gathered this slightly inauspicious first impression en-route to our hotel, we collapsed for 4 hours of well-deserved sleep.

Feeling more like fully-functioning human beings after our naps, we set off to visit the some of the sights of Nha Trang. First stop, the thermal mud baths just outside of town. First mistake, hiring bicycles and setting off into the mid-morning traffic.

I think we've already established that the rules of the road are pretty sketchy in Vietnam, and that the number of moped riders and number of riders per moped beggars belief (We saw 5 on a 50cc moped the other day - a man, a woman carrying a baby, a kid upfront between the man and the handlebars, and a kid perched on the back mudguard. The guy was driving one-handed, talking on a mobile phone, weaving through rush-hour traffic). In retrospect, as a caring fiancé, this was perhaps not the safest environment into which to send a fairly novice cyclist like Sarah. She was totally fine cycling in Japan and China, but two minutes after setting off in Nha Trang I looked back over my shoulder, saw her knuckles white on the handlebars, and wondered if maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Two minutes later, I was very sure it wasn't.

Ironically, it wasn't the traffic that did the damage. I pointed this out a couple of days later once the bruising had gone down a little, and got a well-deserved death-stare in response. (NB. Sarah just read this, two weeks later, and I got the same stare. I suggest we not mention this again).

What actually happened was, I slowed and stopped by the side of the road to check Sarah was OK, and she slowed down and wobbled to a stop just behind me. What she didn't notice though, was that she had stopped right next to a storm drain, so that when she went to put her foot down to steady herself she touched nothing but air, and, off-balance with a look of total shock on her face, plunged her leg down into the (full) drain up to her knee, pulling the bike down with her.

We were really lucky that she didn't cut herself, and had a bottle of water to clean off the sewage, but Sarah did knock her knee pretty badly on the concrete drain cover. My offering of the traditional O'Connor words of comfort for situations like these: 'It's nothing – just a scratch' very nearly earned me a matching injury. Once we'd cleaned the wound we abandoned the mud baths, and pushed our bikes back home.

So after this eventful morning, Nha Trang wasn't our favourite place. But it redeemed itself in our eyes as the sun went down.

In the afternoon we visited (by taxi) a set of Cham Dynasty temples on a hill overlooking the bay. The Cham dynasty ruled the area for over a thousand years, but few remnants of their civilisation and architecture remain. Apparently the buildings are very similar to those at Angkor – the Cham were actually neighbours of the Khmer who built Angkor, and they made several forays over the border including one in 1177 in which they killed the Khmer king and ransacked the capital.

We then headed back into town to the beach (again, by taxi) . The beach is absolutely fantastic – a long clean curve of sand and warm gentle waters. A kind of timeshare system operates here, with Westerners burning themselves to a crisp from 9 to 5, and happy locals enjoying the beach at sunrise and sunset.

When we got there the beach was packed with kids playing football and burying their friends in the sand, parents teaching babies (and small dogs) to swim in the surf, and teenagers flirting by their mopeds. As the sun descended the sky became crowded with kites.

To get from Hoi An to Nha Trang we took an overnight sleeper bus, leaving at 1830 to arrive by the beach in Nha Trang 12 hours later. We subsequently learned that this particular sleeper bus route is known amongst travellers as 'The Hell Bus'.

The layout of a sleeper bus is similar to how I imagine a submarine sleeping quarters would be, if that submarine was designed and manned by dwarf contortionists. Each person is allocated a reclining chair/bed, with a leg compartment neatly tucked under the chair of the person in front. There are around 7 chair/beds in each row, three rows to a level, and two levels on the bus – about 40 people per bus in total. Unfortunately, the leg compartments are designed to be a snug fit for the average Vietnamese person - for anyone taller than about 5'5'' they're pretty much useless. I spent most of the night exploring a series of equally uncomfortable configurations of feet, knees and legs before landing on a complicated half-foetal position that enabled me to wedge my body into the seat and prevent my falling out whenever the bus went round a corner.

The tight fit would have been fine for an hour or two, had we been on a straight-run down a motorway. But motorways don't really exist in Vietnam. And our route took us down the coast on a two-lane road that wound around an endless series of hairpin bends. The driver was either super-confident or suicidal, as his preferred strategy for taking these blind corners was a) top speed, and b) simaltaneously overtaking the more sensible slow moving traffic on the wrong side of the road. This led to a couple of near-misses, where all passengers were suddenly woken by the flashing headlights and horns of oncoming traffic bearing down on us at full speed, with us on the wrong side of the road, hemmed-in by a cliff on one side and the 'slow moving' traffic we were in the process of overtaking on the other. Miraculously we survived every time, although I have a feeling that without the cover of darkness we would have seen the roadside littered with the rusting husks of less fortunate buses.

Even the tight fit AND manic driving would have been just about manageable, had the bus been clean. However whilst first appearances were good, when the lights went at our first rest stop I observed a not-insignificant number of cockroaches scrabbling for cover, disappearing back under seats and floorboards. I jerked awake from my foetal position a couple of times in the night due to a skin-crawling, clicking sound near my ears.

Leaving Nha Trang, we took the train. The day train.

I've heard the song 'My Heart Will Go On' by Celine Dion four times in the last three days. Once is more than enough.

The first time, they turned it on full blast in a cafe in Hoi An where we were quietly having an aperitif - immediately forfeiting their tip, and forcing us to leave.

We then headed to a French-Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. It seemed like a really nice place, until I realised they were playing an instrumental version of the exact same song in the background.

The next day in Nha Trang we ate at a traditional seafood diner and yet again the playlist included The Song (followed, strangely, by a Timbaland track).

At this point a couple of hypotheses were developing in my head. Did Vietnamese people think that Westerners have some kind of deep affinity for Celine Dion? Or maybe it was the reverse - maybe they were fully aware of just how repulsive the song is, and play it to hurry people along and increase turnover, like dance music in Macdonalds but more effective.

Arriving in Saigon last night, just as the safety locks clicked on in the taxi from the station, 'My Heart...' burst forth from the car speakers once more. This time however it was definitely a local radio station. So scenario three seems likely: The Vietnamese just love Celine. God help them.

Hoi An is fast becoming a popular tourist destination – the old town was designated a World Heritage Site some years ago, and the tourist industry here has since exploded. There are many excellent cafes and restaurants, and even a wine bar with decent (foreign) wine. Down by the beach, new 4* hotels are being constructed with alarming rapidity. Coupled with the fact that Hoi An is the premier destination in Vietnam for cheap tailored clothes, I am sure it won't be long before this becomes another Thailand for week-long getaways from Europe. For the moment, it's still a place in transition.

We spent a day visiting Cham Island, actually a series of islands about an hour off the coast of Hoi An. This was one of my favourite days of the Tour so far – it's a relatively pricey trip ($40 each!), which means there were next to no tourists in the bay, just local fishermen. We did a spot of snorkelling, a chance for me to see the underwater world for the first time. Visibility was pretty good, and we spotted shoals of brightly-coloured fish and a couple of angel fish, as well as blue starfish and lots of coral. One of the women saw a sea snake, which apparently carries enough venom in a single bite to poison 50 people. Very glad we all emerged unscathed. We then whiled away the afternoon on our very own desert island, lunching on the beach and napping in hammocks, avoiding the 41 degree heat.

We also decided to spend a morning doing a cookery course, where we learnt to make 4 traditional Vietnamese dishes, which we then get to eat. A delicious way to spend a morning. At the end of it we were presented with the recipes, so hopefully we can put our new-found skills to good practice when we return to the UK. Food was definitely a focus of our stay here – we sampled so much delicious seafood, including our first-ever king prawns which were caught that very day by the restaurant owner's dad.

There are not masses of sights here, and so we gladly use the rest of our time to relax and soak up some sunshine. We headed to Cua Dai beach for a late afternoon swim, passing lots of burnt-to-a-crisp westerners who spent the day in the sun (mad dogs and Englishmen...) Whilst we were there, the beach was transformed from a western sun-seeker's resort to a local paradise – apparently (and very sensibly) the Vietnamese avoid swimming during the day at all, heading to the beach either between 5 and 8am or 4 and 7pm. Even then, many of the kids are still made to swim fully clothed, just in case.

We also made time for a bit of shopping (at last!), although we had to ignore most of the tailored stuff – the world of work seems far too far away to contemplate ordering a suit or a shift dress right now. James was also further put off when he discovered that the Next catalogue provides the basis for most of the male tailoring! Instead, we opted for a bit of traveller wear, although avoided the baggy harem pants which appear to be this year's gap-year item of choice.

On the train to Hue, I suddenly realised just how green Vietnam is. It seems a stupid thing to say having already been travelling around the country for two weeks, but after two months in the dust and concrete of Japan and China, I think I simply didn't recognise the colour. Waking up on the overnight train south, you find yourself surrounded by the rich emerald green of rice fields and the deep jungle shades of the mountains. Here and there, gleaming white family shrines poke their heads above the top of the rice stalks – covertly watching their descendents work the fields.

Fortunately we also managed a bit of escapism on a 3 day tour to Halong Bay, a beautiful archipelago of islands and islets (small islands, I discovered) to the east of Hanoi. We were a little nervous having booked our tour through the internet and heard a fair few horror stories about other people's experiences, but our fears proved to be unfounded. Our boat, the Dragon Pearl, was a gorgeous 2 storey craft, complete with a sun deck and newly-furnished rooms, and fresh seafood served at every meal.

During our 3 day tour, we visited the (literally translated) 'Amazing Caves', boasting stalagmites and stalagtites which have naturally formed into everything from buddhas to bears to giant 'happy sticks' (penises), and also went kayaking around some of the islands – which I am a lot better at now than I was 6 years ago, I must say! After this there was still plenty of time for sunning ourselves on the deck and swimming in crystal clear waters, with jellyfish (just about) far enough away not to pose a concern. James persuaded me to overcome my naturally nervous disposition and we jumped together off the top of the boat (sorry mum). It was a long way down but an exhilarating feeling!

We spent our first night sleeping on the boat and the next morning we woke ourselves up with an early morning swim in a deserted bay where we'd lain anchor overnight. If only every morning could be like this! We then sailed on towards Cat Ba island, with a stop at Monkey Island – a beautiful beach where we were the only people, yellow sand and clear blue water all that the eye could see. Thankfully the monkeys for which the island is named stayed beyond the treeline, content to lie in the shade while we burned ourselves to a crisp. Cat Ba island itself, where we stayed the second night, has unfortunately turned into a bit of a tourist trap, but we consoled ourselves in a few of the local bars with some super-cool Dutch guys from our group.

All in all a fantastic way to chill out after 2 months of hectic sightseeing, and a welcome relief from the intensity of Hanoi. We're looking forward to more little breaks like this over the next couple of months.

Hanoi is a city of 6m people. And 4.5m motorbikes. The motorbike is therefore king of the road, and you take your life in your hands every time you cross the street – although fortunately drivers seem pretty adept at missing pedestrians! As a result, the city is noisy and bustling all day – and all night – long.

This is also a city which has a definite street culture. Makeshift cafes crowd every corner, with packs of locals sitting on plastic stools drinking bia hoi (James takes a child-like joy in the fact that the word for beer sounds like 'Beer Ahoy!'). Traders sell their wares from overladen yokes and bicycles, everything from fruit to plastic containers on sale. We also saw a fair few pavement restaurants selling the ubiquitous pho (noodles) and, bizarrely, what looked to be sausages and chips – seems to be a favourite amongst the locals, although we're not quite sure how the dish has made its way into traditional Vietnamese cuisine!

Continuing the tradition of 'weird traditional entertainments we have seen', on our first night we caught a water puppet show – essentially, Punch and Judy in a paddling pool. The tradition grew up on the paddy fields of northern Vietnam, and the whole thing was surprisingly funny and entertaining, lots of slapstick humour and short, fast-paced sketches. The puppets are all operated from behind the scenes by people standing waist deep in water. As part of the performance, we got a chance to enjoy Vietnamese music provided by the accompanying band, including the Dan Bau, an instrument with one-string that's so thin it looks like they're playing thin air. It has a beautiful, almost haunting sound.

We visited some of the local temples although I think we've been a little bit spoilt by the delights of Japan and China – though good, the Vietnamese offerings don't quite match up. The Ho Loa prison (nicknamed Hanoi Hilton by the American POWs held there during the war) was interesting as an exercise in propaganda. It focuses on the awful treatment of Vietnamese communist prisoners by the French, all accompanied by ominous dum-dum-dum-da-dum scary-music. By contrast, it looks like the American POWs were held in some kind of Butlins-esque holiday camp – lots of photos of them making Christmas decorations and playing sports with big (forced?) grins on their faces. Veterans' accounts of the torture they endured here are (unsurprisingly) nowhere to be seen....

We were also in Hanoi for 30th April, Liberation day, marking 35 years since the country was united under communist rule. The celebrations centred around Hoan Kiem Lake, where most of the population (and their motorbikes) congregated. We saw one of the best (and certainly the biggest) fireworks displays either of us has ever been to, made even better by the crowd – you have never heard a reaction like it, gasps and cheers as almost every firework exploded. It was also quite a hairy experience as the fireworks explode a lot nearer the ground than at home: a few cardboard remnants of rockets and a fair number of sparks landed near us, fortunately with no injury caused to the crowd. The second the display finished, EVERYONE decided it was time to head for home, and a motorbike traffic jam built up within about 30 seconds, the sound of horns beeping coming from every direction. It's a fitting end to our sojourn in Hanoi.

Sitting in Pizza Express on a Friday night, with dough balls and a Peroni. Outside the window the pubs are crowded with bankers and lawyers, nursing end-of-the-week pints and sheltering from the incessant rain.